“There comes a point in life when you realise that somehow you’ve taken the wrong path,” says a wistful Nigel Mirage as he sips gingerly on his mug of Horlicks in the Wivenhoe-based old people’s home in which he now resides.
“For far too long I thought a life of hatred, jealousy and petty small mindedness was the way to go, but then I realised that sometimes you’ve got to stop blaming everyone else for society’s woes and look at yourself.”
It’s quite a realisation for a man that just three months ago was suggesting that anyone that’s not English should be thrust up into a sack like something from Fifty Shades and thrown into the English Channel, but this is the new cuddly Nigel Barage – a man who’s realised the errors of his ways.
“It’s kind of ridiculous now that I look back at it. Everyone knows that asylum seekers are only here cos they’re life if so bloody awful elsewhere. You’ve got to be pretty desperate to live in places like Margate, Ashford or Dover, especially if you came from somewhere abroad where the weather’s nice. It just never really occurred to me before. And I guess it’s utter nonsense that I was suggesting that they get more benefits than us Brits do, cos everyone knows we’re pretty good at being good for nothing layabouts when we want to be.”
“I suppose the thing that really brought it home for me was going out on the campaign trail every day telling everyone to get Johnny Foreigner to do one, when in actually fact my wife is Jenny Foreigner. I know politicians are lying shits, but one thing I’m not is a hypocrite. Well, not any more now I’ve stopped the lying and scaremongering…”
Like a dog that knows it shouldn’t really have crapped on the kitchen floor, gorgeous Nigel is full of contrition and is trying to give something back after making such a mess and confusing so many sweet, simple souls.
“I’m truly sorry for what I’ve done and know that it was wrong in so many more ways than I can explain. So now it’s time to make up for it in whatever way I can. I’ve got myself a little paper round and give the money to the vicar – who’s also a foreign, and I’ve been doing what I can to help out at the local homeless shelter. There’s some fabulous Romanian fellas down there and they like a fag and a beer just like me. It’s funny when you realise how similar we all are really. Even the ones with hairy hands and gruff voices...”