Take your pick
Polling day. I've never felt as involved in elections since the year we realised we were going to be on holiday in Orkney on Election Day and signed up for a postal vote; we've kept that up since, because it seemed a sensible precaution for the footloose, but it's not the same as going along and voting in person with one of these stubby wee pencils.
In the past I've stood outside our polling station - once clutching a (fake) red rose, more than once representing CND, engaging in desultory chat with a local Tory supporter as we grew steadily colder. May evenings - and it was always evening because I was working - were never reliable, and sometimes a Tory lady would have a wee flask of tea. On one occasion I was invited in at 10pm to supervise the sealing of the boxes, which felt strangely important, before I staggered stiffly round the corner to home. For the last several elections the polling station has been two streets away rather than in a local church hall, and I think some of the atmosphere of these evenings was lost. When I drove by this afternoon around 4.30pm the only indication that there was an election was the "Polling Station" sign on the fence - I didn't see a soul.
My photo is of the last few days' collection of leaflets for the various candidates, including some of the oddbods standing for the List vote.The peach coloured list ballot paper was quite something - when I did my postal vote I'd not heard of half of the parties, so reading about them later was informative but not useful. I wouldn't have voted for any of them, I have to say, even had I read the leaflets in time.
Outside the political realm, I discovered that my face is more swollen in the morning and goes down - under the eyes, for instance - as the day progresses. Cold wet teabags seem to help. I did more today - recorded a couple of pieces up at the church in the morning and went a walk with Di and the dogs in the afternoon, when we discovered that Glen Massan was sheltered from the wind and that despite the cold we got hot climbing to the upper glen. The bluebells and primroses are out, and the huge horse chestnut beside the river is sprouting what look like bright green hands. There are cuckoos in the glen again; it was all rather lovely.
I may, however, have slightly overdone things: I have a headache tonight and am taking it to a relatively early bedtime...