But what struck me was something else, this call to the vote because people before us died in order to give it to us. Wait a second, people died to have the opportunity, the choice, to vote or not to vote. They did not sacrifice themselves in order to oblige later generations to pick a candidate at all costs. I was also reading rabid comments of Labourists who really do hate Conservatives and vice-versa, and of Liberal Democrat supporters who hate both Labourists and Conservatives, naturellement. This is, to me, even more odd. I've got red friends and blue friends and yellow friends and I find them level-headed, intelligent, well-educated, decent people. What's with all of this political hate? Are these people for real?
Yes, there are annoying traits to all of these; I do not believe that helping the vulnerable should equal helping the slacker and the leech (and it always does according to a leftie government), neither do I believe that a privileged birth makes individuals better than others by default (and it always does according to a right-wing government), but I am also annoyed by the people in the middle who, while picking and choosing from within the best of the rest, end up leaving me under the distinct impression of a lack of decisional backbone. Thus I could not bring myself to vote for these alternatives, for they don't feel to me as such.
On the run up to this day I was extremely amused by Bigotgate; my God, a politician said one thing and thought another one? Who knew those things happened? I was shocked I am telling you, shocked. A few days later I met George Osborne, local Tory representative, and while he blabbed away to the masses, I must confess not to have heard a single thing, so distracted was I by his otherworldly placca face. I don't know about you but I am highly, highly, highly suspicious of a man who goes for the syringe, unless he is Brad Pitt (in fact, I wish Brad reached for it, as he is quickly becoming painful to look at, not something I would have expected of him). But in Cameron's (and Osborne's) case I have to say that just because you can do Botox, it really doesn't mean you should.
I also heard that Britain could descend into anarchy and revolution and, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. I cannot imagine Britain as Gotham City gripped by the Joker-esque agent of chaos, 'I'll show you, when the chips are down, these people will eat each other'. Can you? Our explosive mix of apathy and calm upper-stiffness should ensure a smooth enough transition into more of the same, as it always does. We ain't Greeks bearing gifts.
Talks of a hung parliament always make think of other 'well hung' things, and then, of course, I also heard that if you don't vote you ain't entitled to complain when things aren't hunky-dory, which is like saying that unless you have kids yourself, you ain't allowed to pass an opinion on others' kids, or if you don't drink coffee, you ain't allowed to voice your views on Starbucks and Costa, or if you don't eat meat, you can't to discuss supermarkets' farming policies, or if you don't reek like a goat, you cannot complain about other people's body odour. How will I live without this wisdom thrown left, right and centre, twenty-four hours a day, every day, my friends? Blimey, I wish there was an election every week! The entertainment would never end.
So did I vote? Sure I did! I always feel important about voting you know, a bit like being able to pay a stack of bills by cheque instead of credit card, a sentiment that hasn't really gone away despite my growing into a spiteful resident who resents Council Tax as much as fly-tipping and egg-throwing. And so I voted as I always vote my friends, none of the above. And if you have voted for anyone else, that's ok by me.
