There's a general election afoot in the kay-of-yu, and the absence of excitement is palpable. We, the electorate, don't want to have to make life-changing decisions. That's the politicians' job. We just want to vote in alignment with our prejudices, like our forebears, and then wash our hands of the consequences. Is that too much to ask?
I'm almost minded not to vote, for the first time since my teens. It's too intimidating. No-one, not the politicians, the pundits, the academics nor the public, knows what's for the best. They might as well get an astrologer to present Newsnight. "As Venus is entering Sagittarius, you might want to think about opening a mini-cash ISA and voting UKIP."
The trouble is I can't spoil my ballot paper. I'm 48 years old. That kind of thing is fine if you're 19; it comes across as committed, passionate and charming, albeit cock-headed and simplistic. At 48, you just look like a dick. It's the political equivalent of a feather cut and a tight Fred Perry polo shirt on a twenty stone plasterer. Everyone you happen across thinks the same: sober-up, mate.
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