Stuart Wheeler, Ukip's paymaster, on Tories he fancies poaching, Boris and the danger of Farage overdose

Stuart Wheeler, who made his fortune in spread betting, is staking his chips on Ukip. Over dinner in west London, he tells Rafael Behr which Tory MPs he’d like to snatch from David Cameron’s grasp and why Nigel Farage should steer clear of the TV studios.

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Stuart Wheeler is heading for Las Vegas. The multimillionaire businessman is taking a week off from his duties raising money for Ukip to compete in the world poker championships. He doesn’t expect to win, he tells me over dinner at a sleek restaurant in west London. He plays for the fun of it.

For Wheeler to be a committed gambler while remaining very rich suggests a wellcalibrated feel for risk. But when it comes to politics, as with professional poker, he is a dabbler. He broke records by making the single largest donation ever to a UK party when he gave £5m to the Conservatives for their 2001 general election campaign, although he says he wasn’t much involved before then. “I didn’t become interested in politics until I was already an old man, in 2000. I was 65.”

Most of Wheeler’s life has been spent in business. He qualified as a barrister after graduating from Oxford but promptly moved into the City. Much of his fortune was made developing systems for spread betting on commodities. (Gambling is a persistent feature in his biography.) “My really close old friends are not politicians,” he tells me. “I’m interested in it, and it’s not my whole life.”

His voice is jovial and plummy, his complexion vivid pink under snow-white hair. He would be the very portrait of a Tory grandee, except he was expelled from the party in 2009 after donating £100,000 to Ukip. “It was quite reasonable of them to expel me,” says Wheeler. I detect disappointment but no rancour.

Ukip has a complex relationship with the Conservative Party: the antagonism laced with dependency that a rebellious teenager might feel towards a dismayed parent. While the newer party’s leadership insists it appeals across the political spectrum, much of its apparatus is staffed with Tory defectors – and it is disillusioned Tories whom Wheeler taps for donations.

“When I’m trying to raise money for Ukip the objection I get frequently is: ‘Well, you’re quite right, we ought to be out of the EU, and you’re quite right that [David] Cameron is being rather pathetic, but we can’t support you because you’ll let Labour in.’”

This is the line that Tory MPs say is most effective with their local activists – vote Farage, get Miliband. The system Wheeler has developed for overcoming this objection is to promise that money will be cordoned off in a special account for use only in the European elections in May 2014, thus allowing Tory donors to exert maximum pressure on Cameron next year without feeling treasonous come the 2015 general election. Do Tory donors take that deal? “Not all of them, some of them.” The maximum donation that can be made without a public declaration is £7,500, which means that “there are quite a few people who donate exactly £7,500”.

There is now an assumption around Westminster that Ukip will do very well in next May’s European poll, and could quite possibly win the highest share of the national vote. It says something about the surge in support that the party feels the need to manage expectations downwards. “I’m getting slightly nervous,” Wheeler says, “because people seem to be so confident we’ll win, it will almost look like a failure if we don’t.”

The other subject of Wheeler’s solicitude is Ukip’s dependency on Nigel Farage. The party’s recent growth is largely attributable to the efforts of its leader, who relentlessly hawks his plain-speaking affability around TV studios and public meetings. The frenetic pace is taking its toll. “Now we’re much bigger, he’s got to change a bit and allow other people to do some of it,” argues Wheeler. “Partly so he doesn’t get exhausted, although he’s got more energy than anyone I’ve ever met, and also we don’t want to be painted as a one-man band.”

Wheeler says that the rest of the Ukip high command are “bullying” Farage into taking things easier, dropping perhaps a quarter of his media appearances and concentrating more on building party structures and developing policy. “He’s got to have some time to do other things leaders have to do. He’ll drive himself into the ground if he’s not careful.”

The reliance on Farage’s personality expresses a curious contradiction about Ukip. The leader is a well-spoken, public-schooleducated former stockbroker. Wheeler is an Old Etonian. He lives in a Jacobean castle in Kent with his wife, the photographer Tessa Codrington. One of their three daughters, the model Jacquetta Wheeler, had her wedding photographs in Vogue.

It is a pedigree that does not sit obviously with the party’s depiction as a kind of anti-Westminster, anti-establishment, commonman insurgency. Does Wheeler feel the disparity? He is baffled by the question, choosing instead to address the related, but different charge that Ukip is a vehicle for protest votes.

“It’s not just protest. We genuinely think we should be out of the EU and genuinely think we should cut immigration.” There follows an exposition of party policy towards foreigners, encapsulated in the peroration: “If you want to come and live here, you’re very sensible because it’s a nice place but sorry, we’re full, and over the next five years, with very few exceptions – I can’t even remember what they are – you can’t.”

Is it not worrying when that message attracts extreme elements? Ukip may not see itself as a racist party, but there are racists and far-right ideologues who vote for the party and join it. “Commentators, journalists and so on regard us as far . . .” – here Wheeler stops himself – “. . . as right-wing, but our voters, I’m told, don’t think that at all. Some think we’re left-wing.”

Really? In what way? “I don’t know, to be honest. But we’re going flat out – I suppose I’m changing the subject here – over the next six months for a Labour vote. We think we can do well in Labour areas.”

This is the strategic point that he wants to get into the conversation, although the digression is executed with a crunching of gears. Ukip is keen to show that it is not just a renegade army of excommunicated Tories, but an autonomous party that might one day end up in government. Yet Wheeler is realistic about what can be achieved at the next general election. “It’s perfectly possible we’ll get no seats in a Westminster election at all. It’s also possible we’ll get a few . . . but look what happened to the Scottish Nationalists. They got a few seats and suddenly they’re in control in Scotland.”

