I have been sorely tempted to stick a ‘Vote for Ken’ poster in my window recently – and not just to annoy the Nappy Valley neighbours or my father-in-law.
Because, although I know that if I met Boris Johnson at a dinner party, he would be utterly charming, I just don’t want him to be Mayor of London. There are multiple reasons – like, a) he is a Tory b) he has some rubbish ideas, and c) He has the gravitas of a two year old (come to think of it, his hair often reminds of Littleboy 1's) and I don’t think he could be taken seriously on the world stage at events like the Olympics for instance. But mainly because I actually think Ken’s done a good job. I can’t see what’s wrong with bendy buses. The new cycle lanes are great (well, if I still rode my bike they would be). Oyster cards rock. Congestion charge - no problems with that, and it seems to work - and Death to gas guzzling four by fours (plenty of them in
Naturally when our polling cards came through my door, I thought I’d stick them in a safe place, away from the prying little hands of Littleboys 1 and 2 (Littleboy 2 has thrown several things in the bin recently, plus a pair of shoes in the bath, and two of his brother’s books in the loo, so I have grounds for concern.)
But when I came to look for the cards today, during a rare tidy-up, they had vanished. In a slightly ridiculous frenzy (“I’m sure you can still vote without the card,” The Doctor* pleaded) I hunted high and low, behind bookcases, in files I haven't opened for months, under the sofa...
My concern, I have to confess, was not just for the battle of Ken v Boris. It was also for my own sanity – since the pram incident (see blogs past) I have really wondered whether my mind is going. I keep putting things down and forgetting where - something that in the past I have cruelly laughed at The Doctor for doing - and several semi-important things seem have gone to the netherworld of lost items. So I had to prove to myself that I’d put the cards somewhere sensible and not binned them by accident.
Eventually they turned up: in a drawer I’d already looked in. It contained the family passports, and as I’d opened the drawer first time around, Little boy no1 had grabbed a passport and raced off around the room with it in glee, totally distracting me from my search.
So tonight my mind is at rest. I am not going mad – and I can still vote for Ken in 2 weeks time. Fingers crossed.
*A friend suggested I should have some nicknames for regular characters in my blog. So my husband has become The Doctor. Not because he is a Timelord or reminds me of David Tennant, but because he is one. The boys are Littleboy 1 and 2.