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Ballot By Ordeal

Despite a huge indifference towards dining at the unappetising looking General Election buffet table, on Thursday I’ll join fellow UK citizens in selecting an unwanted ballot box ‘dish’. Unappealing fare which’ll no doubt riddle us with indigestion for the next five years.

Above is my poetic attempt at conveying, due to the uninspiring options available, my complete lack of enthusiasm for the task in hand,

I liken the contemporary ballot box selection of our political leaders akin to enduring the ancient judicial practise of trial by ordeal. A cruel method of concluding the guilt of the accused, guided by how they responded to painful, often dangerous interrogation practises.

For example, on occasion, guilt of witchcraft was established by submerging the accused in a river. If they floated they were found guilty, as it was decreed they must have used sorcery, so were put to death. If they stayed submerged they were deemed innocent; unfortunately on many occasions they drowned anyway.

Clearly, drowning a suspected witch with such cruel and unjust practises is infinitely more barbaric than our electoral process. The parallel I’m attempting to make is that trial by ordeal was a ‘no win’ situation, which to my mind bears alarming similarities when voting for a contemporary political party to govern the nation.

Consequently, on Thursday I’m going to cast my ‘X’ on a ballot paper for no other reason than I strongly feel I shouldn’t waste the vote…… Although, with my ingrained cynicism about the quality of all ‘dishes’ on offer, it’s hard to feel anything other than in reality it’s a wasted vote.

Regardless, I’ll turn up at the polling station on the 12th December to select someone who I’ve absolutely no faith will improve the lot of his constituents, either locally or nationally. My actions taken from the viewpoint that this ballot box privilege may not even been open to me had it not for the efforts of many thousands of brave UK citizens. Men and women, who over a century ago, fought (sometimes with their lives) to gain an input into who governed them.
going underground

I may not know who I’m going to vote for, if truth be told I don’t even know the candidate options, however I’ve decided on which socks, undies and t-shirt to wear for Thursday’s sojourn to the polling station. Saying that, though, I’m undecided which sweater and trousers I’ll adorn on the 12th December.

I’m also unsure if anyone fought directly for my right to choose the trousers I wear. If they did, though, I promise not waste the privilege they so valiantly struggled to achieve. To clarify, I am clothed while penning this monologue, I’m acutely aware that no one in history has fought for my right to sit b*ll*ck naked at my living room window without sanction….. Although, naturists may beg to differ!

Anyway, I best move swiftly back to the topic of the General Election!

Realistically, unless the election results in a hung parliament, when we in the UK wake on Friday 13th December*** our government will be lead by either the candidate in the  blue corner (Boris ‘Destroy the NHS’ Johnson), or the pugilist in the red corner (Jezza ‘Deep Pockets’ Corbyn).

*** – Irony?

As a northern chap who’s lived the majority of his life in areas that were/are predominantly Labour heartlands (apart from a nine year spell in Edgware), my natural inclination is to support the red team. That being said, though,  I’m don’t advocate blind loyalty and Labours manifesto promises seem unachievable without putting the country into a deeper red colour than the flag which that affiliation operate under.

I abhor the cynical public service cuts undertaken on the Tories watch, however will Jezza’s planned fiscal strategy, spending shed loads of cash we don’t have, bear fruit? If so, will the shape of the fruit be pear shaped, or that of a four lemons jackpot for the UK.

Can we trust the Tories for five more years in charge of the NHS?…… Incidentally, there’s no need to answer that question, it’s rhetorical.

Since waking this morning, the line ‘You’ll see kidney machines replaced by rockets and guns.‘ (from The Jam’s single Going Underground) has played on a loop on my cranial jukebox…… It’s good to know if you ever need political guidance, you can always rely on a subliminal message from Paul Weller!

 

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