It’s voting day, aren’t you all a’quiver with excitement?

Can’t you just feel the groundswell of enthusiasm sweeping the country? We’ll all be nervous wrecks by the end of the day, no fingernails left to chew, breathlessly waiting for the results to be declared. Come on, stop yawning.

One of our local what-ever-you-call-‘ems came round last week. My daughter answered the door. “Hello” the caller type person said, “Have you lived here long? I don’t remember your face.” My daughter said, “Twenty one years, and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

I was hiding in the kitchen. I knew they weren’t Jehovahs, you get to recognise Jehovahs when you see them every few weeks. These people I’d absolutely never seen before, and we’ve been living here twenty five years. It made their line about staying in touch with the community fall a little flat. I wish they were my relatives, twenty five years between visits, I could handle that.

I hope you’ve all been sharpening your lucky pencils. YOUR VOTE COUNTS!! Of course it does. Make your choice and tick the box. Give the other lot a chance or stick with tradition? Make that little cross scream your opinion. Press extra hard, grit your teeth. Swagger from the polling station confident in the knowledge you’ve expressed your opinion. Then wait for things to change. Wait and wait and wait, infinity. Because nothing ever does, and we all know it.

I’m not saying it’s a waste of time voting, I’m just saying the age of miracles is past. I’m just saying that the person who came smiling to your door last week that you’ve never seen in your life before but suddenly wants to be your new best friend isn’t going to change the world overnight. Or probably ever. You can’t stop the toilet from flushing once you’ve pushed the handle. That’s all I’m saying. So lick the tip of your pencil and make your mark, but just don’t expect too much. Don’t build up your hopes. There’s really not that much to choose between any of the candidates. But you should still vote. It’ll get you out of the house for ten minutes. You might find a pound coin on the pavement, meet an old friend, anything could happen.

Some people say if you don’t vote you can’t complain. But that’s a lot of nonsense. Moaning is a national pastime open to everyone. It’s in the European Charter. Guidebooks on Snowdonia describe the melancholy moaning of the wind between the peaks. It’s not the wind, okay? It’s the sound of a discontented people griping and grumbling to their hearts content. It’s what we do; vote and moan, or don’t vote and still moan, the choice is yours. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

I’m going to vote for whats-her-name, came last week, never seen her before, don’t know what she’s standing for, don’t care, it’s all the same to me, I don’t know what day it is half the time. They can’t do any worse than the other lot.