I first clap eyes on Robert Jenrick as he enters the pub loos while I’m busy washing my hands. In the mirror’s reflection I note, with mild dismay, that we’re dressed almost identically in smart merino jumpers and blue gilets, a clash accentuated by us being about the same height and age.
“This is what happens when middle-aged men try to dress casually,” Jenrick quips from the urinal, as I make my way out of the door to more pleasant surrounds.
I’ve come to Newark, a small market town in Nottinghamshire steeped in the history of the English civil war, to meet its MP — the pretender to the Tory party crown.
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