P I lost my mind a teensy bit a got a fifty-two-year-old Chinese elm.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Sunday, 23 January 2011
P I went out early to-day for to vote, and it was a good thing that I did so with time to spare. I went to the civil-parish office, to ask where the voting would be taking place, but it was closed - despite the schedule on the door, according to which it should have been open - and there was no notice anywhere to tell people where to go; furthermore, the streets were deserted, the only person whom I saw then being a man who, like me, had gone to there to enquire as to the election. We both left empty-handed.
P As I walked back to the car I remembered the old primary school, where I went several years ago for the referedum, and thought to go there, but, as luck would have it, there too the streets were deserted, and the doors shut and devoid of notices.
P But I, purely by accident, happen to know that a new primary school exists, and where, and so off I went.
P Arriving at the ugly, modern building, no banner or sign was visible, but there were people about and cars parked outside, and so I went in. In the depressing foyer I asked a young man with a perambulator if the voting was there, and he confirmed it (oh, mild satisfaction!).
P At the end of the room, affixed with tape to a pair of glass doors leading to a horrendous corridor, there were small pieces of paper, directing each voter to one of several different rooms, according to the voter's registration number. Because I have access to the internet, and had thought to search it for the location of the polls before leaving my domicile, I happened to know what my number was.
P And then I voted, and returned home.
P Perhaps abstention wouldn't be such a big problem if the actual act of voting weren't so bleeding difficult.