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"Here" is Boisdale Belgravia, one of London’s more expensive restaurants and a regular Farage haunt. He’s out on the smoking terrace, fag in hand and a bottle of claret on the way. It’s 4pm on a Thursday.
Other customers include one of the richest members of the House of Lords and sundry other tycoons, several of whom pop by our table to shake hands, invite him to things, and, in one case, bum a fag.
He is utterly comfortÂable, laughing easily and often: this is home ground. He is among friends. He has an entourage, too: a couple of media handlers, an assistant and a security man.
As the wine is uncorked, he tells his PA to book flights to Washington a few days later "for meetings", then a connection to New York for television interviews. This is a fairly typical week: when I ask him where he actually lives, he replies, "I’m nomadic these days."
So, how’s retirement from politics working out, then? "Fantastic," he says raising his glass and explaining that of course, when he said he was leaving politics, he only meant party politics. Ukip may have been the vehicle that he built and then rode to fame, but he really, really doesn’t miss leading it.
"I am having a great time. I am not having to deal with low-grade people every day, I am not responsible for what our branch secretary in Lower Slaughter said half-cut on Twitter last night – that isn’t my fault any more. I don’t have to go to eight-hour party executive meetings.
"I don’t have to spend my life dealing with people I would never have a drink with, who I would never employ and who use me as a vehicle for their own self-promotion. There are a lot of great people in Ukip. The problem is that Ukip has become a bit like the other parties: people view it as a means to get elected."
...
Money is important to Farage. A former City trader who counts numerous seriously wealthy people as friends and admirers, he can sound like a man who has a rather skewed idea of what’s normal when it comes to wealth.
"Half my colleagues, my old contemporaries in the City, are now worth real money," he notes.
What’s "real money"? ‘Well, I had lunch with a friend on Sunday, he’s worth 60. Some of my very clever friends are worth 300 or 400,’ he says, meaning millions of pounds.
"I have no regrets about being poor." You’re poor? With an MEP’s salary of £85,000 plus expenses and a wife on the payroll, you’re poor? What would those northern Labour voters think of that? "Yeah, I am," he says, sounding surprisingly defensive. Then there’s a big laugh that feels a little forced and he retreats.
There is more of it.