Thomas Munson is a political commentator and writer. He is a former aide to two Secretaries of State.
The Prime Minister used his conference speech this week to claim moral superiority over his most feared opponent, Nigel Farage.
‘[…] for me, patriotism is about love and pride. About serving an interest that is more than yourself. A common good. And the question I ask, seriously, of Nigel Farage and Reform is do they love our country?’
Though in a markedly different tone, when Sir Keir Starmer stood at the steps of 10 Downing Street for the first time, he spoke in moralistic terms. Integrity, trust, duty… all words we might choose if we were playing Starmer Speech Bingo.
So used was he to lecturing the Conservatives from the opposition benches he turned, it seemed, to lecturing the country once in government. Faced with rising debt and a crisis in productivity, he set his sights on one of life’s great pleasures – smoking in pub gardens. The policy was so ill-thought out, punishing an already struggling hospitality sector, it was quickly dropped.
That his government reached for this, despite the fact it wouldn’t scratch the surface of the health service’s problems, spoke to a puritanical instinct. An instinct that led to early comparisons between the Prime Minister and our once Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell.
As The Telegraph’s Robert Tombs eloquently put it: ‘Such confidence in one’s own moral mission, and the dismissal of opponents as unrepentant sinners, is a formidable barrier to geniality […] Sir Keir’s rather leaden solemnity is therefore more than just a personality trait. It reflects the zeitgeist, our new Puritanism.’
In his latest battle against joviality, the Prime Minister has taken aim at the gambling sector.
While there is a bigger conversation to be had about the effects of online gambling, the planned hikes on duty – which do nothing to address problem gambling – penalise punters having a flutter and threatens to decimate the thousands of rural jobs associated with the British horse racing industry.
The Racing Post’s Richard Williams despaired that racing’s last hope may hinge on the fact the Prime Minister’s wife likes a day at the races.
While, to some, these seem like small things in their own right, together they create an image of doom and gloom, of puritanical government.
Unwittingly, Starmer has laid fertile ground. Ground that has been trodden previously.
After Cromwell died in 1658, his Commonwealth faltered. His son briefly inherited the Protectorate, but the republic collapsed. What followed was The Restoration and the return of the monarchy in the form of Charles II.
Charles II, who became known as the Merry Monarch, was invited back from exile. He reopened the theatres and was seen by many to have released the shackles of Cromwell’s puritanical rule.
This historical comparison goes someway in helping us understand the appeal of Nigel Farage. From Victorian moralism to Edwardian decadence; from post-war austerity to the swinging ‘60s. Britain has often moved between restraint and release, Cromwells and Charleses, Starmers and Farages.
In that vein, emboldened by their performance in the polls, the Reform Party conference was just that – a party. As The Spectator’s William Atkinson, put it, they seemed ‘high on their own supply’.
Brandishing flamboyantly blue suits – like the unofficial livery of a monarch-in-waiting – and taking the stage to theatrical bursts of dry ice, the message was one of optimism, for Reform if not the country.
Farage has long sought to cultivate a somewhat carefree, unmanaged image for himself. He unapologetically likes a drink and is one of the few British politicians of the modern age to be seen smoking frequently. Unlike Starmer, he even likes the horses.
Merry Monarch indeed.
But for all the simple solutions, all the feel-good factor, all the comforting reassurances that our prejudices are justified, Farage is a paradoxical figure.
I’m told by someone close to Farage’s circle that he has cut down on his smoking and is drinking less – although he still holds on to the image as ‘one of the lads’, even if his prop pint features less regularly. He accepts that lifestyle changes are necessary, if he is to continue campaigning up until the next General Election and beyond.
He is determined.
Beneath the down-to-earth exterior lies a ruthless political operator. Much like Shakespeare’s depiction of Mark Antony in Julius Caesar, Farage is adept at mobilising his base with one hand while appearing gregarious and disarming with the other.
This is the dichotomy of Farage – and the danger. He has a knack for making the unpalatable seem palatable and can move the dial of British politics to suit is narrative.
Restoration politics wasn’t all theatre and good cheer. Charles II, though famed for his hedonism, also fancied himself a man of science, keeping a private laboratory. In a final twist of tragic symbolism, it’s believed he might have accidentally poisoned himself with the very substances he was experimenting with.
The Reform experiment may become the country’s experiment.
Like Charles, Farage served his own form of exile, losing seven parliamentary elections before winning in Clacton last year. Often derided in the European Parliament, when he finally got what he wanted and the UK voted to leave the EU, he turned to the chamber and said: ‘You’re not laughing now.’
