Photo by Henry Nicholls/AFP via Getty Images Whenever I’m back in Essex I wait for the first mention of his name. How long before I hear about my parents’ local MP, Nigel Farage? Will it be ten minutes, half an hour, one hour before the Great Nige is invoked? This time I had barely put my bag in my dad’s car at Thorpe-le-Soken station before Farage was alluded to. It was just a few days before Essex went to the polls. A party that didn’t exist a decade ago was about to end 25 years of Conservative Party dominance on Essex County Council. Dad wanted me to know about a cardboard cut-out of the Reform UK leader tied to a lamp post just outside of Frinton-on-Sea. On the drive from the station, I counted all the Union Jacks, all the St George’s crosses, snapping smartly in the cold sea breeze that never goes away here. Another one, another one, another one. They may as well be more cardboard Nigels.…