Polling has closed...

Preston Park, 8.30pm

...and now we wait for the results. Having told (telled? - been a teller) at the portacabin polling station in the park for the local elections in May 2007, I can report that the turnout was unusually high here, for the 6-10pm evening period especially.


What this means overall, I couldn't say. Certainly the council officers staffing the station (from 6.45am 'til 10.15pm with a 20 minute break - hmm) were surprised, especially as the Euros have a low turnout traditionally.

So roll on Sunday/Monday, when the waiting will be over. As somebody once said, "I can handle the despair - it's the hope that's killing me". I've got everything crossed for Caroline, Keith, Jean, Peter, and all our candidates in target constituencies.

Thank you if you voted Green today.

Thank you if you even bothered to vote!*

*(but not for the BNP obv.)

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Eagle-eyed readers will spot what is wrong with the above picture (OK, no clever answers here please ;))... the polling portacabin was powered by a stinky diesel generator. There were complaints from tellers, polling station officers, and voters alike, particularly those who found themselves downwind of the fumes. Yuk :(

A few lightbulbs and sockets don't need much power; why can't we use portable micro-renewables for future temporary polling stations, instead of noxious fossil fuel guzzlers?

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My best ever Telling Story is from last May when I went up to Lewisham to help out with their local/AM elections on a dank and damp Spring afternoon.

I was stationed at an infant school near Sue Luxton's house, nervously eyeing up the clouds and the fact that there was no shelter in the playground should it start to rain.

Well, of course, the heavens opened, and there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide - the school porch was off-limits thanks to campaigning rules, and as I scanned the playground in panic, I spotted a very small wendy house...





















Yes reader, in desperation I ended up cowering in that teeny-tiny wendy house, rolling a [soggy] fag with my knees up to my chin, and the rain pummelling my temporary accommodation, thinking "yes, all my life and all my career I've been working up to this. Oh, the GLAMOUR."

WRONG doesn't even begin to cover it...