Election? What election?

Greetings fellow Whittlers, this comes to you from a place called Uxbridge, on the very western edge of Greater London. I’m here because of the general election. Although the US is already looking towards November 2020 the UK is staring down both barrels of arguably the most significant election in generations.

You’d be forgiven for not knowing this though. Yesterday I travelled to my Mum’s and today from her place to Uxbridge. In total I’ve spent about four hours on five different busses, passing through residential areas on and just beyond the southwest and west edges of London. I’ve been through safe Labour areas, Conservative and Lib Dem areas and deeply marginal areas. I have seen a grand total of two election signs up in people’s gardens, one Labour and one Lib Dem. Usually I’d have expected to see dozens of them.

Why should this be? One explanation could be that this is a winter election. Usually British General Elections are in May or June. It’s dark in southern England by 4.30 pm at this time of year, earlier further north of course. These are dreich and dreary nights best spent snug at home or in the pub, watching telly or chatting with friends, not going door to door trying to persuade strangers to vote for fools and knaves.

Another explanation could be people’s general weariness with politics. Since the vote to re-establish the UK’s independence (still unachieved) in 2016, we have been deluged with politics, we’re soaked in it. It’s less than three years since the last election and folk are fed up.

Lastly, I think the way politics has become more visceral, more antagonistic, is a factor. Although there are various issues in the election, the single biggest, the overarching issue, is undoubtedly Brexit. I try hard to differentiate the issues from the people, but I can’t help but loathe those, especially Lib Dems and wet Tories, who are trying to overturn the 2016 decision. I’ve started to see them as enemies, not just opponents. Whatever they say their actions show that they are loyal to the EU, not the UK. For their part, the die-hard Remainiacs see us Leavers as racist dinosaurs. This level of personal antipathy is something strange and new to us, and deeply uncomfortable. I don’t doubt that people are much less willing these days to publicly display their voting intentions.

No doubt all the three of the above factors have combined to make this a very low-key election, at least in public.

A strangely quiet battle ground

The last part of my journey today especially surprised me. I have come to Uxbridge to lend a hand to the local Conservatives trying to get Boris Johnson re-elected. Of course, Johnson is (or was until the election was called) Prime Minister, but he has the smallest majority of any PM since 1924 (5,034) and is incredibly vulnerable. Naturally, the Conservatives are working hard to make sure he still has a seat in Parliament on Friday, and the Labour Party are working equally hard to unseat him. The media have reported widely on this, but the political media circus seems to be just that. All sound and fury signifying nothing when the candidates and journos are around, but people are back to business as usual as soon as they slither back under their rocks. 

I came here to lend a hand. I’m by no means convinced about Boris, but when I thought it through it was the only option. My own MP, Dominic Raab, is a sound guy who supports Brexit, but his majority is 23,298. If he needs help the Conservatives are done for. Likewise, the guys I used to know from my political days that are now MPs, all sound as a pound, but in safe seats. I did toy with the idea of helping in a constituency where the Brexit Party are trying to unseat Labour. These are all way up in the northeast, so getting there would be dear, and I’m not sure how much help a southern softie would be on the hustings in places like Hartlepool. So here I am, because after two decades of not being involved in politics I just can’t stand on the side-lines anymore. I’ll let you know how it goes.