Adam Moss talks a load of politics

I’VE had enough political junk mail through my letterbox in the last week to build a new House of Commons.

But there have been no knocks at my door from men or women in suits wanting my vote.

I’ve never felt so unwanted.
While Gordon Brown was slagging off Grannies in Rochdale, David Cameron was rolling up the oh-so-carefully pressed sleeves of his starchy white shirt, again, and Nick Clegg was standing on yet another soap-box spouting frothy sentences about how real the new third option now is, I was sitting, with baited breath, kettle at the ready and devil’s advocate speeches rehearsed, waiting for any half decent politico to come and have a go.

It didn’t happen. I waited, and waited. I even made a cup of coffee. Then I waited some more.

What happened to conversation, political debate? Is my front door the wrong colour? Does the fact that I live a few doors down from an undertaker mean I am politically irrelevant?

These, and many more, were the questions running through my mind as I flicked between news channels to see where in the UK our great political thinkers were delivering their latest lines in rehearsed leadership banter.

I would have thought that my vote counted. Particularly because I live in a Labour constituency which has been historically Tory but is marginal to say the least.

Isn’t this exactly the kind of killing field where the great battles of the 2010 General Election are supposed to be taking place.

I expected troops in blue, red and yellow, to be in full street combat outside my house. Instead, I got takeaway-style political leaflets through my letterbox. It’s a bloody shoddy approach to politics.

I voted this morning. None of them deserved it. They’d not even bothered to pretend to be anywhere near my house in the last few weeks.

Leaflets, KFC-style, that’s as cutting edge as this allegedly cut-throat political fight got in Heaton Moor.

I voted for Colonel Saunders. Fried chicken is the future.

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