Ugh. The brave new blue dawn. Enjoying it yet? I stayed up till about 3.30am, which was quite a feat of endurance by any stretch, given that last night appeared to be a competition between the TV channels to see who could get the most odious cunts on screen - at one time I swear I went through a chain of hatefulness from Eric Pickles to Ken Clarke to Paul Staines to Rod Liddle all in the space of a few clicks of the remote. It got to the stage where I started praying for a Go Compare advert to come on so I wouldn't feel like hurling an empty beer bottle at the telly so much. And Alistair Stewart saying everything was 'Fascinating' like Spock looking in his monitor at a new planet. No, it wasn't fascinating. It was fucking terrifying. All of it. All of them. And now I've got a Tory MP this morning, to add to everything. Fuck.
Here, then, are some random thoughts as we speed hurtling towards hung parliament at best, Conservative overall majority still a possibility.
1. Isn't it a terribly British to see people queueing, then arguing about queueing?
I saw a lovely queue on my way home from work last night of people trying to vote. Marvellous scenes, I thought. And there's something that feels so right about polling stations being unprepared by a high turnout, not being able to cope, then blaming people for daring to want to exercise their democratic right, then arguing about petty rules to people, then leaving everyone with a vague sense of pissedoffness. Perfect. Those voters who couldn't make it to the ballot box have a sense of disappointment, frustration and powerlessness this morning. But then again, so do many of us who did vote. So, swings and roundabouts. But surely, if you're in a queue at 10pm you should be allowed to vote? Isn't that common sense in this PCBrigadegawnmadisitelfnsafetyIalwaysgetemconfused land of ours?
2. Rod Liddle is a cunt.
I know this isn't a revelation to any of you. I shouldn't be mean and mock his physical appearance - though yes, all right, if you insist, he looks like a five-day-old bloated corpse that's been found floating in a pond by a jogger - but it really takes an epic kind of prick to make Derek Hatton not the most loathsome person in a room. I watched the election night Come Dine With Me, as many did, with that dawning realisation that no, it's not some kind of grumpy literary persona; he really is a deeply unpleasant turd.
3. No-one knows anything.
Seriously, no-one knows anything about anything. I watched, and watched, and watched, the BBC and ITN coverage, waiting for someone to try and unravel it all. But no-one could. It was one of those times when the 'experts' tried to avoid eye contact with the anchors, for fear of being asked to explain stuff they really couldn't explain, and just gazed off into the distance. The Beeb and ITV had men sat at desks whose entire job seemed to be to stare off into space and not do anything all night. No-one knows anything. I know as much as you do. But you know nothing. Because I know nothing. But, comfortingly I think, they know nothing. So we're all in the same boat, heading off the waterfall, together.
4. 'Mandate' just sounds like a 1970s shower gel.
And for all I know, it might have been. I am too tired and emotional to Google it. Every time I see a politician on TV mention 'mandate' I get the image of a soaped-up man's torso in the shower. Maybe you do as well. Maybe you get that image all the time. Maybe you like it. I'm not so sure. I think I just want a big strong man to hold me and tell me it's all going to be all right. Can you do that for me? I'm frightened. Tell me it's going to be all right, big strong 1970s shower man. Tell me.
5. Our voting system is a crock of shit.
It's too early to declare every result at this stage, but even if the Tories do manage to scrape an overall majority they will have got 100% of the power with 36-odd% of the popular vote. If you think that's fine, kill yourself. Do it now, before I get upset with you. This is insane. Don't say "I didn't hear you complaining when Labour won in 1997" because I wasn't writing this then, and besides, I thought the voting system was shite then, so I've got every right to complain, so fuck you, contrarian know-it-all fuckwipe, all right? We're a fucking laughing stock. If we're not a fucking laughing stock, we should be. Except I don't find it funny.
6. At least Philippa Stroud didn't get in.
Well done, Sutton & Cheam, my one-time home town, for rejecting Philippa Stroud. But you know it's a bleak day when you're scratching around for crumbs of comfort like that and getting vaguely pleased that people you didn't want to win didn't win. I suppose we do have a Green MP today as well, so that's something. Like an undamaged bottle of duty free Malibu you find in the aircraft wreckage. It's not perfect, but I'll take what I can get.
7. Manchester City couldn't buy the Premiership.
And it seems that despite the millions of Lord Ashcroft, the Tories might - just - fail to buy the election. This comforts me in some ways, but then I start thinking, well, it's not so comforting to think that a billionaire can come in and splash untold riches on endless bloody leaflets, billboard adverts and signs at a time of economic crisis, especially when the party he wants to win will be sticking as many people as possible on the dole in the coming few years. Doesn't it seem, oh I don't know, a bit vulgar or something?
8. Now it's going to get nasty.
If there is a hung parliament, it's going to get nasty. The pressure from the press will be intense on Gordon Brown to resign. If, on the other hand, the Tories do get in, well, it's going to get nasty.
9. A lot of this is going to be obsolete in a couple of hours' time.
But I don't give a shit. I'm just writing whatever little maggots come crawling out of my brain tissue. All the coffee in the world won't save me this morning.
10. Who wants to get wrecked?
Look, I'm not going to pretend to have any insight other than "Fuck, this doesn't look good." So I'll go with that for now. Who wants to get wrecked on cheap booze all day and then end up sleeping in a skip, hoping this horrible feeling of dread is going to go away. Who's with me? I said, who's with me??!?!?!