There were twin Christmas trees outside 4 Millbank, the block of offices where broadcasters have their Westminster studios. On the pavement was a large group of photographers and a smaller group of hacks, waiting for one of the great seasonal traditions: the unveiling of the political sugar daddy.

Nigel Farage, the TV presenter and occasional member of parliament, had promised to arrive with the new treasurer of the Reform Party. Pleasingly for fans of utter shamelessness, the people’s party is now being bankrolled by one of the country’s richest property developers, Nick Candy. 

If you’re not familiar with Candy, he and his brother Christian made their fortune by surfing the explosion of property values and cheap debt over the last 30 years, ascending the ladder to a place you might not have guessed existed. To describe the central London apartments as “luxury” is simply not to do them justice. They’re sold to people wearing watches that cost more than your house. These are properties that the rest of us aren’t even classy enough to burgle.

With slightly more bodyguards than accompany the former prime minister, Farage appeared

The Candy lads are rich enough to afford a lot of lawyers, so we’ll say right now that their business affairs are transparent, their taxes paid, and that even though a good chunk of their clients have surnames that end in “ov”, all the money paid for Candy properties is honestly come by, the result of oligarchs and emirs putting in an honest day’s toil on the shop floor.

More than that, let’s make it clear right now that there will be no jokes in this sketch about Candy making his donation to Farage in roubles, or in a briefcase full of small, non-sequential bills. If Farage says it’s above board, that should be good enough for you.

We might note though, that few, if any, Candy developments are in Clacton, the constituency that Farage loves and visits almost as much as he does Florida. We might also point out that much of the Reform Party leader’s shtick is about how Britain is run by an elite who are detached from the reality of ordinary people’s lives, which sounds like a pretty good description of the Candy client list.

It was bitterly cold, and we had a wait for them to join us. Finally, a pair of Range Rovers pulled up. This was it, we thought, but the passenger turned out to be Theresa May. Then, with slightly more bodyguards than accompany the former prime minister, Farage appeared, walking towards us along with a man dressed in expensively elegant casualwear. They posed for photographs — though disappointingly Candy hadn’t brought along a huge stunt cheque — then we were granted a few questions. 

Farage turned first to GB News, who cover his party with the sort of critical scrutiny more usually associated with biographers of the late Queen. The channel employs Farage at a rate of around £3,000 an hour, which coincidentally is roughly what it will cost you to park your Ferrari under one of Candy’s buildings. 

“We can’t fight big national campaigns without money,” Farage declared. “We need ammunition.”

Candy was asked why he’d stopped supporting the Conservatives. “I love Boris Johnson, he was treated very badly,” he replied, demonstrating the kind of character judgement that makes you comfortable selling property to people whose Wikipedia entries have quite long entries under “human rights”. He went on: “He’s a dear friend. I went to his 60th birthday.” It’s hard to know what Johnson might see in an extremely rich man with a weakness for politicians. 

Possibly the same thing Farage does. Candy would later describe the Reform leader in almost exactly the same terms. “He started as a dear friend, a close, close friend, and he’s still a dear friend,” he said, before uttering possibly the most astonishing sentence broadcast in any language this year: “My kids call him Uncle Nigel.” That promises a rich vein of exploration in years to come for the Candy daughters’ therapists.

Farage, Candy told us, was our next prime minister. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t 100 per cent certain of that.” There’s a reality distortion field around the Reform leader that means we get more stories about whether he, with five MPs, is on course to be prime minister than we do about Ed Davey, who has 72. But it also applies to his fans. Candy, for instance, told GB News that the Farage government for which he and the channel are so desperate will deliver two things: much lower taxes and a much-improved National Health Service. Candy has promised to raise £40million for Reform before the next election. Perhaps they can spend some of it on policy development.