Farage’s meltdown was the worst speech in modern British political history

In a lengthy video rant produced by Reform – but with all the statesmanship and coherence of a rambling manifesto – its leader announced that he would resign as MP for Clacton, triggering a by-election… in which he intends to stand for the very same seat.

This is because, according to the man himself, he’s been relentlessly hounded by the left-wing media, trying to do him over. Yes, the Murdoch-owned Sunday Times and his former channel Sky News have really let their partisan colours show by questioning why Farage failed to declare the £5 million gifted to him by crypto billionaire Christopher Harborne, along with other financial support from convicted criminal George Cottrell.

I mean, can you believe the nerve?

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Farage took great umbrage at being scrutinised by the British press, using his speech to lament “the way I’ve been treated”. I’ve seen better emotional regulation — and more dignity — from teenagers going through a breakup.

Veering wildly between incoherent defences and bizarre anecdotes, punctuated by odd half-laughs that suggested someone having a minor on-camera meltdown, Farage may well have set a new record for the worst speech in modern British political history.

In defending his donated millions, he landed somewhere between Nixon’s “Checkers” speech and Clinton’s “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”

“I can do with that money exactly as I wish,” Farage declared, with all the righteous indignation of a toddler insisting it is not bedtime and mummy said they could have ice cream after dinner.

Despite describing the money as a gift — akin to “winning the lottery” — Farage also asked: “Do we want leaders that know how to make money?” Seemingly implying he’d actually earned it by providing something of value to Harborne or Cottrell. That certainly doesn’t whiff of corruption at all, does it?

At no point, somewhere between defending what appears to be a serious breach of the Commons rules and listing his greatest hits (Brexit among them — let’s check back on how that’s going), did Farage explain why he originally claimed Harborne’s money was for lifetime security when Cottrell was already paying for exactly that. Nor did he square his claim that politics had left him skint with the fact he owned two properties at the time and now owns five mortgage-free houses.

The final straw in this supposed campaign of media persecution was, apparently, the Sunday Times publishing a photo of his adult daughter’s house. A point Farage returned to so often that he probably drew more attention to his daughter than the newspaper ever did.

Farage claims he needs the money because he is “the most physically attacked politician of modern times”. Tell that to the families of Jo Cox and David Amess, both viciously murdered in the last decade.

Some might say the entire speech came straight from the Trump playbook. And yes, in the sense that Trump increasingly sounds like a man wandering into incoherence. But even he rarely manages to come across this whiny and self-pitying.

For example, Farage demanded, “Why should I be judged?”, sounding less like a statesman than an emo teenager.

His greatest political strength used to be that he felt like the bloke down the pub: up for a laugh, happy to trade insults, able to take a joke in a way the stiff-collared Westminster set never could.

But ever since Reform started making genuine electoral gains — and, even then, facing a fraction of the scrutiny other parties routinely receive — that image has begun to crumble. 

The thinnest skin in British politics is now on full display.

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In truth, he’s always been like this. It’s just that the mask has slipped. When Nick Ferrari asked him on LBC what he’d done with the money, an irritated Farage snapped that it was “none of your business”. He later joked it was his personal reward for 27 years campaigning for Brexit, and that he might spend it on “Ferraris or betting on horses.”

Not only is this petulant and spectacularly out of touch, it fundamentally misreads the British public. We don’t warm to politicians who boast about their wealth—just ask Rishi Sunak. Which made Farage’s justification for calling a by-election all the more tone-deaf.

“I could go out and make some real big money. I could go to the USA, where I’ve got plenty of offers.”

Oh, Nigel, how noble. So you’re staying out of a sense of duty to the people of Clacton—a place you spend so much time in?

No. He’s trying to dodge proper scrutiny by the Standards Committee by changing the rules of the game. Classic Farage: happy to dish it out, incapable of taking it.

It won’t even work. Even if he wins the by-election and presents it as some political masterstroke, the investigation continues. He could still be forced to resign again, leaving the people of Clacton facing two by-elections in quick succession. Efficient use of public money, that. Not that he cares.

Farage calls this hissy-fit of a by-election “a chance to stick two fingers up to the establishment.”

For the people of Clacton, sticking two fingers up to the establishment would be refusing to re-elect a man who threw a tantrum because he was asked to explain millions of pounds he failed to declare and has been properly held to account for the first time in his long and slimy political life”.