CHOICES, CHOICES..

Woke up this morning to discover it`s Election Day here in Dibley.   There`s a by-election caused by the genuinely untimely death of the Leader of the local Borough Council who did a great job in leading the Council to the paths of righteousness.   He will be sadly missed.

Now, in the last few days my letter box has been groaning under the weight of the `election literature` stuffed into it by the competing political parties.   The Conservative candidate is young, keen and desperately enthusiastic;  the Liberal Democrat seems to be both liberal and democratic;  can`t recall seeing anything from the Labour camp; there`s the inevitable Green Party candidate who must be peeved at yet another forest being razed to the ground in the cause of election propaganda; someone from the English Defence League, which I take to be either John Terry or Joleon Lescott;   and the UKIP man who seems to have entered into the fray out of a sense of cussedness.

To be fair, they have all been focussing on local issues but we all know that the good folk of Dibley will see today as a chance to register their opinion about the national and international issues facing the country.   In politician speak, a chance `to give a clear message as to what the grass roots are thinking,` which is why national party funds have been forked out to finance the deluge of paper I`m having to get rid of.

Now I`m as concerned as anyone else about the financial crisis, the banking crisis, the middle east crisis, the eurozone crisis and any other crisis that might spring to mind.   But what bothers me as a spinster of this parish is the appalling state of the local footpaths, the almost non-existent `maintenance` of our grassed areas, verges and open spaces and other little things which affect the quality of life and determine whether there is any `pride in the community.`

When I went up the road to the village shop, I passed the village hall, which is being used as the Polling Station today.   It`s festooned with notices saying `POLLING STATION,` there are reserved car parking spaces just for voters, there`s a gang of `tellers` who pounce on you and demand to know your election number and inside a phalanx of staff dishing out ballot papers whilst surrounded by red tape, sealing wax, election `stationery` and a big black box.   All very Victorian, all very intensely official.  All very intimidating.

So, I`ll wander up there not knowing who to vote for, as it`s all a bit much of a muchness, but given the choices on offer, I might just match the cussedness of the UKIP man.  It might make me feel better that I have given `a clear message as to what the grass roots are thinking.`   Not that they`ll take any notice.