A Moment To Reflect: Where Now For Griffin?

As the One-Eyed King sits at the centre of his crumbling empire, one can't help but wonder:

How's he going to get out of this one?

Things aren't looking good. The Bailiffs, if they aren't already knocking on the door for the £45,000 worth of assets they need to recover from Griffin and Darby (as first instalment of the Decemberist settlement), are certainly putting his postcode into the satnav and wondering what the resale value of hot tubs is.

One by one, once-close allies are falling away. Slowly at first – but now they're getting stuck in the door as they all rush to leave at once. Collett, Dowson, Beverley, Golding, Morris – when even a prime-quality grade-a fruitbat and Love-You-4-Eva-'Til-I-Die sycophant like Paul Morris realises that something's fishy, Griffin should know the jig is not only up, but the Band are putting things away in the Transit.

Even his closest political colleague - Andrew Brons – is fed up with him.

After many years of following Griffin's shabby career I've reached a single conclusion about his political personality:

He likes to be loved.

A true idealogue couldn't care less. Mrs Thatcher very probably lost far less sleep as Prime Minister than I ever did. Stalin, I once read, slept like a baby. Himmler, bizarrely, had a talent for enjoying a relaxing snooze regardless of where he was or what was going on around him. I suspect that Andrew Brons doesn't remotely mind, one way or another, what people think of him.

Because he's an idealogue. He may be a small-minded, thoroughly unpleasant old fascist, but, for him, the “Mission” is everything and if people don't like him for it then that's their problem.

But Griffin isn't an idealogue. He's a chancer who latched onto a niche market. He's in it for the money (which was all well and good until – a victim of his own success – he began making too much and people started asked questions) and the adulation of his easily-led Membership.

And now it's all going bad. Ordinary Members – the regularly fleeced old dears who once bankrolled Griffin's comfortable lifestyle – start asking awkward questions at meetings. The dream of electoral success that once seemed just around the corner lies in tatters. Membership shrinks, and keeps on shrinking. Vitally, things that might have mobilised a faithful Membership behind Griffin just five years ago (the Marmite Case. EHRC, etc) now just make the faithful wince and shout “Why didn't you settle this sooner and save us a fortune!”

Even his (doubtless painful, but nevertheless almost magically convenient) recent run-in with a kidney stone was met with knowing chuckles, on some talk boards, by some of the same people who would've been earnestly offering themselves as transplant donors just a year earlier.

And, as is the norm for panicked Dictators, he starts to make errors of judgement. The Truth Truck scam, for one.

It may be small beer compared to the amounts of money have gone strangely unaccounted for in the past, but I'm guessing he was hoping it would quietly go the way of Boudica (the “Battle Bus”) and any number of low-level scams and fiddles.

But it didn't. People who couldn't care less (and, most likely, don't know) about complex scams around printing contracts, property, Party merchandise and the like, really, really want to know whatever happened to their beloved (and very, very expensive) Truth Truck.

And now he's waiting for the end.

Given his past record, I won't be surprised if Griffin attempts to pull something out of the hat that will – he hopes – get at least some of the Faithful to love him once again.

Ideally, of course, what he'd really love is to go to jail. Preferably for something that can be spun as “Heroic Party Leader Martyred By Evil Marxist State”. A couple of months working on his “Autobiography” in Ford Open Prison followed by a tickertape welcome when he leaves and Bingo - He's Mr Popular once again.

(Of course, this doesn't work out so well if the headlines just read as “Chiselling Crook Sent Down For Ripping Off Pensioners”.)

Knowing his taste for the melodramatic, I wouldn't even spill my coffee if I read of an “assassination attempt” by “UAF Thugs” that was “providentially foiled” by the Dear Leader's crack security team.

Or how about orchestrating a poisonous hate campaign involving anonymous leaflets being circulated around his home town? Although the Police would probably never fall for it.

It seems increasingly likely that Griffin's “out” is to transform the BNP into a “Civil Rights Movement”.

On the surface, that would be (his) problem solved: No more pesky “Accounts” to worry about, no more annoying “scrutiny” from the Electoral Commission, and Griffin gets to say who does what, and who gets paid, and how much without any interference from those busybody “Members”.

And think of the merchandising rake-offs! It's working for a dim-bulb like "Tommy Robinson", so why not?

Interestingly, of course, this might not be the comfy route it seems. Much of what a “Civil Rights Organisation” is can be governed by existing Trading Standards legislation which is – in many ways – rather tougher than having the Electoral Commission on your back.

As has been a constant over the past few months, things are looking bad for Poor Mr Griffin.

It must be somewhat dispiriting when you can no longer remember a time when each day hasn't actually been worse than the day before.

Still. Console yourself with this thought, Nick.

Not long now, eh?

Not long now...