The election of 2015 will forever be associated in my mind
with preparing to move house.
I’ve just got other things on my mind, Messrs Miliband and
Cameron, and it’s all a bit confusing this time around.
Except clearly that UKIP can go back to where they came from:
coming over here, trying to steal our votes.
However, our foremothers chained themselves to railings for
my right to vote.
So we trekked to the polling booth to make votes perhaps
more tactical than heartfelt.
But it is a demonstration of my state of confusion that I
was nearly prevented from voting by being unable to operate the double doors (clearly
not a “swing” voter then).
And once inside I spotted a booth which was much lower and
broader than the others.
“Sweet,” I said to Nigel, “For children to vote.”
“No, love.
People in wheelchairs.
Children don’t actually have the vote.”
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