Gentlemen, grab your cigars and pour yourself something strong—because Valerie Fox, the former adult star with a taste for the high life, is about to drop a literary bombshell. Her upcoming memoir promises to be the kind of salacious, no-holds-barred exposé that could make even the most seasoned political spin doctors break a sweat. And the target? None other than pint-clutching, Brexit-peddling, cunt-of-the-people, Nigel Farage.
Fox took to social media to tease her followers with a tantalizing promise: “It’s going to be oh so scandalous.” The book, set to hit shelves this summer, pulls back the velvet curtain on her brief yet eyebrow-raising dalliance with the Reform UK scrotebag. And if early whispers are to be believed, it’s going to be a very uncomfortable read for Mr. Farage.
A source close to the project spilled to The Mirror: “It will include details not previously known about her time with Farage. She has had some wild experiences during her life and is brutally honest about them.”
Let’s rewind to 2017. Fox, then 30, found herself seated in business class on a Virgin Atlantic flight from Atlanta to Heathrow. The champagne was flowing, and the conversation was heating up. Enter Nigel Farage, the ever-affable political rogue, who wasted no time making his intentions crystal clear. According to Fox, the two shared a cozy dinner at 40,000 feet, where the former UKIP boss made his move.
“He made it clear he fancied me and said he and his wife were separated,” Fox recalled. “He knew I was a glamour model. When I told him, he said, ‘I can tell. I was staring at you while we boarded the plane.’”
What followed, according to Fox, was a scene straight out of an airport lounge fever dream. The red wine was swirling, the chemistry was palpable, and before long, Farage’s hand found its way onto Fox’s thigh. “I wasn’t opposed to it at all… and we started snogging,” she confessed.
Touchdown in London didn’t cool things down. Farage, ever the wannabe gentleman, ensured Fox got home in style—chauffeur-driven Range Rover, hand-holding included. “The entire way back, he was holding my hand,” she said. Even the porter at her Marylebone flat allegedly did a double take when the pair strolled in together.
Inside, things escalated. “In my flat, he was kissing me and had his hands all over my back and waist. He said, ‘You’re so slim. You look after your body.’” She added that the rendezvous ended in the corridor with some enthusiastic snogging and a bit of hands-on appreciation from the seasoned politician.
Before slipping into the London night, Farage scrawled down his number and arranged a future dinner, sealing the deal with a text: “You’re my priority now.” Another message read: “I haven’t felt like that for years. You are fabulous.”
But like all political love stories, this one ended in betrayal. A loose-lipped friend leaked the story, and just like that, Fox and Farage’s brief entanglement evaporated into the tabloid ether.
Now, with her tell-all about to drop, one can only imagine how Farage is feeling. Perhaps he’s pouring himself a pint and lighting up a victory cigar, or maybe he’s pacing nervously, anticipating the tidal wave of scandal about to crash onto his doorstep.
One thing is for certain—this summer’s political reading list just got a whole lot juicier.
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Last modified: March 30, 2025
