Election day
Broke off early to vote. Returning from the polling station, I passed one of my Twitten neighbours who asked me if I'd voted. I said, yes, but that none of them deserved it. And he said he was off to choose the best of a bad bunch. Hardly startling, but the kind of conversation I suspect was played out a million times around the country. The reputation of politicians has utterly nose dived in this country in the last year.
Broke off early to vote. Returning from the polling station, I passed one of my Twitten neighbours who asked me if I'd voted. I said, yes, but that none of them deserved it. And he said he was off to choose the best of a bad bunch. Hardly startling, but the kind of conversation I suspect was played out a million times around the country. The reputation of politicians has utterly nose dived in this country in the last year.
In my constituency of Brighton Pavilion, the leading candidates were Caroline Lucas, leader of the Green party, and Nancy Platts for Labour. I overcame my Brown nausea to vote for Labour, tribal loyalties proving impossible to overcome. But I am sympathetic to the Greens too, and Lucas has had an enormous amount of publicity lately, and seems a competent politician and likely to become Britain's first Green MP. Not that that is any kind of recommendation. Contacted twice by wild eyed Labour canvassers during the day, which clearly means it is tight.
Otherwise my day spent slogging on a pitch. Broken only by a few calls, and Matt calling around. He is conducting the Rainbow Chorus tonight, and tomorrow night. Tried to get a ticket but they were in the enviable situation of having sold out. Calliope loves Matt and flirts with him constantly when we are here. Matt took a couple of hundred flyers cat-rubbed flyers to leave on tonight's seats.
Remembered it was Carl's birthday and texted him, wishing he was near enough to take out for a pig's ear or two. Finished work at 7:30 and zoomed off to Sainsburys and then settled down eventually with a can of beer to watch the election coverage. A wave of third world mayhem at the polling booths. One actually ran out of voting slips, dozens of others closed the doors on queues of angry voters unable to be processed before the 10pm deadline. Police were called, some stations were occupied by sit ins. Unprecedented chaos, which hit so many constituencies that it practically invalidated the election in my opinion.
Cyber chat with Mandy in NZ about the election on my Crackberry while sitting on my sofa. Technology is an amazing thing.
As predicted, the Tories doing much better this time, and eventually at 1.00am I sloped to bed feeling depressed about Labour's failure to prevent the Tory kraken rising up from its abyssal depths. Bah.
Otherwise my day spent slogging on a pitch. Broken only by a few calls, and Matt calling around. He is conducting the Rainbow Chorus tonight, and tomorrow night. Tried to get a ticket but they were in the enviable situation of having sold out. Calliope loves Matt and flirts with him constantly when we are here. Matt took a couple of hundred flyers cat-rubbed flyers to leave on tonight's seats.
Remembered it was Carl's birthday and texted him, wishing he was near enough to take out for a pig's ear or two. Finished work at 7:30 and zoomed off to Sainsburys and then settled down eventually with a can of beer to watch the election coverage. A wave of third world mayhem at the polling booths. One actually ran out of voting slips, dozens of others closed the doors on queues of angry voters unable to be processed before the 10pm deadline. Police were called, some stations were occupied by sit ins. Unprecedented chaos, which hit so many constituencies that it practically invalidated the election in my opinion.
Cyber chat with Mandy in NZ about the election on my Crackberry while sitting on my sofa. Technology is an amazing thing.
As predicted, the Tories doing much better this time, and eventually at 1.00am I sloped to bed feeling depressed about Labour's failure to prevent the Tory kraken rising up from its abyssal depths. Bah.
Below the Tories return.
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