The portrait of a local MP in a top hat on the sign is evidence of his fame. Posted by JAY WILLIAMS
Driving through Sir Jacob Rees-Mogg's car we arrive at the Chelwood roundabout on the A37, where someone has painted a sign with a portrait of the local MP in a top hat. Sir Jacob says he has no idea who did it, for or against. It's a testament to his fame: voters honk, wave from windows or ask for selfies.
Earlier, a man who demanded to be photographed said: “My father is obsessed with you”, convincing me that I wasn't in Somerset at all. Join me on a day trip to Moghistan.
It all starts at Gurney Court, West Harptree, where Sir Jacob lives with his wife Helena, six children and dog Daisy. The house is from the 17th century and has room for ponies, as Hyacinth Bucket used to say. This must be my first time sleeping on a bed with steps.
Sean, the Rees-Moggs factotum (Sir Jacob's words, not mine), brings breakfast on a tray. Below, the candidate rushes to the canvas. He wears, as always, a double-breasted suit. What if it gets really hot? “I have a white suit.” And Panama? “Oh, yeah. Or even sunscreen.”
I ask if this look is his “signature” and he laughs, “Do you think anyone in their right mind would dress like that? like me, for the sake of conscious strategy? They must be crazy. It's a “habit”: what you see is what you get. “If I didn't wear a tie, my head would probably fall off.”
Sir Jacob skips breakfast. I've never seen him eat vegetables. He is horrified when I eat a banana (he finds the fruit slimy and unpleasant). The candidate eats instant coffee, which has the consistency of tar. I tried one sip and felt the organ evaporate.
In the car we discuss the constituency battle, which many see as the big battle in the southwest. On paper, north-east Somerset and Hanham look safe; In 2019, Sir Jacob won a majority of 15,000. However, from 1997–2010 most of the area was held by the Labor Party under the leadership of an MP called Dan Norris, and recent boundary reviews have added chunks of suburbia. What's more, Mr Norris is back for a rematch – he is now mayor of a Labor Party government called West of England, which Sir Jacob calls “a complete waste of time and money.”
Even those voters who do not know about the upcoming elections have heard of Sir Jacob
Somerset, you know, is “a much more comfortable and pleasant place than London.” The locals, who speak in a soft ooh-ar, are invariably “good-natured.” At a roundabout, everyone will let you pass. The flip side, the only hint of anxiety I see, is that it doesn't show. “Never believe what MPs and candidates tell you about the mood on the doorstep, because most voters are polite.”
We visit Longwell Green, an attractive semi-processed area on a busy road leading into rolling hills, and a conversation with a 25-year-old man sets the tone. Did he know there were elections going on? “No.” Has he heard of Sir Jacob Rees-Mogg? “Yes.”
There are some negative reactions to Sir Jacob's walk. One woman criticizes him for supporting fracking. The hardline Labor supporter regrets not being able to support him, although when asked to elaborate on his own philosophy, he says Britain is a “nothing country” due to high taxes and a worn-out army. “Everyone talks about global warming, but I've never seen it this cold.”
To my surprise, I estimate that one in ten people say: “Bring back Boris”; some are even refusing to vote for Tory because of his sacking. Local activists compare it to the old “Bring Back Maggie” refrain, suggesting Boris embodied something solid that the Tories liked and resented losing. Boris and Sir Jacob have that rare political quality of being known by name; Both are ridiculed as eccentrics, but they are completely in on the joke.
At the Conservative Association headquarters, where I stop for lunch with Greggs, I go into the toilet and find a framed picture of the girl from Page Three on the wall. It commemorates the time Sir Jacob was accused of plagiarizing a Sun columnist, and 'Claire' tells readers: 'I'm glad this deception has been exposed! What impudence!” Her nipples are covered with a “Conservative” sticker.
A triptych of Churchill, Sir Jacob and Boris takes pride of place at the headquarters. Curiously, Sunak has not yet been added.
Sir Jacob knocks on doors during the election campaign
During the election campaign, Sir Jacob knocks on the ground floor apartment. The woman answers and laughs: “I feel terrible,” she says, “I saw you passing by the window and thought it must be a funeral. You're wearing a suit and tie! “I should wear a bigger socket,” says Sir Jacob. Husband joins us: This man, bucking the trend, stopped voting Tory when Boris became leader, so Sir Jacob, who has been praising Boris until now, now asks whether it matters that Rishi became Prime Minister.
It's not. “The country is a mess.” Immigration, etc. “We are old and cynical,” concludes the husband. “Nonsense,” says Sir Jacob, pointing to his wife: “This is a child bride!”
This kind of flattery takes him very far: he reminds people that age is a number, praises gardens, thanks care workers, of which there are many, for their hard work. On one road we meet a family also named Mogg – “we must be cousins,” Sir Jacob insists, “we are a rare breed” – and on another, a man who laid carpets in his house childhood. Those without a personal connection will recognize him from television and the reach of his GB News show is obvious. “I see you on GBNews,” laughs a man in the car park, clearly greeting the hero. The remaining channels, he says, are “dog crap” and biased, contrary to what Ofcom thinks.
After hours of Oscars red carpet-style gatherings, I'm convinced Sir Jacob will sneak home on the 4th of July. But with his trademark modesty – he wears it like a bulletproof vest against vanity – he insists he “never takes the view that the majority thinks much of me personally.” Elections are decided by “national events… And national polls are not entirely encouraging.”
Sacking Boris didn't improve the Conservative numbers, he suggests: Johnson at least had a “mandate” and “MPs who took that mandate away willy-nilly [were] disrespectful to the electorate.” But this election “isn't 1997”: Starmer's treatment of Diane Abbott is a classic example of why Mr. Flip Flops doesn't appeal to a skeptical public. If anything, the Tories are about to lose as the players become increasingly right-wing, as evidenced by their views on immigration and zero balance.
Unite the Right
Sir Jacob would like to reunite the right and even entice Nigel Farage into his party. “Nigel is clearly a Tory” and he would like to see him not just being a back-up player but “playing a leading role”. The problem with the Conservative Party is that after 2005, “there was a big effort to emulate New Labour, suggesting that you can take your right flank for granted, and some on the right don't like to be taken for granted.” a given… Imitation of New Labour.” in any case, did not bring us a majority in 2010.”
That same year, when he first tried to qualify for North East Somerset, someone important contacted the association and said that they were allowed to choose anyone they liked, as long as his name was not Sir Jacob Rees-Mogg. This pretty much guaranteed his nomination.
We walk through his rose garden, planted near the barn he has converted into a private chapel, and I ask if the Catholic faith we share makes us strangers. “I think Toryism and Catholicism go very well together,” he insists, but historically they have not. The more passionately Sir Jacob declares his belief in tradition, the more he sounds like a radical, since the conservative hierarchy has long since stopped believing in much. One Nation Tories don't like Sir Jacob because he is everything they've spent their whole lives trying not to be – and what's worse, as far as I can see, the public prefers him to them.
Before dinner, Sir Jacob lights the fire and his two boys – Peter and Thomas – play indoor invisible cricket, with their father keeping score. Sometimes the boys pretend to break an invisible egg on his head, and vice versa. They love him and, like everyone who does, they see the funny side in him—they even imitate his accent when his rrrs threaten to roll off the edge of the table. Dinner is a mince pie followed by a choice of raspberry fool or applesauce in custard known as apple duff. Pictures of bishops and statesmen look approvingly at the creation of a happy lifestyle.
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