Politics needs more salt

Admittedly, I have been feeling a little jaded of late. I recently suffered one of the nastiest cases of man-flu on record, though with Mrs QO's saintly ministrations, I just managed to pull through. During my delicate recuperation (the days when I could only face, like, three or four drinks), it became apparent that I would have, at short notice, to research and write an article on a subject of ineffable tedium. This I did, but the effort has shortened my life. However, by way of balancing karma, I intend to spread the misery by boring every single one of my friends and acquaintances to tears with the fruits of my research at the earliest possible opportunity. (You know who you are, and you have been warned. I can be distracted with alcohol, however.)

Thus it is that I find myself deeply, deeply uninterested by all the election malarkey that is now upon us. I know this feeling of political ennui is shared by many, and probably for similar reasons. What difference will it make who gets in? They all turn out much the same after they've been house-trained by the civil service, and after the evangelical zeal wears off to be replaced by the grim determination to hang on to office at all costs.

And the enraged gorilla in the voting booth this time round (what a vivid image that is, eh?) is the gaping chasm in public finances. All this chat about whether or not the Tories could feasibly save six billion is a bit fatuous when one recalls that the national debt is somewhere around £800 billion, even on official figures. Stick in public sector pension promises and 'off-balance-sheet' PFI spending and the total is... well, who knows? Let's just agree that no incoming administration will have much room to do anything creative for years to come.

That, of course, may be one good point. In fact, my hope is that we get a severely hung Parliament which can do sod all for quite some time. That will save billions, right there, and will reduce the amount of stupid legislation that's been coming out of Westminster for years and annoying us. If we got really creative, we'd also tell every senior civil servant (that is to say, all the ones who don't have to face the public or do anything else quite so demeaning) to go home - on three-quarters pay - and only come into the office if we called them. That too would save billions being wasted on pointless bright ideas that the policy wonks come up with to justify their own existence.

Another depressing thought is that whoever we get will most likely have a mandate amounting to 5-10% of the population. There is little zing and life in politics today.

Here in Nottingham we have a fine tradition of quite exciting politics. Who can forget the great Cheese Riots in 1764, when the city folk decided the cheese-makers from out of town were ramping up the prices too much and set about them? Poor old Mr Mayor; I suppose he felt he had to intervene, but being knocked over by a large cheese did little for his street-cred. And his hat was never the same.

A bit later on, in 1831, things got a little more sweaty. News came that the Reform Bill had been voted down in the Lords, and the Duke of Newcastle - who owned Nottingham Castle - had been a leading anti-reformer. The populace, a little prone to being excitable at the best of times, had been making merry since Goose Fair was on and it's conceivable that a toffee apple too many might have been taken. They decided to register their disapproval of the Duke's stance by burning down his bloody castle, and caused quite a bit of collateral damage elsewhere in the town too just to make the point.

In 1958 there was a nasty flare-up; initially caused by racial tension, it turned into a bit of a free-for-all. Something rather similar came along again in the early 80's with good business for local glaziers resulting.

I don't condone violence, I should say - all joking apart. But at least these disturbances were signs that people were alive, reacting and seriously ready to make their point.

I remember the days when you really had a significant choice in politics. When you listened to Maggie Thatcher on the one hand and Michael Foot on the other, there really was blue water (if the Michael Foot fans will pardon the expression) between them, a clear boundary between two ways of thinking, two radical flavours. What can we say about today's lot? The ones with seriously radical ideas are nowhere near getting enough votes for any kind of power. Those with a realistic chance of forming a government have no new thinking. Too many have been caught with their snouts deep in the trough, too many are third-rate functionaries, and too many of them would be dangerous if they only had a brain. It's hardly surprising that so many of us are wishing a plague on all their houses.

All that said, I will vote, as I believe we all should. The burning of the Castle was partly to do with the right to vote, and too many people all over the world have died for the right to have a say in who wields power over them for us to take the privilege lightly.

Jeez, that sounded pompous, didn't it? But I do believe it, and so should you.

Here endeth the lesson, let's go get a bloody beer.