Ah, the work of a year and a port-fuelled FT feature.
Today, Trump's landmine-politics make Nigel Farage look like the friendly local bigot, and Boris backs Brexit.
Say what you will about the dangers of the laughing leftie, but we Brits can still feel, if not clap-on-the-back-proud, at least moderately good that UKIP is consistently unraveled by its idiocy, rather than rewarded for it with the spittle-drenched love of the angry millions.
And yet the onset of Trump-Trauma has revitalized the evergreen British yearning for that down-the-pub-in-the-boardroom-up-the-skirts bigotry of yore; a cultural nostalgia that's long been UKIP's brand of politics - and is, despite our scoffing, hardwired into our nationhood.
So yes: it's happened. We're finally nostalgic for Nige - fifteen months ago, a calamity; today, the political equivalent of a baby-blanket and brandy milk.Read More