Reform UK pledges to ‘Make Britain Great Again’ as Farage channels Trump

Puff! Flash! Bang! Nigel Farage almost danced between smoke and sparklers at the last Reform UK rally of the campaign, an entertaining extravaganza that was pure Donald Trump.

A new poll, he said, shows Reform winning more ethnic minority voters than the Lib Dems. “So, Channel 4, put that in your bloody pipe and smoke it!”

The crowd of thousands clapped their hands and stomped their feet. What many dismissed at the beginning of the election as a one-man fan club has turned into the closest thing we’ve got to a political mass movement. Reform is very real.

The location was the Birmingham NEC, normally home to bridal wear and best in shows, and the queue to enter was serenaded by protesters chanting: “Reform UK! Racist party!”

Inside the cavernous exhibition hall, about nine-tenths full, sat a double-decker bus, parked between the largest Union Jack known to man and, for the short-sighted, an enormous sign for the loo.

The audience was all ages – lots of Brummies, hats ranging from cowboy to pirate to bowler. Most people I met were ex-Tories (one called Rishi Sunak “an oik”). I positioned myself close to the stage, a few chairs down from a gentleman in a farmer’s gilet who was having a love affair with a Mr Whippy cone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a voice that launched a thousand boxing matches, “pleeease take your seats. The rally for Reform is aaa-bout to begin.”

The party’s chief executive, Paul Oakden, lashing out at “nannying” and “toxic targeted takedowns”, pledged to “Make Britain Great Again” (the Donald would approve).

Ann Widdecombe, the closest thing to Melania Trump the British will ever get, delivered a clarion call for “common sense,” punctuating every sound idea with a swing of her arm, as if smacking the collective bottom of Westminster.

I followed her offstage to ask why she left the Tories. “I waited for them to get their act together,” she said, but “it just didn’t happen”. Now it’s a party “I don’t recognise”. Could she give an example of where they went wrong? “They embraced woke… Mrs Thatcher would’ve had a fit!”

Ms Widdecombe stood on the top deck of the bus and waved at us like a queen on tour.

Back at the podium, Zia Yusuf, an entrepreneur, said Mr Farage “will not be stopped by slurs or milkshakes”. Richard Tice, who I’m guessing paid for much of this event, asked: “Are you having fun!” – “YES!” – and would have probably liked to remind us that we needed to be out of here by 2pm.

Then it was hammer time. Mr Farage bounded on to a catwalk, shadowed by two security guards – let’s call them Tintin and Pickles – and bid us “welcome to our alternative to Glastonbury!”.

The ice-cream eater had produced a Union Jack from thin air, as if a conjurer, and was waving it joyously.

Here follows the Farage narrative that those who’ve been tasked with following him have learnt by heart.

He was happily retired (“life has been pretty good”), but he “could not stand aside” when he saw the “lack of choice” in this election.

It’s “slippery Sunak” vs boring Keir Starmer (“the charisma of a damp rag”), with nary a fag paper between them. And, “quite frankly” – he always says, “I have to say” – “…the Conservatives deserve to lose this election, but Labour doesn’t deserve to win.”

While other leaders read speeches from autocues, Farage extemporises like a jazz musician, on a tune in the key of Trump.

There’s Trump’s apocalyptic language (“societal decline… cultural decline… People are getting poorer”). His humour (the Tories are “a broad church without any religion”). And the same swipes at everyday annoyances (a big cheer for saying the Left have “completely ruined Doctor Who”, a show he “used to love”).

The personal is political. Much of the speech was a takedown of people Mr Farage feels have screwed him over, from the BBC to Channel 4, the latter accused of so many things, it’s hard not to see lawyers becoming involved (one weeps for Mr Tice’s accountant).

He said he met the so-called Reform activist who was caught on tape being racist, and he was clearly an act, for he walked into the Clacton office using “the most extraordinary Cockney accent I’ve ever heard”. From the audience, someone shouted: “Cor blimey, love!”

“That right,” beamed Mr Farage: “Cockles and muscles, alive, alive o!”

Reform, he said, was utterly opposed to racism, and “if anybody is motivated in this room by hatred for anyone who is different, I invite you to leave the room now”. Nobody moved, except for a fellow who was already on his way to the lavatory – for whom I felt very sorry indeed.

The party won’t form the next government, Mr Farage concluded, but “we will get seats – we will. Believe it, it is going to happen.”

As the crowd exploded with approbation, and paper streamers floated through the sky, it felt entirely possible.