…as the kids seem to be calling it these days. [shrug] Beats me. Anyway, yes, there’s some sort of election going on tomorrow, thus far unremarked on this site. Which is odd, since not only do I get to meet some delightful old ladies at the local primary school, I can marvel at the joys of barely-post-war typography too. The machinery of democracy is a marvelous thing, and it’s fueled by obsolete lithography and milky tea. This sort of thing pleases me greatly, hence my surprise at not having mentioned it until now.
Also because tomorrow, I shall get to look the faceless bureaucracy straight in the eye. For not only do I get to grasp the stubby pencil and mark a box on a scrap of flimsy paper, but I’ll get to see lots of other marks on paper too. I’m going to the count in Glasgow.
Old chum Martin is, as it turns out, the Scottish Green Party‘s candidate for Glasgow North. It’s all official and in the Guardian and everything. He’s roped me into helping out at the count, which so far as I can tell involves wandering around with a clipboard whilst nodding sagely and muttering ‘Ah yes, a pile of paper’ rather a lot. Or something like that. I’m not quite sure how that gets spun out until two in the morning, but doubtless I’ll find out.
My excitement is tempered only by the realisation that both the constituency Martin’s contesting, and the one in which I vote, are absurdly safe Labour seats. Heigh-ho. Still, here’s hoping it turns out better than the last time I was called to exercise my democratic right, which was frankly something of a farce.