Having spent the week harrassing poor homeowners who have taken in lodgers for a freelance piece I was writing I am now in the glam offices of the Press Association covering the local elections.
After a brief frenzy of excitement when our 'men on the ground' were ringing in constantly with fresh tales of Tory triumph and Labour losses we are now ha-humming staring at the phones for results of the London Assembly and the Mayor.
Not having a vote for the Mayoral election has been a bit of a sore spot with me this week and I looked longingly at the Islington polling station I strolled past yesterday afternoon.
Having bounded out of bed to vote early yesterday morning I have spent the the time since then bitterly resenting the lucky sods participating in the KenandBoris Show and haranguing my London friends who did not bother.
I'm not entirely sure why I'm such a voting junkie but you can't keep me away from a polling station with love or money. I think even if your predominant emotion is apathy it's important to make the symbolic gesture of voting because of the amount fought and sacrificed for the privilege. Maybe my sanctimonious lectures are the reason nobody wants me to talk about youth voting anymore. Hmmm.
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