I have just spent a week in the province of Cádiz, whose wide beaches and cool climate the Mediterranean coast cannot compete with. Here in Barcelona, I cannot live without air conditioning. There it is superfluous. The ocean breezes tame the strength of the sun.
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But the best thing is the absence of English tourists.
That was what a couple of Australian friends I had dinner with on Wednesday in the beautiful white village of Vejer de la Frontera said. They live in London but have been vacationing here for over 30 years. Not having to endure the drunkenness, bad manners, that touch of xenophobia and absurd cultural superiority that so many English holidaymakers display was one of the main reasons why the two “aussies” were delighted to take refuge on the Cádiz coast.
Not all English people are repellent. They have their good qualities, among them a sense of humor. The world is better thanks to the existence of Monty Python , Fawlty Towers , Yes, Minister and Blackadder . And now, to Count Binface, the Count Trash Can Face.
Binface is not a fictional character from a television show. He is real, to a certain extent. His close friends know what he is really like (they say he is a radio scriptwriter named Jon Harvey) but he has only been seen in public dressed as a superhero, his head covered with a huge silver trash can. He insists that he comes from a planet called Sigma IX, that he is the leader of a species called the “Recyclons” and that he is 5,900 years old. But he has become the most relevant British political figure of the moment, or at least the one talked about the most.
He has been interviewed on the BBC and all the other major radio, television, or press media in the United Kingdom. Over the past month, articles about him have been published in the most important newspapers in the world. Why? Because he has become, without seeking it, the main bulwark against the far right, specifically against the incendiary Nigel Farage, the Donald Trump, the Santiago Abascal, the Javier Milei of the British Isles.
Binface is not a fictional character from a television show. He is real, to a certain extent
Farage was the main driver of Brexit, an enemy of immigrants, whether from Spain, Poland, or Senegal. Last week he took advantage of the chaos in Ceuta to declare that there was “a battle for the future of our civilization” there. Friend of Trump (of course) and a declared admirer of Vladimir Putin, Farage suddenly finds himself in a battle for his own political future. Having been considered a possible British prime minister a couple of months ago, according to polls, he is now in crisis, investigated by a parliamentary committee for money corruption and abuse of power. He is accused of having received an illicit donation of six million euros from a fellow party member who was imprisoned for eight months in the United States for fraud.
Farage struggled to come up with an explanation. Questioned by the media, he declared that the money was for personal use (“I can buy Ferraris with it, if I want”), that it was a reward for having led the successful Brexit campaign, and that “What’s it to you?”. Against the ropes, he opted for what he thought would be a brilliant move. He resigned as a member of parliament and announced that he would run again as a candidate in his Clacton constituency, the heart of the English far right.
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“This is the Great Britain of tracksuits and sneakers,” said The Times of London about Clacton, “the Great Britain of tattoo parlors, the Great Britain of all our yesterdays.” A Great Britain, it could have added, that concentrates the vulgarity that so disgusts us in Spain from English tourists.
Farage had described the special election he forced in Clacton, which will be held next Thursday, as a referendum: me Nigel, the true representative of the people, against the evil establishment. Only the establishment understood what it was about and none of the main British parties—neither the Conservatives, nor the Labour Party, nor the Liberal Democrats—has presented a candidate in Clacton. They have boycotted the plebiscite. Farage’s main rival will be Count Binface.
Binface is part of a long British tradition of presenting satirical electoral candidates, people who laugh at themselves and, precisely, at the establishment, which in turn expresses the deep confidence that the inhabitants of the islands have in their old and venerable democratic system. There has been a party for 50 years called The Monster Raving Loony Party, which would translate roughly as “the completely crazy monster party.” So far, none of these surreal but friendly outsiders has won a parliamentary seat. Binface could break the losing streak, or so the saner sector of the English national electorate wishes.
What policies does the Count represent? According to his manifesto, abolish automatic renewal of online subscriptions, limit the price of a popular ice cream called “99 Flake” to 99 pence (a little over one euro), link ministers’ salaries to those of nurses for 100 years, and ban noisy snacks in cinemas and theaters. In the specific case of his current electoral campaign, Binface promises that if elected as a member of parliament in Westminster, he will donate any income he earns outside his political activity to charities and that for every day he spends on vacation abroad, he will spend ten in Clacton, attentive to the concerns of its citizens.
He has only been seen in public disguised, his head covered with a silver trash can
Binface maintains that voting for him is voting for a “serious” candidate. “The goal is never to ridicule democracy, but bad government,” says the extraplanetary superhero. Asked this week the main reason why Clacton voters should vote for him, he replied, “Because I am not Nigel Farage.”
What that means is offering irreverence, a smile, and kindness as an alternative to the global trend represented by Farage, whose formula consists of appealing to fear, anger, and resentment. It is unlikely that Binface will win, but if he did, I propose that all those who would have voted for him come with me to Cádiz next summer. I will buy them all the pints of beer they want.