Yet, for all the talk of spanning the political spectrum, Wheeler embodies the strain of Ukip feeling that is essentially the outraged anti-Cameron Tory party-in-exile. The Conservatives would love to have him back. “I go to a lot of events and very often there’s a Conservative minister speaking and they’re always very polite and say, ‘Oh, we’ve got to get you back in the fold,’ and all that kind of thing. I don’t think it’s very likely.”

The official Ukip line is that there is no truck to be had with the Tories while David Cameron is in charge. Wheeler dismisses the Prime Minister as someone who lacks vision and whose “main objective is to live in 10 Downing Street”.

So who does he rate in the Tory party? Liam Fox, whom Wheeler backed in the 2005 leadership contest, gets an honourable mention. So does Owen Paterson, the Environment Secretary, who is the most outspoken Eurosceptic in the cabinet. He likes David Davis (but describes him as “probably on the way down”) and, “at the other end of the spectrum”, Jesse Norman, the MP who organised the rebellion against House of Lords reform. Norman, I note, is sometimes spoken of as a future Conservative leader. Wheeler ponders, then agrees. “Yes, yes . . . I’d have thought he was a possible leader.”

The name that always comes up in this kind of political dinner-table speculation – and by this stage we are on coffee and dessert – is Boris Johnson. Wheeler is a fan. “He’s a very possible alternative leader. He does flipflop a bit about the EU but he’s very bright.”

So, could the Mayor of London take vital votes back from Ukip? “I think that’s right. And maybe not only Ukip . . . I think he probably would do quite a good job, actually. But it’s difficult to know – as prime minister, I mean. As for winning the vote, he’d do a good job there.”

Ukip’s fortunes, it seems, are closely pegged to Cameron’s leadership of the Tories, because he inspires a particular animus among disaffected Conservatives – including some MPs. One of Wheeler’s functions has been discreetly dining with potential defectors. There has been interest but no deals have been closed. He is sworn to secrecy on the identities of those who have taken up his dinner invitations but that doesn’t preclude naming dream candidates. One is Douglas Carswell, the MP for Clacton, who is a vocal advocate of Britain leaving the EU. “We’d love Douglas Carswell to defect. Or Dan Han - nan [a fiercely Eurosceptic Tory MEP]. Those are two very good ones.”

Why, I wonder, when these people seem such a natural fit with Ukip, have they not made the leap? “Even in Douglas Carswell’s case, he might lose his seat if he defected to us, and in Dan Hannan’s case, I don’t know,” Wheeler muses. “He must be thinking about it all the time.”

Though there is no doubting the disorientating effect Ukip has had on the Tories, there is also a feeling around Westminster that the mood has stabilised and that, with the exception of a few irreconcilable troublemakers, Conservative MPs are passing through a loyal phase. Cameron’s promise of an EU referendum and his support for a symbolic backbench bill in parliament reaffirming that pledge have soothed Tory nerves. Is it possible, I ask Wheeler, that the Prime Minister’s strategy of renegotiating the terms of EU membership and putting the result to a referendum might in fact be quite popular?

“Oh yes. Well, there are two very different kinds of Eurosceptic attitudes. One is ours: we say it’s ridiculous to renegotiate if you plainly won’t get anything . . . the others, who are probably almost as keen to get out as we are, say we should renegotiate. They say the reason is that it might get some very substantial changes, which would make it worth staying in, but I think possibly that’s not the real position. The real attitude is: let’s get out and the best way to get out is to show that renegotiation is useless and that we can’t get anything. And then voters will be much more inclined to vote to come out. And I understand that point of view.”

He suggests this strategy of ushering the public to the EU exit with a charade of seeking concessions is what motivates not only Tory MPs but senior figures in Business for Britain, a group of business leaders calling for the return of powers from Brussels. It is quite an allegation. Does he know that’s what they think? “They don’t put it that way.”

Sometimes Wheeler remembers that Ukip has evolved beyond demanding only that Britain quit the EU. He points me to polling by Michael Ashcroft, another disappointed Tory financier, that mined the attitudes of Ukip voters and found them far more preoccupied with immigration, crime and general contempt for politics.

And yet, when Wheeler talks about those other topics, his dilettantish side is most on show. As we discuss welfare he seems not to recognise the term “universal credit” (the government’s flagship policy in the area). On other areas of social policy he demurs, saying he has views but they are not Ukip policy. When we talk about the economy he reminds me often that he is not an economist. Even when I ask him about the Labour Party and Ed Miliband, he concedes that his knowledge base is thin.

“I’d say that question brings out the point that there’s a lot in common with the Conservatives that we have.” For all that Ukip’s officially declared strategy is to stand equidistant from Labour and the Tories – mopping up the disaffected voters of each – I sense that at a deep institutional and cultural level the party is a prodigal son of the Conservative family. When Wheeler considers the prospects of a Tory majority at the next election, it is not through the eyes of an ideological enemy but as a semi-professional gambler.

“Last time I looked, the bookmakers were laying 4-1 against that. Actually, I think that’s too much. I think they’re unlikely to do it, but I don’t think it’s 4-1.”

It sounds as if he might yet be persuaded to take a punt on his old party.

A marching band of Nigel Farages. Illustration: Nick Hayes for the New Statesman

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 15 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Machiavelli

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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