The question is: if Merry Monarch Farage were elected Prime Minister – would any of us be laughing then?
Thomas Munson is a political commentator and writer. He is a former aide to two Secretaries of State.
The Prime Minister used his conference speech this week to claim moral superiority over his most feared opponent, Nigel Farage.
Though in a markedly different tone, when Sir Keir Starmer stood at the steps of 10 Downing Street for the first time, he spoke in moralistic terms. Integrity, trust, duty… all words we might choose if we were playing Starmer Speech Bingo.
So used was he to lecturing the Conservatives from the opposition benches he turned, it seemed, to lecturing the country once in government. Faced with rising debt and a crisis in productivity, he set his sights on one of life’s great pleasures – smoking in pub gardens. The policy was so ill-thought out, punishing an already struggling hospitality sector, it was quickly dropped.
That his government reached for this, despite the fact it wouldn’t scratch the surface of the health service’s problems, spoke to a puritanical instinct. An instinct that led to early comparisons between the Prime Minister and our once Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell.
As The Telegraph’s Robert Tombs eloquently put it: ‘Such confidence in one’s own moral mission, and the dismissal of opponents as unrepentant sinners, is a formidable barrier to geniality […] Sir Keir’s rather leaden solemnity is therefore more than just a personality trait. It reflects the zeitgeist, our new Puritanism.’
In his latest battle against joviality, the Prime Minister has taken aim at the gambling sector.
While there is a bigger conversation to be had about the effects of online gambling, the planned hikes on duty – which do nothing to address problem gambling – penalise punters having a flutter and threatens to decimate the thousands of rural jobs associated with the British horse racing industry.
The Racing Post’s Richard Williams despaired that racing’s last hope may hinge on the fact the Prime Minister’s wife likes a day at the races.
While, to some, these seem like small things in their own right, together they create an image of doom and gloom, of puritanical government.
Unwittingly, Starmer has laid fertile ground. Ground that has been trodden previously.
After Cromwell died in 1658, his Commonwealth faltered. His son briefly inherited the Protectorate, but the republic collapsed. What followed was The Restoration and the return of the monarchy in the form of Charles II.
Charles II, who became known as the Merry Monarch, was invited back from exile. He reopened the theatres and was seen by many to have released the shackles of Cromwell’s puritanical rule.
This historical comparison goes someway in helping us understand the appeal of Nigel Farage. From Victorian moralism to Edwardian decadence; from post-war austerity to the swinging ‘60s. Britain has often moved between restraint and release, Cromwells and Charleses, Starmers and Farages.
In that vein, emboldened by their performance in the polls, the Reform Party conference was just that – a party. As The Spectator’s William Atkinson, put it, they seemed ‘high on their own supply’.
Brandishing flamboyantly blue suits – like the unofficial livery of a monarch-in-waiting – and taking the stage to theatrical bursts of dry ice, the message was one of optimism, for Reform if not the country.
Farage has long sought to cultivate a somewhat carefree, unmanaged image for himself. He unapologetically likes a drink and is one of the few British politicians of the modern age to be seen smoking frequently. Unlike Starmer, he even likes the horses.
Merry Monarch indeed.
But for all the simple solutions, all the feel-good factor, all the comforting reassurances that our prejudices are justified, Farage is a paradoxical figure.
I’m told by someone close to Farage’s circle that he has cut down on his smoking and is drinking less – although he still holds on to the image as ‘one of the lads’, even if his prop pint features less regularly. He accepts that lifestyle changes are necessary, if he is to continue campaigning up until the next General Election and beyond.
He is determined.
Beneath the down-to-earth exterior lies a ruthless political operator. Much like Shakespeare’s depiction of Mark Antony in Julius Caesar, Farage is adept at mobilising his base with one hand while appearing gregarious and disarming with the other.
This is the dichotomy of Farage – and the danger. He has a knack for making the unpalatable seem palatable and can move the dial of British politics to suit is narrative.
Restoration politics wasn’t all theatre and good cheer. Charles II, though famed for his hedonism, also fancied himself a man of science, keeping a private laboratory. In a final twist of tragic symbolism, it’s believed he might have accidentally poisoned himself with the very substances he was experimenting with.
The Reform experiment may become the country’s experiment.
Like Charles, Farage served his own form of exile, losing seven parliamentary elections before winning in Clacton last year. Often derided in the European Parliament, when he finally got what he wanted and the UK voted to leave the EU, he turned to the chamber and said: ‘You’re not laughing now.’
The question is: if Merry Monarch Farage were elected Prime Minister – would any of us be laughing then?