Red flag, blue cheese: my picnic with a Rupert Lowe fan

When I agreed to go on a picnic date, I was not prepared for politics chat. Not that I avoid it. But really it’s unavoidable, with the crypto crybaby Farage having a meltdown on national television, or the big orange baby across the Atlantic invading another country. And then there’s the fact I work in the media. Politics may just come up. Sometimes. 

I confess, I was unprepared. As I neared the park I dipped into a Waitrose, only to discover it had been ransacked. Every aisle of picnic-worthy snacks was depleted – I should have clocked that on a hot day like this, half of London would have the same idea. I picked up some olives and some Saint Agur blue cheese dip (the hummus was out) to pair with some crisps and mini saucissons. I hoped the guy wasn’t starving. 

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I arrived, and he was there. On first impressions he seemed fairly reserved. That’s when it dawned on me that a picnic for a first meeting was quite an intense choice of activity. No easy get-out. But there was no turning back now and I was happy to be outside in the sunshine. 

We spoke about holidays, hobbies, food: the usual. When we reached the subject of work, we soon got onto politics – and politicians. We agreed on the fact that we found most of them untrustworthy, a rare and beautiful moment of consensus. 

I was just closing the lid on the topic when my picnic partner leaned in and said: “But there is one politician I think speaks the truth.” As he revealed this “truthful” politician was in fact Rupert Lowe, before launching into a monologue about how much sense he makes on the issues Britain faced. 

I stared into my bag of crisps. The crisps stared back, blissfully unaware of the political seminar now unfolding. After a few awkward exchanges, I considered probing further, in the interest of journalistic duty, before deciding that self-preservation outranked research. We moved on to a game of cards. 

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Not every person you meet is going to hold the same views as you, and I wouldn’t write someone off on a few points of disagreement – within reason. But I couldn’t shake the alarm of it: that this young, seemingly well-travelled individual held Lowe in such high regard. Not just any politician, either, but one with an ego so large that even Farage couldn’t make room for it. And out of that colossal self-regard, Restore Britain was born – an even more extreme entity than Reform UK. 

We discussed our neighbourhoods, and the fact that, earlier this year, protesters had been gathering outside a prison in solidarity with inmates on hunger strike over Gaza. His verdict came swiftly: “And they can fuck off.” I flinched at how easily the remark came out, but didn’t want to waste more of my Sunday debating with someone I wouldn’t be seeing again. 

We stayed for another half hour, as I didn’t want to be rude, before parting with a polite goodbye. On my walk home, I pondered whether I’d missed a signal on the dating app, which allows users to indicate their political stance: liberal, moderate, and conservative are the only options you get. 

Our encounter was hardly a tour through the far-right, but being confronted with someone who probably doesn’t believe half of my friends belong in Britain was a reminder of where we are as a country. No matter how uncomfortable it gets, we’ve got to keep talking to each other.