Andy Parsons’ pin-sharp mind and self-effacing nature brought the packed house at Brighton’s Corn Exchange swiftly to the feeling that, although all is not right with the world, it’ll do for now.

His finest hours, he said, were those spent sitting in a fold-up chair at the end of his garden, getting vaguely narked by the fact that Kendal Mint Cake is “neither a mint nor a cake”, and wondering why it is that someone who seeks to pass themselves off as a “man of the people” should choose to pronounce their last name Farahge rather than Farage (as in garage).

Parsons confessed to being a health obsessive who delights in winding up his overworked GP, a man unable to control his manhood during a foot massage, and a person whose ambition is to be a wind-farmer so he can look out in the morning, see if it is windy and go back to bed, there being nothing to be done about it either way.

But if you think all of this adds up to a mountain of inadequacy, ask yourself if you would be able to stand there and single-handedly charm more than 300 people for nearly two hours.