After You, My Dear Alphonse...
It is somewhat unfortunate, but whenever people talk about tactical voting these days I seem to be reminded of the following situation:
Imagine you are out for dinner with friends, where the purpose of the evening is to actually sit down and eat together rather than catch a bit to eat before a film or to graze at a buffet at a party. None of you have to rush off for any particular reason and you're all supposedly adults capable of making decisions for yourself, and you are all friends and at least tolerant of each other if not outright fond.
The main course is finished, the plates are being cleared away and the waiting staff enquire, would you like to see the dessert menu?
There then commences the largest amount of bet-hedging, "well I don't mind", unnecessary politeness, "I will if anyone else, oh I guess not", excuse making and faff.
The end result? No-one gets dessert, even though half the party wanted to and the other half really wouldn't have minded (especially if they could have had a coffee, or perhaps a spare spoon).
Now I am aware that this is about national politics, which is a lot more complicated than profiteroles, and that due to my address I am in the situation that I can have my chocolate cake and eat it. But the association, unfortunate as it is, seems to have stuck in my mind.
And yes, the title of this post is copied from a relatively recent Greta Christina blog post, which is actually about sex and not politics, so is almost certainly most interesting than this.
Imagine you are out for dinner with friends, where the purpose of the evening is to actually sit down and eat together rather than catch a bit to eat before a film or to graze at a buffet at a party. None of you have to rush off for any particular reason and you're all supposedly adults capable of making decisions for yourself, and you are all friends and at least tolerant of each other if not outright fond.
The main course is finished, the plates are being cleared away and the waiting staff enquire, would you like to see the dessert menu?
There then commences the largest amount of bet-hedging, "well I don't mind", unnecessary politeness, "I will if anyone else, oh I guess not", excuse making and faff.
The end result? No-one gets dessert, even though half the party wanted to and the other half really wouldn't have minded (especially if they could have had a coffee, or perhaps a spare spoon).
Now I am aware that this is about national politics, which is a lot more complicated than profiteroles, and that due to my address I am in the situation that I can have my chocolate cake and eat it. But the association, unfortunate as it is, seems to have stuck in my mind.
And yes, the title of this post is copied from a relatively recent Greta Christina blog post, which is actually about sex and not politics, so is almost certainly most interesting than this.