Soon, the Election will be over. Sighs of relief all round ? No, not really because
modern politicking involves having access to the electorate at all times through telly, radio, phones and the media generally. The only way to avoid it would be to spend a couple of weeks on Rockall. So, what will happen in the next few days is that somebody will win and media post mortems will examine WHY they won, or, on the other side of the mirror, examine why the losers lost.
Mind you, gurus tell us that no one party will actually win and that word “coalition” will continue to be writ large across Westminster. Interestingly, when the last coalition was formed, sweetness and light sparkled between the Tories and the LibDems. Handshakes, walks in gardens. That sort of thing. Not so now. They’re slagging each other off something rotten. And circling like sharks are the likes of Nigel Farage, who talks about “half”-black people and the Scots Sturgeon lady pops up all over the place being shrill and scary.
There was a time, when I was a kid, when there was only one TV channel, when radio presented The Archers ,the Shipping Forecast, “a programme of gramophone records” and not a lot else – a time when politicians didn’t really get much of a look in and interviewers were deferential to a fault. Interviewer, meeting P.M. off train. “Excuse me, Prime Minister, but could you say a few words about the balance of payments, please.?”
P.M. “Yes, my government and I are working very hard to address this question. But really, you know, you’ve never had it so good.Thank you.” Hurries off. Freedom of information these days is a good thing. But can there ever be too much information ? Possibly. Maybe the constant drip-feed of political intention at the best of times and a positive deluge of it election time is why people are so fed up with politicians.
Speaking of too much information, I went off to my local hospital last week for an MIR scan – an unpleasant experience wherein you lie flat out in a plastic tunnel whilst an incredibly noisy machine passes up and down above you. Anyway, I got lost in the maze of hospital corridors trying to find “Imaging”. I did, eventually, but as I was sitting in my cubicle,dressed in the usual fetching backless gown, the cubicle curtains slightly open, I realized I’d got lost because of the plethora of information on hospital walls. There are proper plastic signs saying “Orthopaedics” or whatever, but above, below and on all sides are other notices, Blu-tacked in place usually by people who have never heard of “level”. Through the two- inch gap in my cubicle curtain, I counted ONE official, proper notice and 37 Blu-tacked jobs.
Meanwhile, Mother Earth, caring not a jot for human ambition, shrugs her shoulders, kills thousands and wrecks Nepal.