May 4th, 2006

Local Elections

The day of the local elections: And everyone is looking to the result as a referendum on the Blair government.

Honest and decent Labour councillors who hate Blair as much as the rest of us do are going to get a hammering. It's a shame.

But I won't vote for anyone on the Labour ticket so long as the Butcher of Basra is leading the party.

And anyway, the local Labour candidates are stupid; they put a leaflet through my door bearing the soiled and shamed 1997 slogan "New Labour; New Britain"- a reminder of just how squalidly our dreams have been betrayed.

Blair lied to take us into the Iraq war. He should have been hounded from office long ago. He should be in prison.

Blair's Britain. Snapshots.

They erected the new lamposts a year ago. Today they fitted the lamps.

It's the warmest day of the year thus far, so I dress for summer in my sandals and political shirt .

My political shirt was given me by Judy. It  features the  faces of Bush, Rumsfeld and Cheyney and the bold motto: Asses of Evil

The polling station is set up in the Methodist Sunday School. There are two tellers on the door. One is a smiley bearded Pakistani and the other is a resident at  the home for elderly male misfits on Honeywell Lane. I imagine the Beardy guy is Labour. Is the misfit a Tory, then?  Perhaps he is. The Home for elederly male misfits has a flagpole from which they fly the cross of St George and other such  rags (including sometimes the flag of the State of California (?!))  even when there's  no World Cup looming.

The Labour candiate, Asaf Ali,  is sitting in the Sunday School . On the sofa, next to him, is a very old white guy. Is this Mr Wright, the independent?

Mr Wright hasn't put out any literature so I don't know what he's idependently standing for. If I knew I might vote for him on the principle that all the major parties are rubbish.

My Asses of Evil shirt amuses the girls who tick my name  off  the register and hand me my voting paper. Asaf Ali turns to the very old white guy and asks "Why isn't your face on that?"

I retire to the booth and scan the  paper. The British National Party are fielding a record number of candidates this year, but they're not fielding one in Alexandra Ward. hooray!

I vote...no it's a secret, I'm not telling, but it isn't for Tony Blair and it isn't for the Tories (I had a chip inserted in my brain when I was 15 which prevents me from ever voting Tory.)

There's a policeman sitting across the room from Asaf Ali and the very old white guy. He's there to make sure neither of them cheats.

Last time we held local elections in Blair's Britain there was massive fraud. 

I've performed  my democratic duty. When I turn back onto Belgrave Rd (at 11 o'clock on a bright summer's morning) the nice new lamps are lit.