Marina gets it:
The smaller British politics gets, the more it feels that you might as well judge a politician by that key question: could you honestly bear to have a pint with them? I could bear to have a pint with Nigel Farage. Not anyone else in his party, you understand. But a pint and a fag with Farage, and probably a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, which I'd tear down the seam and spread out on the table while Nigel told some story against himself.
I think after five or six pints Nigel might start airing a few views I couldn't warm to, so I wouldn't stick around. But I could stand one pint with him, quite possibly even a pint and a half. With Messrs Nicholas Clegg, Edward Miliband and David Cameron, however, I would cross continents to avoid taking even a fluid ounce. The other leaders – and I do think we must refer to them in the same breath as Farage, just because it annoys them so hilariously much – look about as convivial as haemorrhoids. They have spent the week of the local elections looking like pompous arses, while the affable semi-berk Farage has led Ukip to the biggest surge by a fourth party in England since the second world war.
Shame that the usual crew of commentators in the Westminster bubble are lost up their own fundaments.
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