Continuing the marginally obsessive search for a new place to live, I ventured forth to look at Bath and Bristol again. The trip fell on the same day as the general election – fortuitously, because I would have otherwise missed the television coverage of the returns.
The whole event was baffling on many levels, though my kid objected to nonstop viewing of the motley and bizarre collection of “celebrities” chatting on a boat on the Thames. We switched erratically between news and entertainment, and discovered that Flight of Chonchords is excellent – who knew!
During commercial breaks I texted with Iain and read the hilarious twitter posts from my pal Michael Moran in the Times office.
Somewhere around three in the morning I gave up trying to understand which party had won, or indeed, what result would be more desirable.
I drifted into a fitful sleep, determined above all else that from this day forward I will be able to vote in the country where I live.