Voting by Colour.

It being Election Day, I went to the village hall to add my X to the millions of others. One drop in the ocean, one grain of sand in the desert. Or so it always seems to me. But that’s democracy, and we’re probably better off for it than a lot of people in a lot of places.

The woman who handed me my ballot slip was handsome for her age, handsomer than one is inclined to expect from the women who usually hand out ballot slips. She had a smile that was subtly different from the smug Tory smile one grows used to in a place like the Shire; I even thought I detected just the slightest hint of liberal mischief in it. I might have been wrong, but the village hall smelt like a village hall should, so all was well. I forgot to take my reading glasses as usual, but I think I managed to deposit the privileged X in the right place.

So what was the right place? Well, I considered breaking with my usual habit and voting tactically for a change. Having done some research, however, I realised there would be no point. A vote for any candidate other than a Tory is a wasted vote in a place like this, such is the historic hold the Blue Orcs have over the hearts and minds of English Hobbits. And if you’re going to cast a wasted vote, you might as well cast it with your heart. I voted Green.

Tomorrow will see the status quo maintained, at least in this little corner of England, but my voice will still swim against the prevailing tide even if nobody is looking in that direction.