I visited the local polling station on the way to work this morning, and was struck by the absence of people while en-route. Either some kind of mass alien abduction had happened, or (for the first time ever) I had chosen the right moment to leave the house.
Our local polling station is the children’s school behind our house. The kids get a day off while everybody in the nearby area troops off down to tick their chosen box.
Approaching the main school hall on my bike, a fat elderly chap with a big bushy beard spied my approach. He reminded me of Father Christmas. He also wore a bright blue rosette covering most of his chest - hiding nothing about his particular political bent.
“Good morning young Sir!”
He wrote my number down on a bit of paper - no doubt some kind of count on the number of people who have voted.
I wandered into what would normally be the school gym, became the source of some confusion for a few moments while two nice ladies tried to find me in their register of the electorate, and was then directed towards a booth to mark my vote. I’m not sure why, but the pencil tied to the wall of the booth by a piece of string amused me greatly. I’m sure nobody would steal the pencils, but it still made me smile.
I wandered back out into the sunshine, and was greated by Father Christmas again.
“Done your duty then?”
“Yes”
“Off to work now then?”
“Yes”
“Hopefully we’ll vote these buggers out then!”
I smiled, and pedalled off towards far greater concerns than which coloured rosettes some suit or other will be wearing tomorrow morning as they evict Gordon Brown from Downing Street.