Say the right things, when electioneering

Tomorrow there will be a new man in charge of our country. The relentless electioneering of the past weeks will be but an uncomfortable, though partially comical, memory. Brown’s blunders will be replaced by brown trousers in Number 10 as one unfortunate soul realises he must stop trying to appease the electorate with the sound of his own trumpet and start trying to make a symphony for our nation from mangled bits of plastic promises and a shafted economy.

Such is my (genuinely sad) distrust for any political figure that, for me, voting is damage limitation. It’s like being captain in playground football and having to pick for your masterfully constructed team of world-beating heroes one of the three remaining oafs coughed up by the bottom of the school’s coordination barrel. It’s not the man that I trust to lead our nation skipping gaily into a fairytale sunset that gets my vote, but the one that looks like he won’t fall over the political football as it trickles into his own net.

Happy polling day.