AS WE contemplate the historic EU referendum, in which Britain will finally decide to throw off the yoke of tyranny, it’s hard to imagine that I won’t be here to see it.
But sadly, in less than two days, the reason I was summoned to your dimension will be gone and the creature you know as Nigel Farage will no longer exist.
I came when England called, like Sir Lancelot and Robin Hood. I came in your hour of need to deliver you a seemingly endless referendum and this capering spirit has been as good as his word.
You knew I wasn’t real all along. How could I be? But a being of folklore, such as I, could be everywhere at once; on Question Time, guffawing in the golf club, popping into a pub in Peterborough for a pint and stepping out into the Sunderland sunlight for a smoke.
Never elected to public office, never within an inch of power, I nonetheless bamboozled your political establishment into this marvellous gift of a complicated expensive thing, but I shall not see its result.
My purpose done and my revels now ended, for every vote counted tomorrow I fade a little more until I am melted into thin air leaving only a spectral blazer and a pair of gold bulldog cufflinks behind.
But mourn not this jester, for I do not die. I merely sleep until this sceptr’d isle has need of me again.
Are you going to the bar?
