Parlamento, centro de Londres

So the general election is set for Thursday 6 May, a month away. Camera crews swarm around Westminster, the Queen nips home by helicopter to meet Gordon Brown, and the news channels are filled with swingometers, polls and wide ranging opinions. For the first time in years, the result promises to be close.

I’ve always enjoyed a general election. Especially when the right side wins. I’ve experienced the disillusioned early stomp off to bed on election night when things go the wrong way, and the blurry feeling of joy and disbelief in the morning when a landslide has gone the right way. What is more important than to vote? I have a friend who wears a suit to the polling station, and I understand why. To see people queuing for hours to vote when real democracy came to post-apartheid South Africa, to read about suffragettes throwing themselves to their deaths to win the vote – it’s not a thing to get blasé about.