It's all squirly outside...
The rain was coming down in bucketloads when I left to drive home this evening. It was raining in all directions simultaneously. How is this possible? It was, apparently, because I couldn't actually have parked any closer than I did this morning, and in the 30 second dash between training centre door and car I got drenched. The car got slightly damp as well, in the very few seconds the door was open in order to let me shimmy inside.
I then drove home in those conditions, with heated windows and mirrors on full blast to clear them of mist and headlights on so that other drivers could actually see me, and wondered a bit about the wisdom of exercising my right to vote. The thought of venturing forth to a polling station for the mayor and local elections didn't seem particularly appealing right then.
And not voting was NOT an option, because then I would have had to point accusingly at myself for the next four years if the wrong people got in. It's not so much that I wanted to vote for anybody, you understand, since my neighbour isn't standing for anything this time and I don't think there's a single unsullied candidate for mayor. Ken Livingstone knows the job; he's spent half his working life doing it, between the GLC and the current setup, but he's ever so slightly dodgy and associates with a few too many deeply wrong people.
That is as nothing compared to the anti-vote though. Ken gets that without a flicker of a doubt, because I cannot stomach the thought of that twit Boris Johnson getting in. So my two crosses went into boxes with a view to keeping him as far far away from the job as I possibly can.
And the rest of my voting today was in the interests of proportional representation; which is to say, casting votes to keep the BNP's proportion of the vote smaller. Preferably negative numbers. Because, please god no. Don't let those people anywhere near office. It's appalling that they've ever scraped into a local council seat here and there; I don't want to see them get anything more.
Fortunately my dilemma was made easier by the rain having stopped by the time I got home, so I parked, went into the house just long enough to grab my umbrella, and hastily went out to mark crosses on bits of paper. The polling station's only in the next road, but the big black clouds were still glowering in threatening fashion. I got back just before they started chucking water again.
Voting difficulties aside, I'm almost inclined to welcome the rain this week, having grumbled about it for months. The threatening cold of last week actually turned out to be a hay fever mega-whammy, and having been clobbered in a major way last weekend I'm only slowly recovering from it. Memo to self: remember the tree pollen and take your antihistamines regularly next April. You know it makes sense. Sniffle. Cough. Sniffle.
(Halls Soothers are marginally less revolting than any other cough sweet I've ever tried. Actually, the peach and raspberry ones are almost nice.)
I then drove home in those conditions, with heated windows and mirrors on full blast to clear them of mist and headlights on so that other drivers could actually see me, and wondered a bit about the wisdom of exercising my right to vote. The thought of venturing forth to a polling station for the mayor and local elections didn't seem particularly appealing right then.
And not voting was NOT an option, because then I would have had to point accusingly at myself for the next four years if the wrong people got in. It's not so much that I wanted to vote for anybody, you understand, since my neighbour isn't standing for anything this time and I don't think there's a single unsullied candidate for mayor. Ken Livingstone knows the job; he's spent half his working life doing it, between the GLC and the current setup, but he's ever so slightly dodgy and associates with a few too many deeply wrong people.
That is as nothing compared to the anti-vote though. Ken gets that without a flicker of a doubt, because I cannot stomach the thought of that twit Boris Johnson getting in. So my two crosses went into boxes with a view to keeping him as far far away from the job as I possibly can.
And the rest of my voting today was in the interests of proportional representation; which is to say, casting votes to keep the BNP's proportion of the vote smaller. Preferably negative numbers. Because, please god no. Don't let those people anywhere near office. It's appalling that they've ever scraped into a local council seat here and there; I don't want to see them get anything more.
Fortunately my dilemma was made easier by the rain having stopped by the time I got home, so I parked, went into the house just long enough to grab my umbrella, and hastily went out to mark crosses on bits of paper. The polling station's only in the next road, but the big black clouds were still glowering in threatening fashion. I got back just before they started chucking water again.
Voting difficulties aside, I'm almost inclined to welcome the rain this week, having grumbled about it for months. The threatening cold of last week actually turned out to be a hay fever mega-whammy, and having been clobbered in a major way last weekend I'm only slowly recovering from it. Memo to self: remember the tree pollen and take your antihistamines regularly next April. You know it makes sense. Sniffle. Cough. Sniffle.
(Halls Soothers are marginally less revolting than any other cough sweet I've ever tried. Actually, the peach and raspberry ones are almost nice.)