Norbiton. The setting for the comedy series about the strange life of Reginal Perrin is where Nigel and the giant aubergine begin their daily excursion to convince the good folk of Kingston-upon-Thames to vote for Brexit.

As soon as Mr Farage’s purple open-top battle-bus arrives down the leafy byway, a Juliet opens her third floor flat window to chant: “Ukip clear off! Ukip clear off!” A bicyclist rides by and gives a demonstrative V-sign with a dollop of Anglo Saxon throw in.

“This is enemy territory,” notes a Ukipper between drags on his fag. A Tory turned Lib Dem turned back to a Tory seat in metropolitan, multi-cultured London is not where the Ukip message is expected to go down well.

Nigel is late but it’s his show and everyone has to wait patiently for the arrival of the Brexiter-in-chief. He finally arrives; sporting the home counties’ country squire look: bright yellow corduroy trousers, a double-pocket hacking jacket and a club tie.

Up yonder, Juliet is back. Impressively, in the 10 minutes she has been gone, she has managed to compose a large poster, declaring “Ukip clear off,” which she plasters on her window. Below, black-clothed figures from a funeral parlour carry a coffin into a hearse. Is this a metaphor for the Leave campaign, I ask myself?

Nigel, however, is as cheery and indefatigable as ever, buoyed by The Sun declaring for Out. “This is significant,” declares one of Mr F’s key aides. “Murdoch always backs a winner,” he insists.

Up on top, the Ukip chief is in good heart. “Did you hear what Tusk said?” This is Donald Tusk, president of the EU Council, who, with no sense of overstatement, declared that Brexit would lead to the end of civilisation as we know it. “This has encouraged me even more,” bellows Nigel. “How stupid do they think we really are?”

He’s interrupted as the theme from The Great Escape strikes up from two large speakers. As we head off to Kingston, the party chief, microphone in hand, encourages motorists to “beep for Brexit”. Chuckling as we move along, Nigel confesses: “This beats working for a living.”

Once in the local high street, the beaming Ukip leader steps from the battle-bus to be met by a gaggle of adoring fans. He spends the next 10 minutes signing posters and posing for selfies. “Over here, Nigel,” says one supporter as yet another snap is taken. Mr F declares to his admirer: “Nice to meet you, mate.”

One local pushes a fiver into the politician’s hand and says: “Have a drink on me, Nigel.” Another supporter asks the disbelieving Ukipper to sign his car, which is splattered with Leave posters. “It’s a Rover. A British car. I’m Ukip all the way,” declares the owner.

Then it’s off down the high street with Mr F followed by a media doughnut. It’s slow progress as the doughnut grows and grows with a mix of camera crews, supporters and bemused shoppers eager to see who's the celebrity.

Questions are fired at the centre of attention and his responses are automatic.

Nigel insists the referendum tide turned a couple of weeks ago when Tory and Labour politicians started to talk about having a points-based system on immigration but, he acknowledges, the tide can turn back again.

“It’s not over until the fat lady sings. A lot can happen in the last few days. At the minute we’ve got momentum. The more the Prime Minister and the Chancellor try to threaten and bully us, the more collectively people stick two fingers up at them.”

Asked if he would join a Boris Johnson-led Tory Party if Brexit won, the chief Ukipper replies: “I have no idea what’s going to happen after June 24. It’s a very entertaining thought. But, look, I’ve spent 25 years of my life working on this subject. I left a comfortable career in business to do it. All my friends and family have thought all the way through I must be off my chump and they’re probably right. Here we are with a few days to go, I’m not contemplating anything afterwards. Nothing. I just want to win this referendum and then we’ll have a sit-down and think where do we go from here?”

The selfies and the signatures continue until one elderly passerby confronts Mr F, who offers him his hand.

“I don’t want to shake your hand,” he snaps. “You’re relatively wealthy, you won’t bloody well lose out if we exit, will you?”

“Well,” notes Nigel, “I’ll lose my job.” Then, the party leader says: “Do you know, I like civilised debate with people. If you’re not even prepared to shake my hand, then we’re wasting our time.”

But he continues, saying it is ordinary workers who have been “absolutely stuffed” in the last 10 years while the bosses have seen their salaries mushroom.

The questioner seems unimpressed, particularly when Mr F quotes the late leftwinger Tony Benn, who, he explains, was right when he said the EU would turn into a corporatist club.

“He was out of his tree as well,” declares the shopper. “But he was right,” counters Nigel, adding quietly as the man walks away: “They can’t even be civil; it’s very strange.”

But then to cheer the Ukipper’s heart a bunch of white-haired female placard-carriers shout in unison: “We love you Nigel!” Farage groupies? “Thank you girls,” laughs the star attraction.

A man, declaring he is a born-again Christian approaches the party leader, who says: “I haven’t got there yet. I just want this country born-again.”

Then as the rain begins to fall, it’s into the Moulin Rouge café for a quick cappuccino.

When it’s pointed out by a journalist that senior Tory Outers had accepted his core policies, Nigel puffs out his chest and says: “It’s completely my strategy and the fact they’re adopting it, I couldn’t be happier.”

Asked about what his relationship, post-Brexit, could be with the likes of Boris Johnson and Michael Gove, Nigel takes a sip of his coffee and declares: “I’ll be honest with the British public, I haven’t got a clue.”

The issue then of Gordon Brown and the former premier’s entrance into the campaign is mentioned. Mr F chuckles and says: “I want more of Gordon Brown. I want him on the television every single night between now and referendum day.”

An aide points to his watch and Nigel jumps up; time to leave Kingston and head on to the next high street.

On the way back to the coach, he is approached for yet another selfie. The admirer is Duncan Calderwood from Kilmarnock but now living in Kingston. “Nigel, I have been following you for years and years and years. You drove me off the SNP, I was an SNP guy for years, now I’m Ukip.” Which even Mr F acknowledges is quite a leap.

At one point a Norwegian journalist asks if the Ukip leader has any message for his fellow Norwegians on the outside, looking in. “You lucky people!” croaks Nigel. “The Prime Minister keeps saying wouldn’t it be dreadful to be like Norway but, hang on, rich, free, catch your own fish. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Back on the open-top bus, microphone in hand, the anti-EU MEP waves again to cheering Brexiters, telling them to vote to “take our country back” on June 23.

Then as the giant aubergine turns to leave, a shopper catches the party leader’s eye. “Nigel, hey, Nigel,” he says. The Ukipper looks down and the man bellows: “F*** off!” Music from The Great Escape strikes up and conveniently drowns out the rest of the verbal tirade. The political dog has barked and the Brexit caravan moves on.