OOOh, blood running cold and choppy with excitement at call of election. Think it's the election anyway, there's a chance I had too much caffeine and I'm about to arrest. Have been toying with idea of blogging it all, though I shouldn't cos I'm supposed to be working for a living. What the hell. They did say this was the Mumsnet election I'm sure. That would be why my seven-year-old remarked lying on the sofa watching the party leaders making their starter pitch, "Why isn't any of them a girl?". Of course, there were a few girls around. There was Harriet-Harman-woman with Cabinet colleagues arranged faithful and smiling like lunchtime gospel singers behind a presbyterian preacher; there was a blonde among the tie-less geeks stood by Dave Cameron; and the youngsters behind Nick Clegg that he kept checking on incase any of them were making a V-sign behind his head. And the wives of course. A clicketty-claketty Sarah Brown (has she lost weight? This is the sort of vital question we need to put to women who lay like a glittery-pink varnish over the ugly macho reality of British politics. And if we don't ask it, the Daily Mail certainly will.) And just how many days till the cry goes up "Put Sam First Dave" as his pregnant beauty begins to look shattered as she trails loyally after him. Maybe a formerly double-barrelled young man with a Blackberry in one pocket and his silk tie in the other, could be missioned to carry with him at all times a white plastic garden chair so Sam can sit down while she listens to Dave opining in the open air about the future. Note to Tories: garden chair for Sam. Definitely not shooting stick. Hell to drill them into concrete and may not play well.
So here we go then.