In the United Kingdom we exercised our right this evening to vote for who we wish to form a government to lead the country over the next several years. I’m probably going to stay up all night watching the results roll in – not because I’m any kind of political zealot – more because history is unfolding.
After being away throughout most of the day with work, I asked my eldest daughter if she would like to visit the polling station. Her immediate answer was “I don’t know who I should vote for”.
For the next several minutes we sat down on the sofa with her, coffee in hand, and went through each major political party – outlining their historical agenda, and their stated goals during this election cycle.
I tried to impress upon her that she should vote based on her personal concerns and hopes – on the issues that matter to her – and keep her decision to herself.
Ten minutes later we walked to the polling station, each identifying ourselves to the officials, ticked a box on a piece of paper, folded it, dropped it into the returns box, and walked home again.
This evening the television coverage is oddly enthralling.
I can’t help feeling a sense of pride that despite our differences, in the run up to the election the British politicians and people have not engaged in anything like the levels of spite, venom, lies, and hyperbole that so often seems to unfold in other countries.