WAKING with a hangover so excruciating that were I to vomit the contents of my stomach would burn through to the Earth’s core, I reflect on my encounter with the Man Who Would Be Prime Minister.

I had requested a meeting at my chambers with Mr Nigel Farage, intimating that I was considering endorsing Reform UK at the next election and would like to discuss this matter further.

Mr Farage readily agreed, and that afternoon arrived at my office. Dismissing my clerk, I bade him sit down and, glancing about furtively, leant in close and said, sotto voce: ‘I believe that like your imprisoned colleague, you have the interests of Mother Russia at heart. I too have been a friend of the Kremlin for many years. We are very pleased with your work so far. Your Brexit. Your good relations with our fri

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