I was in Warwick to speak to a political bigwig. A civil servant led me to the right location, and I entered my interviewee’s office – a vast corner room fit for a top lawyer or CEO. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on to a public square with a fountain; in the centre was a conference table, and, behind my interviewee’s desk, an enormous Union Jack hung from its pole. A few minutes passed, and the leader of Warwickshire County Council entered the room.
George Finch is 19 years old – ten months younger than me – a Reform member, and the youngest council leader ever in the UK. He cuts an imposing figure, standing at some 6ft 4 inches, and he looks well put together. He wore a blue suit, as always. He apologised for being late, explaining that his shoes had needed shining.
Finch ran for election in May 2025, won a landslide for Reform in the former coalmining town of Bedworth in north Warwickshire, and was appointed deputy leader of the county council. After the then-leader stepped down due to health concerns in July, the teenager became the most senior local politician in the county.
To become leader of a county council at the age of 19 is a remarkable feat. And Finch is no opportunist. A true grassroots campaigner, he was in touch with local grievances as county councillors should be, with a predictable focus on potholes and vape shops.
That said, though, there is the hint of the Machiavel about him, too. A week before we spoke, Finch was facing a crisis from within. Two of his county councillors – Luke Cooper, who has the moustache of a Prussian field marshal, and Scott Cameron, who has the political inclinations of a Prussian field marshal – had been expelled from Reform for planning to defect to Rupert Lowe’s Restore Britain. Finch told me that one of them had “too big of a mouth, and one of [his] supporters overheard” them plotting. Finch took decisive action and expelled them both.
Finch is often heard complaining on podcasts about the ageism he encounters in his role as the teenage head of an organisation with a budget of more than £1bn. Politically, he considers himself an old soul. “You probably think I’m an old man,” he said, “like a grumbly 60-year-old.”
By and large, Finch’s political views strayed little from the Reform party line. The views he offered me were roughly those of “Nigel”, with some additional patriotic rumination on the Napoleonic Wars. Finch believes his party leader was “right about everything, decades ago. We haven’t had a leader like him since Thatcher, Winston Churchill.”
Though we discussed many areas of policy, we spent the most time on education. Finch’s position was definitive: “I was in school two, three years ago. I probably know more than anybody else.” His insight led him to opine that too many students are “waking up at one o’clock in the afternoon because they’re still hungover”. The “glorious Blair years” (meant sarcastically) had led to too many people doing “Mickey Mouse” degrees – including, he added as we parted ways, me.
Still worse for the country, however, is the state of its schools. Finch was troubled by reports that schoolchildren were “walking around in school with furry tails, and ear things!” He upbraided me for smiling at this. “You’re laughing, because you find it funny. They’re licking each other. It’s not OK.” Apparently, primary school boys in Warwickshire are being allowed to wear dresses in school. I asked if he had any evidence that this was a wider national issue. Finch implored me to “go to the Wetherspoons across the road” from Warwick’s Shire Hall, and ask the people there what they thought. I would get a “less professional answer” from them than from him, Finch said. Something told me he was right.
I received this “go to Wetherspoons” response a few times. Is the British economy really being eroded by illegal immigration? What about net zero? I should visit the Thomas Lloyd pub to find out. “Ask the people there what they think about students.” When I ventured that the musings of the patrons of a Wetherspoons at midday on a Wednesday might not be the only guide to political realities, Finch dismissed my ramblings. “Who knows more than they do?” he asked.
“We’re seeing the deterioration of our culture,” Finch told me. As a symbol of the local Warwickshire culture he wants to preserve, Finch produced a metal statuette from his desk. It depicted a roaring bear, bound to a pole by an iron chain around its neck and body. “It’s called bear-baiting,” he explained. “Basically, they tied a bear up in a pit and then they would release hounds on it to see who would win. It doesn’t look good nowadays, but it’s Warwickshire’s culture.” Finch then directed my attention to a life-sized bear statue in the corner of the room, beside a pole, equipped with fake fur and glass eyes, rearing up on its hind legs and holding, in its paw, a miniature Union Jack. Finch explained that it had once been chained to the pole, just like the real Warwickshire bears of old, but that some of his woke colleagues had forced him to remove it.
In the weeks following our meeting, high-stakes politicking would return to the corridors of Warwick’s Shire Hall. Last week, the Greens on Warwickshire County Council called a no-confidence vote on Finch. They claim he has brought the office of leader “into disrepute”, citing “repeated attacks on staff, partner institutions and use of his role for constant, cheap and nasty political point-scoring”. Finch is reportedly confident about his chances. The vote will be held this afternoon (17 March).
[Further reading: Ed Miliband is all-powerful]
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