The Campaign Diary of Robert Kenyon Aged 41 and Three-Quarters (as imagined by John Crace)

A nother sweltering sub-Saharan summer’s day in late spring. If this is global warming, I say: “Bring it on.” I go outside to the van, turn on the engine and leave it running. This is the kind of day you want to burn as many fossil fuels as possible. Back indoors, I turn on the radio where Tony Blair is talking . There’s a politician who talks sense. Bollocks to net zero. That’s what I say. It stands to reason. I mean, think back to the ice age. Let’s face it, there weren’t that many international flights a day while the Neanderthals were alive – five or six at most – and the world still got a whole lot hotter. So it’s all just woke nonsense. Make a note in my diary to ask if Tony is free to come up to Makerfield to do some door-knocking. WhatsApp from Nigel. He’s running 10 minutes late and says he will meet me in the local cafe along with a couple of photographers and a tame reporter. Decide to check my emails while I’m waiting. There’s one from Carol Vorderman . Turns out she’s moaning about me saying how fit she was online. And the rest! Some women just can’t take a compliment. The world is going mad. I guess she must just be going through the menopause or something. What does she want me to say? That I didn’t fancy her? Make your mind up, love. Then there’s the email from Danny Kruger. Of course there is. He messages me every day. Always the same. …