Laughing at Nigel Farage ought to be a national sport.
I’m serious – real pointing and shouting “there he is!” before clutching our stomachs and doubling up.
A man who spends so much time on the BBC his permanenent address should be c/o Broadcasting House, London, has built his entire political career on leaving the EU, while happily taking its hefty salary as an MEP.
A one-trick political pony who must have fallen off his chair in disbelief when David Cameron actually decided to call a referendum, instead of simply ignoring him, like you do with everything from a hole in your sock to an annoying toddler having a tantrum because it can’t go out while wearing one wellie and one slipper.
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Farage’s moment had come, and he basked in the glory – well, after embarrassingly and prematurely conceding defeat.
Two years on,and the man who detests Westminster and all it stands for so much he’s tried and failed to get elected to it seven times, senses his country needs him once more as it staggers towards Brexit with all the co-ordination and strength of a drunk trying to get his key into the door while trying not to drop his kebab.
He has rounded up his army of supporters and launched the “March To Leave” – a landmark moment in our history when the folk who want out of the EU rose as one and marched from Sunderland to Westminster.
Think of those great Suffragette marches, the Jarrow Crusade, the Poll Tax riots of the 80s, Make Poverty History in Edinburgh in 2005.
Ands then try not to snigger when you compare them in size and significance to Nigel’s movement; a 270-mile crusade timed to reach Westminster on March 29, the day his lifetime’s dream is realised and we exit Europe.
And what a sight to behold! A miserable bedraggled, tiny group of core walkers – some counted 66, others a more generous 100 – in flat caps and barbour jackets. The official uniform of the grumpy UKIPper.
If the event was meant to rally the troops, it has failed spectacularly. The media has mocked it and snorted with derision, and a brilliant Twitter account, Led By Donkeys, has turned up with electronic advertising boards throwing Farage’s own words back at him.
Not that he has hung around to see them. Farage isn’t actually walking the route despite taking 50 quid off everyone else who signed up. Well, a true ‘Man Of The People’ cannot get his middle class brogues mucky – didn’t you see how foul the weather was?
The look on his face as he stared down from the top of an open deck bus on this trainwreck suggested even he knew he’d cocked it up.
But Nigel’s neck isn’t made of brass for no reason. He’ll be at Westminster to welcome his people and make a pompous speech and get what he craves most of all. Attention.
How ironic he timed it all to finish on Brexit Day. As his pointless PR exercise limps, blistered and battered into London, we probably won’t actually leave on the 29th.
Truly, you couldn’t make this shambles up.