The best approach for him is to dismiss all this confetti tickling his chin and do a Trump, hitting back from the safety of distance.
Rather strangely, though, it is uncommonly kind of Nigel to confer upon me the title of “Marxist” – yes, he actually wrote that – ruler of all I survey. That’s okay. If he really, really wants the position, he’s welcome to it. Besides, it suits his intemperate, extremist outlook far more that it does a humble old democracy-loving feller like me. Bizarrely, Nigel borrows from communist revisionist dogma by presenting himself as “upholding standards” and surreally calling himself as a purveyor of “intelligent argument”. In his case a classic oxymoron (last two syllables noted) rather in the manner of compassionate conservatism, or unemployment benefit.
Sadly (sniff), on Monday Nigel gave the impression of carrying all the cares of the world on his creaking shoulders, suffering the slings and arrows of righteous wrath directed at his democracy-averse worldview. This, compounding the lamentable state of him being a bete noir of we, the compos mentis contributors. Oh, woe is he. Nigel might not be paranoid, but those dastardly buggers spying on him are. Eh, Nige?