The wind was certainly taken out of the Tory turbines at last month's Eastleigh by-election, when Ukip took 28 per cent of the vote and beat the Tories into third place. The result has transformed the political perceptions of the party and the man. National polling puts Ukip at 17 per cent. Farage, the clown figure on the fringes, best known for reliably delivering scabrous sound bites, gleefully taking potshots at Europhiles and grinning more than is seemly for any elected representative, has morphed into an homme sérieux.
He may have caused uproar and hilarity when he addressed the newly chosen President of the EU and former prime minister of Belgium with the words: "I don't want to be rude, but, you know, really, you have the charisma of a damp rag and the appearance of a low-grade bank clerk." He may have later raised the roof by making an apology – to bank clerks everywhere. But when the former commodities trader was summoned to a dinner a week ago with media mogul Rupert Murdoch and emerged, bumptiously announcing that he might consider a deal with the Tories, but only if they ditch Cameron, nobody laughed. Quite the opposite.
"Our effect on the Tories is more psychological than arithmetical," says Farage, with (slightly suspect) generosity, who, incidentally, would be minded to do business with Michael Gove on the grounds "he doesn't just talk, he listens. If you drill down into the polls at Eastleigh and Corby and Rotherham and Middlesbrough, you'll see a third of our voters were Tories. The rest were Lib Dems and fascinatingly, a significant number of people who haven't voted for years but were engaged enough to come out and support us – that's hardly a protest vote, is it?"
Political adversaries might snipe that Ukip's crowd-pleasing policies on Europe (get us out!) and immigration (get Johnny Foreigner out!), education (more grammars!) and law and order (more slammers!) read like they were scribbled on a beer mat. But its pint and a ploughman's simplicity plays very well with disillusioned voters across the spectrum. "Why is it deemed Right-wing to want to govern your own country and make your own laws and have trade agreements with Europe, but not be ruled by it?" cries Farage, rhetorically, lighting up again and leaning back in his chair.
Farage's public profile appears to be following a similar trajectory to that of his fellow Eurosceptic Boris Johnson, former bumbling savant turned statesman-in-waiting. Like Johnson, Farage has built a reputation on maverick straight-talking. Like Johnson he possesses a love him or loathe him recognisability. And he too is inexorably moving from the status of a loose cannon to a sharp-shooting contender with the heart of the establishment in his crosshairs.
"A lot of the rubbish written about us, Judith, is based on the fundamental misjudgment that we are anti-Europe," he says, jerking forward again. Sorry, Nigel, what was that? You look pretty "anti" from where I'm sitting. In your Brussels office you keep a coffin that you once used to bury the euro, complete with last rites and holy water. "We're not anti-Europe! That would be moronic! Nor do we believe that Sodom and Gomorrah begins at Calais. Europe is vibrant and exciting, which is why I stand against its harmonisation, homogenisation and pasteurisation. When I first came here in 1999 I thought Britain was a square peg in a round hole. Then in 2005, when the European constitution was rejected by the French and Dutch, the EU response was just to ignore them. That's when I realised I wanted to get the whole of Europe out of the European Union. Here they are building a superpower which, of course, is doomed to failure, but is also, I honestly think, a very dangerous project. These people are fanatics."
In the pot-calling-the-kettle pause that follows, let us take a quick overview of Farage. Born and raised in Kent, he attended Dulwich College and then became a metals trader where he gained a taste for expensive booze, lapdancing clubs and a reputation for preposterous optimism. He has two adult sons from his first marriage; one a high flier in international accountancy, the other "black sheep" followed his father into the City. His second wife, Kirsten, is German and their daughters, aged seven and 12, are being brought up bilingual, which nicely spikes the guns of those who would charge him with blanket xenophobia. Having cheated death on three occasions – a car accident, testicular cancer and an aeroplane crash during the 2010 election, his carpe diem ebullience is as irrepressible as his wilful insistence on chain-smoking is incomprehensible.
"The people that run us now have had a gilded existence," he opines, mournfully. "I know what it's like to run my own business and employ people and work hard. I know what it is to be broke; I like to believe I've got a reasonable idea of how real folk think and what their priorities are," he says. This 007 drives a Volvo estate, partly because he needs a capacious boot for his fishing tackle but mostly because he's brassic. Or at least relatively so.
"If I'd stayed in commodities I'd have been there for the boom – some of my friends are worth millions. But the day Britain signed the Maastricht Treaty I knew I had to do something. So here I am, earning half the salary of my local GP and, having put four kids through private education, completely skint."
The European media loves Farage because he has a fire in his belly conspicuously absent from Euro-politicos. Not only is he charismatic, in a faintly camp way, but he gives the impression that unlike career politicians he is motivated by principle rather than power.
This makes him admirable to Joe Public – who watch him in their tens of thousands on YouTube – and a pain to mainstream politicians. Proper policies to tackle the deficit demand detail – something that Farage admits is not his strong suit. How much easier to turn voters' heads with stirring talk of sovereignty and the sunny uplands of self-determination, free from red tape and Bulgarians.
At the peripatetic European Parliament, which meets in Brussels and Strasbourg, Farage leads the European Freedom and Democracy group, a loose affiliation of variously rabid Eurosceptic parties who, individually, would have little clout, but together can command speech time and the services of a central secretariat. It also earns him a plum position in the front row, which, with exquisite, excruciating irony turns out to be the seat next to Jose Manuel Barroso, the European Commission President.
Although Ukip hasn't progressed much beyond a one-man band – both female MEPs defected amid accusations of Stalinism, sexism and general nefariousness – Farage is keen to increase the profile of the deputy leader, Paul Nuttall, a working-class Liverpudlian. By all accounts with a little extra push – and Farage as the jaunty poster boy – Ukip could have taken Eastleigh. So, Nigel, why didn't you stand? Were you running scared?
"Winning a seat would have been very good in the short term, but a very bad mistake in the medium and long term. I want to lead Ukip into the European elections next year and I can't do that sitting on the back benches. I believe we've got the opportunity to come first across the UK. It's about momentum."
His sights aren't just set on Europe, as the Tories know; but his strategy is one shrewdly borrowed from the Left, entryism. "The way we will break into Westminster is as a consequence of having council seats," says Farage. "We are going to be fielding a lot of candidates in the forthcoming county council elections. I'm about to spent a fortnight touring Britain on a bus, spreading the message – and I'm going to love every minute of it."
We should believe him. Farage's key weapon lies in his immense personability. On Question Time he comes across as a contrarian, ergo a beacon of common sense. Across a lunch table he is fabulously indiscreet, gossipy and great company. So for this 007, glad-handing the locals in pedestrian precincts the length of the land will be a steal. Other parties may insist they are concerned about Europe too, but Nigel will be neither shaken nor stirred because we all know he flagged it up first.
That's what makes him such a headache to Tory strategists. Is he a zealot? Is he a prophet? And does it matter? After all, come the local, the European, the national elections, a protest vote has the same weight as any other vote.
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