SARAH VINE: Sorry, Kemi, however nobbling Naughty Nigel have to be your No 1 precedence

A businessman friend once explained the basic rule of retail to me: if people aren’t buying what you’re selling, it’s your fault, not theirs.

It’s no good moaning, or feeling sorry for yourself, or making excuses, or getting annoyed with people for not appreciating your wonderful product. You must adapt or die.

Initially I felt this was a soulless approach, but since then – while he’s accumulated several sports cars and villas in Tuscany – I’ve come to realise he was right.

There’s no room for sentimentality or entitlement in business. You can’t rest on your laurels or assume customer loyalty. It’s simple: give people what they want or they’ll take their custom elsewhere.

This is the problem facing the Conservatives.

In retail terms, they are essentially Philip Green’s former Arcadia Group. They’re too invested in outdated fashions, customer service is abysmal and sales – along with staff morale – are rock-bottom.

By contrast, Nigel Farage‘s Reform is like Amazon, or, scarier still, the ever-expanding TikTok Shop. Keenly priced, no frills, demand-driven and with speedy delivery. It’s the political equivalent of fast-fashion – and very hard to resist.

This is what Kemi Badenoch is up against, and it’s not a threat to be dismissed lightly.

Scoff all you like at Farage’s brass neck and sharp practices, but underestimate him at your peril. This, I fear, is something that Badenoch and her team have failed to grasp.

Don’t get me wrong, Badenoch is the brave, bold, clear-sighted, straight-talking and principled leader the Tories needed after July’s election crushing.

She’s sound on all the key issues: immigration, free speech, sovereignty, etc. She has a strong sense of purpose and a solid moral compass.

But I fear she has a blind spot when it comes to Farage.

It seems the Tories’ high command still view him as an outsider, a bit of a joke, a chancer, a wide boy, insufficiently serious to warrant expending too much energy on. How very wrong.

Farage is, indeed, all of the above, but he’s also a very serious threat. Quick on his feet, flexible and likeable, he’s cunning as a fox. And he’s a brilliant opportunist who never misses a chance to gain ground.

How typical of him to exploit this time of year, when most of the political world is in a food coma, to cause mischief – ribbing Badenoch about Reform’s membership overtaking that of the Tories.

Instead of responding with similar elan, Badenoch has got all peevish and technical, accusing him of cheating.

Having threatened to sue her, it’s now Naughty Nigel 1, Can’t-take-a-joke Kemi 0. He’s tied her in knots and made her look like a dull bureaucrat.

I’m sure Badenoch is right – Farage probably cooked the membership-count algorithm. But that’s not the point.

He’s succeeded in making her look like a bumbler, which she is not. Nor is she a humourless technocrat, or a rather schoolmarmish figure. In truth, she a very warm, funny woman, always the first to turn up the tunes at a party, full of passion and energy.

So it’s infuriating to see her bested by someone like Farage.

But I’m afraid it’s her own fault. To be a success as Tory leader and rebuild her party, she must address the challenge from Reform.

If she can’t do it herself, bring in a Nigel-wrangler. Someone who speaks his language, who understands the nature of the beast, who can metaphorically drink him under the table.

A Jeremy Clarkson, for example, or a Piers Morgan.

In other words, a proper Rupert Campbell-Black, if you get my Jilly Cooper drift. Someone who doesn’t stand on ceremony or give a fig about the rules, and who plays dirty when necessary.

Because this is not a battle to be fought across the Commons’ green benches, according to polite parliamentary rules of engagement.

Farage has cleverly bypassed all conventional political devices to amass his own fan base. Like his mate Donald Trump, he’s reached parts of the electorate the Tories can only dream of, and, like Trump, they don’t care if he has to cheat his way to it. They’ll forgive him anything because he’s Nigel. The naughtier he is, the more they love him.

That’s Kemi Badenoch’s challenge, and it’s a massive one.

The lesson from America is that you can’t fight populism from the high ground. It’s like the Hydra: you cut one head off, and two grow back. It’s wishful thinking to assume Farage will either implode or burn himself out. That’s what the world thought about Trump, and look how that turned out.

At a time when we are ruled by a Labour Government that’s utterly incompetent and riven by childish tribalism, Badenoch has a huge burden of responsibility.

Not only must she re-energise her own party, she must also find a way of neutralising Farage.

Because he has got his eyes fixed on all the electoral candy. And, right now, his sticky little mitts are firmly in the sweetie jar. 

I love this strange bit between Christmas and New Year, when one’s liver feels like it’s made entirely out of cheese and it seems OK to put on pyjamas at 5.30pm and eat Minstrels for supper. Twixtmas, they call it. Pure bliss, if you ask me.

Pray he won’t get ideas of his own…

Myleene Klass reveals that she’s given her fiance a ring containing an ounce of her breast milk. Let’s hope he’s not tempted to reciprocate with any body fluid-themed jewellery of his own. 

Netflix’s highest-rated Christmas show was an hour-long piece of virtual footage, entitled ‘Crackling Birchwood Fireplace’. Given the drivel on TV this year, I’m not surprised. 

THE GODFATHER OF OUR DOOM

• Geoffrey Hinton, the British-Canadian scientist known as the ‘Godfather of AI’, says there is a 10 to 20 per cent chance that the technology will wipe out humans in the next 30 years. So why in the blazes did he invent the damn thing?

• The AI version of a renowned Bulgarian blind soothsayer called Baba Vanga, who died in 1996, has predicted that 2025 will be a ‘challenging’ year for Sir Keir Starmer. Really! We don’t need mystical powers to see that. 

Owing to a last-minute change in circumstances, I’ve been dog-sitting for a friend over Christmas. It’s one of those labradoodle things, of which I’ve always been rather snobbily dismissive. 

I stand corrected. It’s the sweetest, happiest, most adorable creature on the planet, pure joy in furry form. My friend returns tomorrow. They’re not having their dog back.