Sunday, May 01, 2005

Payback time begins Friday

Lost the plot a bit over the last couple of days. We had developed quite a routine BBM and I. Him walking the streets from dawn to dusk pushing paper through front doors. Me multiskilling away on the domestic front, joining the afternoon canvass rounds and the evening speculation about what Labour's majority might be come Friday morning.

On Saturday morning one of our oldest political mates arrived from London for the weekend. He's just become Ambassador for his country here, and has had some pretty bad teasing from all of us about his new elevated position. Yes your excellency, no your excellency. Would you like some butter on the royal slice of bread?

I invited the three Labour MPs (well OK candidates then) from our patch plus their partners to dinner on Saturday night to meet His Excellency. Ms Nextdoor constituency turned me down. She's quite marginal, and frankly quite terrified that she's going to be the loser come Friday. Looking at the polls it seems unlikely, but she says she is spening every minute of every hour cajoling her voters.

Still seven for dinner is quite daunting and the day disappeared under a wave of food preparation. Crushing fennel seeds, scrubbing spuds, chopping garlic. BBM spent most of his day in supermarket car parks handing out leaflets. Of course it never occured to him to cross the threshold to the place where they actually sell the food. Asda, Tesco, Sainsbury: to him they are just places where voters hang out rather than the front line where the domestic economy meets the nation's.

Delighted to discover that the other MPs wives at the dinner were having feelings identical to mine. All three husbands seemed to have been given a month off chores to try to get their jobs back. A month where unreasonable demands on us wives had been met with weary smiles of resignation. A month where we'd all worn lipstick and combed our hair just to pop out to the Post Office. Where we'd ironed shirts, polished shoes for weary feet and put glasses of red wine into tired hands. Most of all a month where rows just hadn't happened. Lips had been bitten, angry words swallowed. Great injustices suffered in total silence. A month where praise for last night's speech "They loved you darling they really did" was the only item on the domestic agenda.

With a bit of luck this will all end abruptly sometime early on Friday morning. Our fairy godmothers dressed at Returning Officers will wave their magic wands declare the right result and payback time will begin.

The three candidates looked deeply gloomy as we wives warned of their future prospects.

1 Comments:

Blogger bas said...

Laughed out loud about what supermarkets mean to male politicians! You are so right! However, yesterday morning, I plucked up the courage to buy some flowers (steered well away from those troublesome food and thingss aisles) and brought them home for the Better Half. Unfortunately, I forgot to put them in water so, by evening, handing over a bunch of wilted petal-dropping stalks didn't create quite the intended effect.

3:55 AM  

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