Nigel Farage speaks at a Ukip public meeting at Old Basing Village Hall on April 9, 2014 in Basingstoke during the row over Maria Miller's expenses. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Farage should publish his accounts in full

Ukip denounces "smears" from the Times and claims its leader is "confident that he has abided by European parliamentary rules at all times". But will he offer transparency?

With Ukip riding as high as 20 per cent in the polls, and on course to finish first or second in next month's European elections, Nigel Farage is finally coming under the kind of scrutiny he has avoided for so long. Today's Times reveals that he is potentially facing a European investigation over the £15,500 he receives annually in MEP allowances to fund the Bognor Regis property where he lives rent-free. A former office manager told the paper that upkeep of the converted grain store amounts to no more than £3,000 a year, leaving around £12,000 apparently unaccounted for. 

A complaint has been filed to the EU anti-fraud office OLAF by a former Ukip official who wishes to remain anonymous due to "physical threats" allegedly made by other party officials against members who raised questions about Ukip finances. One of the party's former MEPs, Mike Nattrass, remarks: "You shove it down your trousers if you want to. The EU will never ask them to justify it. That’s the trouble with it. It goes into your bank account whether you want it or not."

Despite receiving a a general expenditure allowance of around £3,800 a month to rent and run an office, MEPs are not required to file receipts. But under EU guidelines, as the Times notes, spending is limited to "rent, water, electricity, heating, insurance and business rates. Stationery, office equipment, staff and communications come under separate spending categories."

Farage once boasted during a debate on Europe at the Foreign Press Association in 2009 of receiving nearly £2m in allowances since his election in 1999. Asked by then Labour MP Denis MacShane (who was later forced to resign his seat and jailed over fradulent receipts) how much he had received, he said: "It is a vast sum. I don't know what the total amount is but - oh lor - it must be pushing £2 million." 

In response to the Times report, Farage said: "I don't pay rent on the office but I obviously pay for everything else. Whether it's the burglar alarm or electricity. About £1,000 a month is roughly what it is. Exceptionally I put more money in as and when it's needed." Ukip has also issued a lengthy rebuttal to what it describes as "smears" from "the newspaper known as the mouthpiece of the political establishment". Here's the statement in full: 

Nigel Farage is confident that he has abided by European parliamentary rules at all times when spending allowances.

The Times has raised a number of 'fishing type' allegations, all of which lack substance as to their formulation and provide no substantive questions needing to be answered. In fact many of your questions are probably just as applicable to any of the other political parties contesting the forthcoming European Elections with figures and statements duly amended to suit.

The Lyminster office is not the sole address that incurs expenditure in the pursuance of Mr Farage’s job as an MEP, though it is the most important one. It is quite wrong to claim that he did not declare the rental arrangement with J. Longhurst LTD. until 2013. It has been in the register of members’ interests since 2003.

Jasna Badzak is a convicted fraudster serving a suspended sentence, whose allegations are unfounded and vexatious. She has never been a press secretary or confidant of Mr Farage’s. To allege that he has transferred EU funds to an offshore account is entirely untrue. Your use of her indicates that you are writing an article with a defined end by inventing a road to achieve that end.

Mr Martin Haslam never had any responsibility for EU money. He was, for a brief period responsible for the UKIP South East accounts.

In relation to UK based staff paid from EU funds, they are approved constituency managers in line with advice given to us by the members’ services in Strasbourg.

You are expected to quote this statement in full in any article you choose to publish.

If Farage, who has made hay from the Maria Miller scandal, is "confident that he has abided by European parliamentary rules at all times", there is an easy way to resolve the dispute: publish his accounts in full. Rather than throwing around threats to sue the Times (on what grounds it is unclear) and deriding "a politically motivated campaign by the establishment", he should remember that sunlight is the best disinfectant. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I'm playing sports again – but things just aren't cricket

I start the new season with red wine stains on my cap, a dodgy shoulder and a burnt nostril.

I’ve put my name up for the first match of the season, playing for that team of redoubtable cricketers, the Rain Men, named after their founder Marcus Berkmann’s book about a team of middle-aged and, er, “mixed-ability” players. The book was first published twenty years ago. Feel free to do some rudimentary maths.

I myself haven’t played for three years. I know this because when I go to get some new contact lenses – I don’t like the idea of running around in glasses, or having a cricket ball lodge them into my eyeballs – I am told I have not bought any since 2013. Yes, that would figure. I couldn’t play for much of 2013, and all of 2014, because two weekends a month I was busy with my children, and the other two I was busy with my lover. A game takes up a whole Sunday – one is committed, including travel and the post-match drink, for about ten hours, and that is too long to spend apart from your loved one, unless of course you are married or otherwise permanently settled and you see them all the time anyway.

In 2015 that restriction was lifted for me, but for some reason I spent that year being too sad to think about playing cricket and also far too unfit. I would occasionally walk long distances and do a few dozen desultory lifts of the dumb-bells in order to achieve even the beginnings of some kind of muscular definition, but in the end the lassitude took over and I thought that maybe the team, however ageing, could do without someone who gets a bit winded when walking down stairs.

Then a brief moment of optimism a couple of weeks ago, combined with a ray of what may possibly have been sunshine, inspired me to rejoin the fold. The team’s meticulously kept records, known among the members as “Sad Stats”, inform me that I have played only eight games for them; when one has played ten, one is eligible for a Rain Men cap, a properly made thing whose design and hooped colours are, in their air of having come from another age, seemingly designed specifically to enrage fast bowlers.

The cap I have says “Antigua, WI”. It’s a battered thing I bought on the island a few years ago, now stained, not sure how, with red wine, but which I will say is my own, fearlessly shed blood, should anyone ever ask. The idea is that, if I wear this cap, some idiot will think I have actually played for Antigua and am thus a force to be reckoned with. However, after a few deliveries, I suspect the opposition has decided that the “WI” stands for Women’s Institute rather than West Indies.

So I start my fitness training a week or so before the match. This involves a walk into town for dinner, followed by a single lift of the dumb-bells before I realise that The Thing That Is Wrong With My Right Shoulder is as bad as it was when it started, about a month ago. What is wrong with it? I can’t move my arm above shoulder height, but I can’t think of any strain I could have put on it. Can you get cancer of the shoulder?

Well, this rules out bowling, except bowling is already ruled out on the grounds that I can no longer bowl, even with a fully rotational shoulder joint. Which in our case we have not got, to quote Henry Reed’s “Naming of Parts”.

In the end, I confine my preparations to a few practice shots with the bat on the back terrace while listening to The Archers. Strangely, the bat seems to have put on a lot of weight since I last held it. I tried practising in front of the mirror in the living room, but as I can only see my head in it, this is not much use except for practising my face. On the terrace, I attempt a pull shot with a fag in my mouth, which clenches so as to make me burn my right nostril really rather badly. A week later, when I actually play, it is still sore to the touch.

As for the game . . . well, it’s an odd one. We manage to eke out a draw, and as for my own contribution, the less said about that, the better. But at least I don’t drop any catches and, even though it causes my shoulder agony, I stop a few balls in the field. The ground itself, however, is right in the shadow of the Didcot A power station, in whose ruins are still at least three bodies of the men who were caught there when it collapsed in February. Throughout the game, lorries tip their burdens of mangled metal on enormous scrapheaps. It puts things in perspective. But look in the other direction, and rapidly backwards and forwards the early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers. 

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 19 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Great Huckster