elections

Friday Flash Fiction – Letter Box

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 33 Comments

I must have ticked the wrong box, how else did I volunteer to deliver leaflets for a candidate in the local elections? New in the area, I recalled filling in an on line survey for opinions on what the council should do for us. I had plenty of ideas. I did not tick the box for the weekly gardening in the park, that was my craft morning. I did not tick the box for the Sunday morning litter pick, I was Facetiming Australia.

I did put my email address to avoid revealing where I actually lived, so that was how I came to receive a message from Nathan Nabor, standing for election once again.

Thanks so much for volunteering to deliver our leaflets, your support is greatly valued. I shall bring them round tomorrow evening, let me know if that’s convenient.

I replied Yes, after all he did not know where I lived, that was probably a generic message to all his supporters.

The next day I arrived home from my part time job and there he was on the doorstep with a hefty bag adorned with a ChatGPT improved image of himself.

‘Mrs Gullible, delighted to meet you. New in the area I gather, divorced or widowed?’

I was a little taken aback, was this an appropriate way for a pillar of the community to speak?

‘DFL’ I replied.

‘Divorced from London?’

‘Down From London, making a new start, getting involved.’

‘Excellent, excellent.’

What on earth possessed me to say involved when I had dreamed of a quiet life as an artist? I wasn’t actually an artist yet, but it was worth a try.

‘Is it okay if I come in so I can show you the ropes?’

He was already in the hall with one foot in my little kitchen diner. The small table barely had room for the mound of leaflets and envelopes spilling out of the bag.

‘Letters addressed to engaged voters we have spoken to, leaflets for every home and a map. You’ll need that being new, even our veteran leafleteers need a map.

So it was that I found myself in a strong south westerly blowing straight off the sea, wending my way round steep lanes, among the cottages that had looked so full of character when I was house hunting.  Every front door was accessible only by twisted flights of steps, worn down by generations of feet. Descent was more hazardous than the ascent. No two doors had their letter box in the same position. Occasionally a letter would drop in easily, but most involved a battle with the bristles. One was so tight I thought my hand was stuck. When I managed to pull it out, my engagement ring was missing.  Good riddance, I had tried to sell it, but it was not worth anything. Would the occupant notice a piece of jewellery on their doormat?

The front doors that put up the greatest battles were also the ones with ferocious dogs on the other side. I tried to get out through the front gate before an irate owner opened his front door. I stumbled a few times, how embarrassing if I fell down and broke something. The poor householder who didn’t want a leaflet and was probably cooking dinner, would be confronted with a 999 situation in their front garden.

I knew many householders in this town did not welcome strangers judging by the notices on the door or fixed nearby.

NO CALLERS

NO UNSOLICITED TRADERS

NO CANVASERS

NO JUNK MAIL

NO JW.ORG

WE DO NOT SPEAK TO PERSONS TOUTING FOR BUSINESS, PLEASE LEAVE AND DO NOT RETURN.

I hoped election leaflets were not junk mail, but were they canvassing? I omitted some homes, erring on the side of caution. It was now raining, but I only had one more lane to do, 12 letters, 36 leaflets and a lovely view of the sea, or would have been without the rainy mist rolling in.

My mistake was getting over confident in my new mountain goat agility, the rain was making stone steps slippery. The leaflet ripped as I tried to slip it in a wooden door that had not seen paint or varnish for decades. I stuffed the torn paper in my pocket and started again with a new leaflet. Ferocious barking was followed by bellowing.

‘WHO THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT AT THE DOOR … SHUT UP RUFUS’.

I beat a hasty retreat, but one foot got left behind and the other foot left me behind. I ended up in a crumpled heap against the rickety front gate. My brain said I could get up, but my body disagreed. Please body, don’t tell me I have a broken ankle.

My body replied ‘What do you think that loud crack was and that horrendous pain?’

My brain said ‘Get your mobile phone out and dial 999 before that man comes out.’

But my phone was tucked safely in my back pack and I was lying on my back pack. At that moment the front door opened.

Have you ever been a leafleteer?

Non digital visitors are coming Chez Tidalscribe for the Easter holidays, who knows what will happen to my blog or Mrs Gullible…

If I Ruled the World

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 19 Comments

Alas just a fantasy, like many of us I cannot imagine anything worse than being a politician, let alone a leader of a nation. After many jobs and career attempts I realised I don’t actually like responsibility, so it is hypocritical of me to tell royalty and politicians of any nation how they should be running things.

