As seen in the New World

What are the vibes of Rupert Lowe? That’s the question on my mind as I arrive at his parliamentary office, and find the door ajar. The MP for Great Yarmouth is sitting on a quilted armchair, stock still and staring straight ahead.

‘Um? Hi? Rupert? It’s Claire Holden – you said to pop by at 1?’ Rupert jolts to life. ‘Thank you so much for coming, sit down. No stand up. Actually you should sit yourself down – never could do business with a man I’m not looking at eye to eye.’

‘Like I always say, a bird in the hand is worth a premium fountain pen’

I gingerly take my seat, notes app ready. ‘So, Rupert. Clearly Andy Burnham will have to deal with the bond markets. And it seems like they have a lot of control over our lives now.’ Rupert is nodding eagerly. ‘And the point that Brexiteers like yourself made was “Take back control”, so isn’t there a sort of contradiction there? Maybe?’

‘Well,’ says Rupert, still nodding. ‘Well, if it’s bonds you’re after, we’ll obviously need a bit of seed capital as they call it in the biz. Sorry that’s just non-negotiable, full stop. Luckily I’ve got a City friend who now lives down in Deal, he can get us a bridging loan without any of the usual hoo-ha. But I will need your solicitor’s Christian name. Now, how familiar are you with the brokerage houses?’

Rupert now seems to be looking through me rather than at me. ‘But why stop there? If you’re serious about this venture, which I assume you are since you’ve taken time out of my busy schedule by visiting me in my place of business, then I assume we’re already on the same page. Now, here’s the situation. I’ve got six refrigeration units up in an industrial estate near Salcombe. If we can get the stock moving no later than the third week of July, then we should be firing on all cylinders. Leave it any later and some sodding sub-clause in the lorry drivers’ contract kicks in and then we’re up a proverbial creek without the proverbial paddle. And to add to the fuss, the shipping manifests in the warehouse have sustained serious water damage due to shoddy workmanship and so will have to be thoroughly cross-referenced with the computerised records. And I’ll leave that to you.’

‘Sorry, Rupert, if I could j–,’ I squeak. Rupert carries on, undeterred. ‘Obviously you and I are going to have to look presentable. Sorry, that’s just how it works in the private sector. Now, I know a shop in Bombay that will cut you a new suit in three hours. They take the measurements, off you trot for some… tarka dal and maybe a Cobra beer in a local eatery, then you come back and there it is. Premium materials, efficient service. No sodding fuss.’

‘Sorry, Rupert,’ I try again. ‘What has it been like leading your own political party, Restore Britain?’

That seems to briefly shake him out of his reverie. ‘Political party?’ he says, in a faintly angry tone ‘What party? Frankly you’re talking utter cobblers. Sorry, I don’t care. A man should say what he means and mean what he sodding well says.’

A brief silence follows. ‘And look, I’ll plough through the Yellow Pages this afternoon to find us a sound underwriter. Worst comes to worst, I’ve got an old Jardine Matheson chum out in Hong Kong who can probably write us a letter of credit. Like I always say, a bird in the hand is worth a premium fountain pen.’

I suddenly find myself losing my temper. ‘Oh just say it already, say you want to send all the immigrants back and that you’re a neo-Nazi. I’ve got to file this by tomorrow morning, so let’s just cut to the chase. You think that women belong in the kitchen and you won’t support England because we have too many black players. Admit it.’

Rupert Lowe blinks several times, the mist never quite clearing from his eyes. ‘Immigrants? They’re entrepreneurial. Good chaps, so long as they integrate.’