Not Here, Not Now
Somewhere near the back of beyond, where the edges are sharp and opinions are strong, a councillor stands down. His reasons are obscure, and in any case irrelevant, because this is a tale of consequences, not causes: an election is called, an opening, a single seat in a single ward. An electorate that last time came out in no more than its few hundreds will have the opportunity to appoint a replacement. This time, however, the forces of darkness are emboldened. This time, bland backwater Tories cannot presume that the limp threat of Liberal Democrats is their greatest concern; this time, slouching along the east coast from Clacton come the vexations of populist fury. Bearing life-sized cardboard cut-outs of their bejowled and leering leader, and with the tools of Trumpian folly on their smartphones, the ugly leathered foot soldiers of ill-educated rage bear down on the quiet High Street of Maldon, apparently determined that this incide...
