12 December (Part 1) - It’s fingernail biting time
It’s been a funny sort of day, dodging the rain and apprehensive about the
future. Forty years ago, not to the day obviously, I promised my then seven and
nine year old children I would double their pocket money to a pound a week if
Mrs. Thatcher was elected; they told me not all that long ago that it made
them the richest kids in class but I am not sure it did a lot of good. One is
sufficiently left wing not to be sacked by the BBC and the other one runs a
successful small business but is inclined to vote Lib Dem this time. University First
Class Honours Degree and all!
I must have been a bad parent.
I have never ever seen any reason to vote Lib Dem. Until this year I’ve never
known what their policies are; they have always been inclined to have different
policies for different constituencies but in 2019 we do know what they want, to
undo the result of a referendum they campaigned for.
There have been a handful of interesting emails today, one from someone who has
extracted a promise from the Conservatives to fix the social care problems.
We will urgently work across Parliament to find a cross-party consensus that
addresses the significant and complex challenges we face. This process will
begin as soon as the next Parliament is established, and we will bring forward
an answer that solves the problem, commands the widest possible support, and stands the test of time.
The third point of our plan is that without exception no one needing care will
have to sell their home to pay for it.
This three-point plan stabilising the current system, immediately securing
cross-party consensus for a long-term solution, and guaranteeing that no one
will have to sell their home to pay for care will provide certainty and
security for our older population.
With the old girl in East Ham seemingly going on for ever that would be a welcome development.
There were less interesting emails too. Someone complaining they would not
vote for anyone who called an election in December. Was there any choice? The complaint
came from one of those poor losers who do not understand the word democracy. A school teacher. Would you expect anything else?
There was another from a Sikh complaining bitterly about the Labour Party’s antisemitism. “It will be us next.”
A local businessman gave me a Crossrail related anti-Sadiq Khan rant. “A sh*t Mayor”.
There was an email from a lady who says she is not voting because her back garden
fence is in a different constituency to her house and she is not going to vote
for an MP from, as she sees it, a foreign borough. All her business is conducted
on the far side of the fence. There is no accounting for that but it is one Tory vote lost.
A rather premature message commiserates with me (using today’s favourite word) for being represented by “a sh*t
new MP”. That is very unkind and we don’t even know for certain that Joe Robertson is going to be elected yet.
By the way, the neighbours who burned their furniture to keep warm in the late
1960s “when the pound in your pocket” bought less as every day passed by went on to burn all their doors.
It’s going to be a long night and I have a horrible feeling it will be a
horrible dark five years ahead of us too. A reader is so sure I am wrong that
he emailed to say he would bet and buy me a beer if Boris Johnson didn’t win a
majority. I told him to keep his money. If Corbyn wins he is going to
need every penny he has and under him the beer will be all froth anyway, just like his promises, no substance, just air.