Sooooo, Mrs. Wolfers and I took an early evening stroll down the polling station. I took great delight in giving the Tory and Green gophers sat outside one of my best Paddington Bear stares when they asked for 'my number' - I was tempted to say 0800 FUCK YOU. But that would have been rude.
I still got to say pretty much that. The European election form came with its own easel, by the time I'd read from the top (BNP) to the bottom (UKIP) about ten minutes had passed. A huge selection of parties in this 'region' most of whom not worth a wank sock.
Come to the local. Shit. A more uninspiring list it is hard to imagine. The disappoinment of a list that read in its entirety: Conservative, Green, Labour, Liberal Democrat.
Left with but one option, now in the ballot box there is a paper bearing the legend: 'This is a choice?'
If only my employment didn't prohibit me from standing, I reckon I would have done quite well just through not being any of them. . .
2 comments:
We did have “The Roman Party. Ave!” as an option.
Which was novel.
The mad bus-driving Frenchman from Reading, was tempted, but decided to put an X next to UKIP instead.
But the locals? Give me strength. . .
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