We have had many dark days this century for people and the planet and today’s news compounds that. There are places in the world we hear little about and others which are never out of the news, they all matter. In a world of peace we could be helping all people to grow food and be healthy and healing the planet. We have the knowhow, but ordinary folk and clever scientists alike are crushed every day.

What would you tell your leaders this evening?

Do NOT phone him to congratulate him.

Do block incoming suspicious calls.

Certainly do not invite him to visit your country, even privately let alone a state visit; best in fact to alert all ports to look out and detain any world leaders with criminal convictions.

Do assemble the best team of scientists and doctors you have and urge other nations to do the same. Offer sanctuary to the best brains trapped in countries where they can’t use their talents. Get together and plan an alternative unified bloc to run the world.

So, what are you waiting for…let’s go!

Election Night Special

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 26 Comments

Our polling stations have just closed and a long night lies ahead for some. At my polling station the chap checking our photo ID greeted me theatrically with ‘Welcome to the brightest spot in BCP ( the very unoriginal name of our combined councils ). A dull church hall! Then he said ‘Do you like quizzes.‘ Yes I do. ‘Just one question, what is your name?‘ Luckily I passed.

Out and about all day, passing polling stations that weren’t mine, I did see a steady trickle of people heading to vote. On the news they are not allowed to mention politics so instead they kept showing pictures of dogs tied up outside polling stations. Someone on Facebook complained that dogs were not allowed in. One of my earliest memories is of standing outside a polling station in the dark with a tall policeman, the traditional Bobby with a helmet, while my parents went inside. My daughter took her boys with her to vote at 7am and they were allowed in, though probably not allowed to draw pictures on the ballot paper.

Coverage of the count has started on television, how to fill in the long hours waiting for the first count to come in? Lots of intense discussion about what happened last time and what may or may not happen this time. Excitement builds as we start seeing candidates on the stage setting their faces for the right expression when the numbers of votes are read out… Count Binface, Sensible Party 6023 votes, Janet Gogerty, Tidalscribe party 23 votes…

Will you be staying up to follow the results?

If you don’t live in the United Kingdom are you interested?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Canvassing

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 18 Comments

I was pottering in the front garden on Sunday, or rather digging, tugging, planting, weeding, sweating… but it was nice to be out in the sunshine chatting, with all the neighbours also out. I should say the neighbours were going out, coming back, going out again while I went nowhere. But there was still time to chat on matters of importance; which bin is going out this evening, shall I paint your side of the fence? There was a bit of drama when next door sent a text to ask me to go round and check on her daughter who wasn’t answering her phone.

The day was further enlivened when strangers started appearing and some of them were strange. A weird chap had leaflets in his hands.

‘A vote for us is a vote for change. Jerry is a local man born and bred. He will make sure enough social housing is built, while at the same time protecting all our green spaces.’

 Among the bees and blooms I had forgotten we were having a general election, that we were all doomed whoever was in power.

A couple turned up.

‘We’re sure you are aware how much Terrence has done for this town in his sixteen years as your representative.’

‘But he hasn’t done anything to save the planet…’

‘Well nice to speak to you, can we count on your vote on the fourth of July?’

‘Good afternoon, are you fed up with the other parties not keeping their promises and lying?’

‘Have you got any positive policies on the environment…’

‘Yes, in this leaflet you can see us digging a pond at the primary school.’

Along the road there next appeared a strange sight, a flowing green and rainbow cloak, a tall person being led by a guide dog. I couldn’t tell whether he needed the dog because he was blind, or because he had a bucket on his head. It was a bit difficult to hear what he was saying, but the dog seemed to understand.

‘Are you from the Monster Raving Looney Party?’

‘No, that’s the other chap. I’m an independent, Count Bucket Head. Have you decided who to vote for?’

‘No, I just don’t know who to believe.’

‘Well you can count on me, I know what people want because I am a person. My manifesto is in the pamphlet, made entirely from recycled paper, recycled by me with no chemicals used.’

’Yes I can see you have steered clear of the whole glossy leaflet concept.’

I started reading with growing interest.

‘Voting rights for assistance dogs?’

‘Are they not more intelligent than the average voter?’

‘Yes…’

Our pot holed pavements to be made safe with cushionfall laid on all footpaths.

Homes left vacant for more than two weeks to be requisitioned by the local council.

All bonuses to be rescinded and put in a new contingency fund.

‘Whose bonuses?’

‘The bonuses of anyone who gets a bonus.’

I browsed further, there was a lot to read.

‘All sounds good to me, you can count on my vote.’