About a year ago, over a pint with Nigel Farage, it became clear that our little attempt to get on with our lives was over. He had been sounding out a few people and the bald reality had struck home. The Prime Minister, despite her repeated mantra of leaving by 29th March was going to let us down. Farage had always said that 'if they made a Horlicks of it I would have to return'. They had, so we would have to.
Wearily at first, but with gathering purpose, people across the country started rummaging in their cupboards, sheds and under the stairs. We weren't looking for greaves and breastplates, nor rusty halberds, but pulling out notebooks and files of addresses and contacts. By 29th March we were ready. The Brexit Party was born.