Politics

I've been waiting for our MP to call round to try and canvas my vote. There is so much I want to grill her on - her rubbishy voting history, her expenses scandal - a luxury westminster 2nd home when we live in North London! - as well as trying to elicit some sense on her party's plans for dealing with the debt and, for issues close to my own heart, housing, regeneration and plans to decimate the lazy, final pay pension and an in line with inflation pay rise scounging public sector workers such as myself.

As the days go by with neither a leaflet nor a door knocking, I'm getting more riled and adding to my list of questions. I can sense the other half is starting to hope she or one of her party minions pops round when he is out....

Then on Thursday, just after the other's half's parents have taken monkey baby off my hands for the afternoon, there is a knock at the door and it's them! As I have nothing better to do time on my hands, I assume a comfy position leaning on my door frame just far enough forward so she can't stand on my porch entrance and I can loom above her in what I hope is a threatening Jeremy Paxman-esque manner and I prepare to give her what for.

I let her do her spiel first and wave a leaflet about which apparently outlines her recent accomplishments, including one bullet point called 'saving the local hospital from closure'...the said local hospital will not close that's for sure but it will in a few years no longer have maternity and children's services or an A&E but will still offer hip and knee operations, so her choice of the word 'save' is rather galling and I tell her so, then start my rambling monologue of questions grilling.

Midway through she raises her hand and says 'wait a minute - are you from Lancashire?' This is rather unexpected. 'Errr.... yes' I reply. 'I thought I recognised your accent' she says 'let me guess, Bolton way? No it's more East Lancs than that, Preston maybe? I exchange glances with the stunned party minion then correct her - right bit of the country wrong town - and then she goes on to tell me she comes from 5 miles down the road from me and before we know it, we are having the northerners in the south conversation....

Once we've established how long we have both been 'down' here, whether we have families back north, what they think of us being here, the heritage of our other halves and the difficulties/peculiarities/fun this can cause and the current state of our accents, its quite amiable. And at that point she says she has to get on as lots of doors to knock at with only a week to go and disappears down my path...

The party minion watches her boss leave and hot foot it down the road to where a bunch of her colleagues are accepting biscuits and cups of tea from one of my neighbours who has decorated her house with red banners and a home made monster garden sign, of which estate agents can only dream of. She turns to me with an expression of sad resignation 'so you had some questions on our manifesto?'

I take the leaflet and wish her luck with the coming week of cavassing... but despite this shameless show I'll still be voting for this woman on Thursday because in my constituency it's a 2 horse race and the alternative doesnt bear thinking about....