14 Apr 2010
Campaign Diary - Day 1
To start my campaign to become the youngest (and I believe best) Prime Minister that this fine nation has ever seen I have decided to embark on a series of meet and greet opportunities that will allow me to get to know the great British public on a face-to-face basis. Over the next three weeks I will be keeping a diary of my experiences - I will share them with you via this blog.
Day one of this campaign starts in the key constituency of Upper Crotchdon. I've decided to avoid the standard overblown photo-op much loved by other parties to get on with some old fashioned door knocking. Up early to catch the fruits of my (non-political) labour.
Started the day in glorious sunshine. Just me, the open road and my entourage of thirty. There is nothing like the feeling of being on your own that compares with the sense of anticipation of that crisp morning air.
Knocked on the first house I came to. Spoke to a delightful old lady. Real salt of the earth type. I asked if she was planning to vote in the up coming election. She said yes and nipped inside and brought out a small wooden box. I asked what she was planning to show me - she smiled and with a twinkle in her eye opened the box and produced an Iron Cross, a Tottenkopft cap badge and a Luger.
Great! My first house of the day and it's a Nazi sympathiser. Still, these things are sent to test our resolve. It can't get worse.
Door two looked more promising. It had swings in the front garden and a number of toys scattered on the grass. Bingo! I thought, families are a key voting group in this election. I knocked and introduced myself to the two chaps who answered the door. I asked if they were happy with the government's policies on families. They both looked a little confused. I kindly explained that surely their children were their number one priority. They looked more puzzled - and then told me that they didn't have children. I looked round at the toys on the lawn, at the swing and back to them. It was at this point that I noticed the dog lead around one of the feller's necks and the strong smell of baby oil.
It turns out that 'Terry' and 'Bitch' hold gay-friendly BDSM parties at their place and both have 'Daddy and Daddy' fetishes. After chatting for a bit I turned down their offer of tea - 'busy, busy' I explained wanting to get away before the local press arrived.
The next few houses had nobody in. At least all sounds of conversation suddenly stopped when I knocked on the door. This must be how Jehovah Witnesses must feel!
At this point the weather started to turn. A cold wind brought a few smatterings of rain but come rain or shine, I would bloody well campaign. Not like Cameron who insists on set weather conditions before he leaves his regeneration unit.
My next successful house was a young woman in her mid-twenties. 'Young votes' said my internal swingometre. She even invited me in for a cup of tea and a chat. I walked through the hall way and noticed a conspicuous lack of Nazi memorabilia or sex aides. At last - someone in Upper Crotchdon who isn't a nutter. I sat down and asked if she had any idea on who she was going to vote for on May 6th. She said she was standing herself as an independent. Now, I've always encouraged the incorporation of a myriad of viewpoints in the party, as my alcoholic grandfather used to say 'alloys are stronger - now fek off you slimy little bugger' - what a man.
I asked the young woman what issues she was hoping to stand on - if there was a way we could work together to prevent splitting the vote.
She looked me straight in the eye and said "I believe that if we don't stop destroying the planet we will be forced to pay". I explained that we also were a party with green issues at heart "yes" she continued "we will be attacked by the Halthraxian Galactic Empire by June if we don't stop the torture of Mother Earth" I looked at her blankly "In fact Gethina, our High-Priestess believes that it is too late and the only way we can prevent our impending doom is to do the dance of placation".
I'll be honest I'm quite liberal minded but when the young woman removed all of her clothes and started gyrating in front of me I didn't know where to put my face. Of course this was the moment when the local press decided to arrive and started taking photo after photo. I felt like Princess Diana in a strip club. I can only hope that the Upper Crotchdon Echo doesn't run those photos tomorrow!
After hastily extricating myself I decided I needed a bit of lunch and a break. Luckily there was a local pub just on the corner of the street. I walked in, proud to support the fine tradition of the local pub and the vital community service it provides.
"Pint of your local brew, barkeep" I said to, what looked like, Quasimodo's ugly twin. "Why?" he/she/it responded "it tastes like shit". I accepted the proffered pint and took a large swig; "hummm..." I said as my face puckered up "that's quite sour". The bartender just muttered under his breath. I'm sure it was complementing me on my desire to be one of the locals.
I felt the hunger pangs start to rumble in my stomach and decided to order some food. "Do you have a menu, my good man?" He thrust a stumpy finger towards a blackboard which looked like it had been decorated by a blind man with Parkinson's. "That looks like it's been decorated by a blind man with Parkinson's" I said aloud, pleased at my witty simile.
At this very moment a local rouge clapped a hand on my shoulder turned me round and said gruffly "are you takin' the piss outta Gerald?" as he did so he jerked a thumb towards the corner where an elderly chap with dark glasses and a white cane was sat shaking gently. Next to him was a pile of coloured chalk.
I came round outside in the gutter.
As I sat on the kerbside watching the traffic and trying to ignore the dull throb at the base of my skull I pondered if campaigning was always this hard. If perhaps, just perhaps, the main parties did it their way for a reason. "No point dwelling on the negativity" as my Laudanum addicted grandmother used to say before jacking up.
As my head cleared I espied a group of youths hanging in at a local park. Surely I should have little difficulty dealing with the X-Station playing, Hippty-Hop listening, crack-headed youngsters. I mean their brains should be so addled with virtual reality and illicit substances that I should have no difficulty in winning them over.
"Hey guys" I said as I walked to them.
"Oh, look who it is" one of them responded "you're Duke Fandango, leader of the The Neo-Post-Anti-Pro-Social Liberal Party." I immediately felt uneasy. This wasn't the brain washed youth the media promised.
"Yeah" said another spotty teen as he casually flicked his cigarette butt at my feet "your manifesto is nothing short of a joke - you try to set yourself up as a new way in British politics but you insist on twisting the socialist teachings of Marx into a conformist centrist point of view in a cynical attempt to acquire more votes".
I felt sick.
"Well" another started "I would actually place him closer to a Lloyd-Georgian classical interpretation of Liberalism when it came to economic issues with a direct ripping of the Social Democratic Party's social doctrine rather than having any direct influence from Marx".
I slowly backed away from the group until I could no longer hear the teenage gestalt equivalent of Jeremy Paxman.
"One more house" I said to myself "then I'm leaving this town full of Nazis, sexual deviants, cults and jumped up youngsters - I can see why the Conservatives are likely to win here".
I selected a house at random. Walked to the door, took a breath and knocked. The door immediately opened and I was face to face with a copper. He took one look at me then battoned me to the floor, flipped me over and handcuffed me. "We've got the bastard sarge" he yelled up the stairs.
It turns out that due to an unfortunate coincidence I knocked on the door of a police sting operation. It turns out that I may have interrupted the capture of 'El Gecko' the most infamous people trafficker in Western Europe. I hardly think it's my fault that he looks like me but apparently I'm due in court on the 24th for perverting the course of justice.
It's been a tough day. Still, as my zooiphilic great-aunt used to say 'keep your pecker up' before mounting Henry, my family's African Bull Elephant.
I can only hope that tomorrow is easier...