It’s early on election day, and I am sitting in the back of a Kilburn minicab. The driver’s got a gorgeous Italian accent – newly arrived from the south, he tells me. We quickly get onto politics. Now there is an old African proverb that a betrothed should never let both cheeks of their buttocks be seen at the same time, and I of course believe that this vital principle of non-transparency should apply to political preferences. But I can’t hold out.

“Who are you going to vote for?” I ask the driver. He eyeballs me in the rear view mirror. “UKIP,” he says. Natch, his expression is saying.

“What ...


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