Marmelade and Peanut Butter Sandwiches
The best fillings I can find as I dash though home on the way to the Count.
The marmelade is tinged with Teachers Whisky flavour which reminds me of a Charles Kennedy joke. The peanut butter is non-alcoholic crunchy. I check I have my pass and rosette and leap into our lift. The whiff of marmelade brings positive comments.
We need to be early as we have the fascist National Front standing in our constituency and we need to suss them out and keep them away from Tony Lloyd. They're not welcome here. And they can't be allowed a Mugabe style sneaked handshake or any other stunt.
The first ballot boxes and a last sweep of postboxes for PVs are coming in as we arrive. And we head straight for the Conference Room. Here the counters are being warmed up by re-counting some test bundles of known dimensions. At first with limited precision. But the presiding officer puts them through their paces until they are spot on.
And the serious party tellers are already hovering.
Including a car full of fascists over from Yorkshire where most of the prime seats are taken by the BNP. Thrown out of their own county. Imagine that. The only ones not wearing rosettes. They might as well have swastikas tattooed on their foreheads.
But actually they're like scared rabbits. They are massively outnumbered by the staff and around forty party workers. They are like fish out of water in this democratic process.
The marmelade is tinged with Teachers Whisky flavour which reminds me of a Charles Kennedy joke. The peanut butter is non-alcoholic crunchy. I check I have my pass and rosette and leap into our lift. The whiff of marmelade brings positive comments.
We need to be early as we have the fascist National Front standing in our constituency and we need to suss them out and keep them away from Tony Lloyd. They're not welcome here. And they can't be allowed a Mugabe style sneaked handshake or any other stunt.
The first ballot boxes and a last sweep of postboxes for PVs are coming in as we arrive. And we head straight for the Conference Room. Here the counters are being warmed up by re-counting some test bundles of known dimensions. At first with limited precision. But the presiding officer puts them through their paces until they are spot on.
And the serious party tellers are already hovering.
Including a car full of fascists over from Yorkshire where most of the prime seats are taken by the BNP. Thrown out of their own county. Imagine that. The only ones not wearing rosettes. They might as well have swastikas tattooed on their foreheads.
But actually they're like scared rabbits. They are massively outnumbered by the staff and around forty party workers. They are like fish out of water in this democratic process.
posted by Chris Paul at 10:55 PM
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