Beyond the mobile phone cover salesmen, misused recycling bins and massage chairs, lies an anonymous-looking meeting room containing some of the brightest minds Reform UK has to offer.
We are at the M40 Beaconsfield Services, where REFUK’s new military advocacy thinktank, Think, Tank!, is in session.
“I’m calling this meeting to order” says Senior Synergy Analyst Zia Yusuf.
“Present: Richard Tice, Nadhim Zahawi, Andrea Jenkyns, Lee Anderson, Jonathan Gullis, Ann Widdecombe, Darren Grimes, Matt Goodwin, Zia Yusuf, Robert Jenrick and Andrew Rosindell. With apologies from Nigel Farage, who is picketing a food bank, Nadine Dorries, who remains barred from this service station and Suella Braverman, who is volunteering at an abattoir.”
Yusuf pauses. “Today’s meeting was supposed to be about finalising the draft White Paper on mandatory poppy wearing.”
“Year round, laminated,” mutters Lee Anderson.
“However, we’ve been overtaken by global events. We need to talk about Iran.”
“If I may just cut in,” says Nadhim Zahawi, “I’d like to compliment Richard on the nearly £600,000 of tax he avoiding paying last year.”
“Hear, hear”, shouts Ann Widdecombe through a mouthful of Greggs.
Tice replies with a modest smile. “Some people call it ultra-aggressive tax planning. I call it patriotism.”
Widdecombe begins banging on the table. The others join in. Caught up in the excitement, Darren Grimes spins in his gaming chair.
“Colleagues,” Yusuf continues when the noise subsides, “a geopolitical crisis is in progress. By not blindly following Donald Trump into World War III, Keir Starmer”— Andrea Jenkyns spits on the carpet—“endangers us all. We need to consider what Reform can do, here and now, to take the fight to Iran. Remember, there are no wrong ideas.”
“DIVERSITY!” shouts Jonathan Gullis.
“OK, there are some wrong ideas. But in the context of today, I want people to feel confident to say anything they like. Rob, would you like to kick us off?
“More flags, more flypasts, more statues. The ayatollahs need to see we’re serious,” says Jenrick.
“We’re going to need a bit more substance than that, Rob,” chuckles Tice.
Darren Grimes’s revolving gaming chair comes to a halt. “What about more Union Jacks on lampposts?”
“That’s more like it, Darren,” says Tice.
“And daily Red Arrows displays?” suggests Andrew Rosindell.
“Superb.”
Andrea Jenkyns leans forward. “New stone sculptures of national heroes, like that lady who went to prison for telling everyone to burn asylum seekers in their hotels?”
“Lucy Connolly,” Anderson murmurs wistfully.
Jenrick, like a man who has recently left his wife to shack up with the younger woman he has only ever known in budget hotels and who he is rapidly discovering he hates, is looking aggrieved.
“Now, on the subject of national treasures,” says Yusuf, “I’ve booked a special guest speaker to come and talk to us today. He’s a veteran of the Royal Anglian regiment’s Catering Corps and the Essex Masters Paintball League, a strategic military analyst and a politician who aligns closely with our core values. Please welcome to the room, the Right Honourable Mark Francois.”
But the door stays closed.
“I think I saw him playing on the fruit machines” says Rosindell. “Shall I fetch him?”
“Have you been keeping minutes Matthew?,” asks Widdecombe.
Goodwin nods.
“Otherwise, it’ll all be down the drain,” sniggers Jenkyns.
“Hang on, he looks like he’s about to pipe up,” says Zahawi.
“Don’t faucet,” says Anderson.
“That’s not even a phrase!” complains the freshly vanquished candidate for the in-demand seat of Gorton and Denton.
“I’m not the one who lost to a vegan plumber,” snarls Anderson.
Mark Francois, in the doorway and wearing his regimental Territorial Army blazer two sizes too small, steps forwards.
“Gino, thanks for coming,” says Yusuf.
“You’re lucky,” says the Conservative MP. “I tried to enlist as soon as the war started, but there aren’t any recruiting offices for the US Marines in Wickford.”
“Sirs,” he says, turning to the room. “And...”, he nods vaguely at Widdecombe and Jenkyns, “...others. The case for military action against Iran is clear.”
The room falls silent. Goodwin’s pen hovers. For a moment, history itself seems to lean in. Francois presses a button on a laptop at the far end of the table. Yusuf pulls down a screen, and there is the PowerPoint title slide: “THINK, TANK!: Strategic Horizons 2026” in a font last seen on a missing dog poster. He clicks again, bringing up a stock image of a Challenger 3 tank inexplicably patrolling Basildon.
“The Iranian regime understands only one thing: our strength, and our resolve. My father, Reginald Francois, didn’t fight and die in over two world wars to leave behind a country of drag queen-enabling snowflakes who are unwilling to destabilise the Middle East on the whims of an increasingly deranged gameshow host. Gentlemen. We must be prepared for all theatres of war. Land. Sea. Air. To the tune of an extra £100bn in defence spending.”
There is a ripple of excitement.
“How do we fund that?”
“Not with taxes,” says Widdecombe immediately.
“Of course not, Ann.” A triumphalist edge enters Francois’s voice. “No, we fund it by cutting all local council diversity, equality and inclusion initiatives.”
The hint of a frown appears on Yusuf’s forehead.
“Again?”
“Do you want your country back or not?” snaps Anderson, who for reasons he can’t quite explain to himself has never fully trusted Yusuf.
“Furthermore,” continues Francois, pacing now, blazer audibly under strain, “we need a coalition of the willing. And conscription. Who here is of fighting age?”
Everyone turns to look at Grimes. Aware that he is being stared at and unsure how to respond, he releases the pneumatic lift lever underneath his chair and, accompanied by the hiss of pressurised nitrogen, sinks slowly to the ground.
“I’m doing a Stealth,” he replies.
