The Final Countdown

Hmmm. No idea what's going on at the moment but I appear to have lost my blogging mojo. I'll tell you what it is, though - it's that I keep not writing it. Like exercise, the less you do it, the more you hate it. And, at this time in particular, I should be writing.

Because - deep breath - I really do believe that this is an extraordinary time for British politics. I'm sorry. I know you want to hear about my dating mishaps and the spots that mysteriously appeared on my left buttock last week. But this is urgent. I am greatly fearful that there will be a Tory government in a day or two - not only fearful because I don't think they are the best party to run the UK in the short term (although I really don't think they are) but because I am convinced that this election presents an opportunity to change the political system to something representative, and alter things for the better in the long term. Even if I were a potential Tory voter, I wouldn't want them to win tomorrow.

Just think of all the benefits a truly engaged electorate could bring to Britain. How different things would be if everyone cared about their society, everyone believed they had a voice and everyone believed their vote would matter and their opinion would be heard. I'm not saying that some form of proportional representation would create that society overnight. But I am saying that a continuation of this deeply-flawed FPTP system will guarantee that the vast majority of the electorate remain distant, unengaged and resentful for the forseeable future.

I live in an 'ultra safe' Labour constituency, which means that, according to the Voter Power Index, my vote is actually worth 0.6 of an actual vote. And that's true for the vast majority of us. Since less than 20% of constituencies are marginal, eight out of ten votes cast tomorrow are pretty much irrelevant. Eight out of ten people in Britain aren't being heard.

Depressed? You're right. It's a disgrace. And this is the only way I can think of for us to make it change. Please - if you can, vote to make a difference. Keep the Tories below the 300-odd seats they need to form a government and let's not miss the best chance our generation has ever had to make a better, fairer system for the whole of the UK.

Yes, you're right, the economy's fucked. Labour made some bad choices, George Osborne is still midway through puberty and the LibDems are very new to this game (although Cable isn't). The economy is going to be fucked whoever comes out on top tomorrow night. Analysts today announced that the UK is going to be in a worse financial state than Greece by the end of this year. The short term is going to be bad. So let's at least do what we can for the long term.

Go on. Do the right thing. Vote tactically and keep the Tories out. And tell everyone else to do the same thing. 40% of the electorate are apparently still wobbling. I know it's much more fun when I write about walking round without realising there's a penis drawn on my face in indelible marker (NB this has not yet happened) but this is a huge opportunity and I feel like I have to do my best.

Right. Best done. Rant over.

What have I been up to... Friday night I went to the ICA with Emily to see Vote Afghanistan!, a documentary about last year's rigged elections, which made me feel simultaneously hopeless and
buoyed, since at least we're not the only deeply misguided country out there. Brothers and sisters of Kabul - big shout out from London town! We'll all be ignored together!

Oh, sorry, I was meant to stop ranting.

Saturday night was excellent - Grania and I went to Islington to see beatboxer-extraordinaire, Beardyman, whose brilliance cannot be overstated. He was funny, politically engaged and supremely good at his job: what more can one ask? I stood there agog, playing my favourite 'identify the sample and cheer knowingly to impress other concert-goers at the speed at which you recognised it' game and trying not to stare too much at the pneumatic drill dance that the young couple were doing to my right, the boy spooning the girl and jacking up and down as if on a miniature and diesel-powered tandem pogo stick. It was a bit rank.

Sunday I took it easy with my parents and chewed the fat (and delicious flapjacks) at Alex and Ben's before trying to get an early night and failing. Monday I was fed and wined to perfection at Sara's. Yesterday I went to see Counted?, which tried its best but didn't manage to elevate itself above an educational schools play. I wish everyone in schools were shown it - it would be brilliant. But as it is, the half-full audience were mostly converted anyway and I felt like they were wasting their breath. And, possibly, our £22. The intellectual zenith for me occured when the main character asked another what his vote was worth, on a scale of one to ten. The guy said it was worth about seven. The main guy asked what was worth more? And I thought about it, and really, democracy - if you can get it - is so important, isn't it? Almost more than anything else in life. It hit home. And then I realised I was a bit sleepy after my Wagamama's dinner so I had a bit of a snooze.

I'm off shortly for uke fun and must go smother my currently-annoyingly-sensitive-and-slightly-stingy-for-no-clear-reason face in make-up, so I'll have to leave you with love. Vote well, my British amigos. The moment has come. And yeah, obviously we're going to have five years of shit Tory rule come Friday morning - make sure you can live with yourself for the next half decade.

OK. I really will shut up now.