I have just been to exercise my democratic rights for the third time in a month. The excitement is starting to wear off. As a believer in democracy, I had to go and vote. I also had to fight my way past three large, blonde, ponytailed teenagers who had decided to sit on the step outside the polling station and eat chips inbetween a cackle or two, and make nerds like me feel inadequate for exercising my democratic rights. However, I had no idea what or who I might be voting for.
"The Parish Council," the woman who sits behind the desk and hands you your ballot paper announced. (As opposed to the other woman who receives your summons to vote and crosses your name off a list with a ruler).
OK.
"There are twelve candidates, and there are eleven seats. You can vote for not more than eleven people."
Rrrrright.
I gamely took the ballot paper to the pencil on a string and began to read. It then dawned on me that I didn't know any of these people. I didn't know what their politics were, or how petty and childish their personality might be when put under pressure. Could they work with each other? Would they be good for the parish? I had no idea.
I also thought eleven crosses might be a bit over the top. My ballot paper would look like a teenager's love letter. Wouldn't it be easier to put one cross next to the person you definitely didn't want to be on the council?
In the end, I pencilled in two crosses: one for someone on my street, and one for someone with the only slogan - something about not being prejudiced and being fair to everyone, which sounded ok to me.
I have a sneaky feeling that most people knew who to vote for because they knew them as individuals. Writing in hermitude does mean one can miss a lot of things. Like the last decade...
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