British Gas and Dreaming of Labour
I have just had a British Gas man come round to check our boiler, and he spent the entire time here on the phone to a variety of his friends. I only hope that he hasn’t inadvertently leaked copious quantities of carbon monoxide into my house whilst sorting out his social life. He told me that the boiler was fine, but I can’t honestly say that I believe he looked. I do though know where he’s going drinking later, so I may ask him again there. He just wandered into the utility room, made a few bashing noises whilst sorting out the repayment of a ten pound bar bill, and pronounced the system sound.
Other than hunting down errant flue engineers, I am doing a spot of leafleting today. We are obviously hotting up the pace as the election nears. I noticed from my letterbox excursions this morning that polling cards have been sent out to people in the wards. So it really is getting near! Don’t worry if you lose your’s though - you can still vote without it on the day.
Don’t forget that the clocks go forward tonight. An hour less in bed means only one thing - an hour more to leaflet. So a double whammy there then when all I want is to sleep and dream of a place where there are no elections. Although, even my dreams are being annexed by politics at the moment. It’s very odd, but three times this week I’ve dreamt about a specific member of the local opposition. It’s doubly weird because we’ve never actually met properly, but in my dreams we chat away like old friends. Nothing bad happens, but there he is, every night, waiting to talk to me about all sorts of bizarre things. Last night it was American Football, and we were having a very involved conversation… It’s like one of those strange sequences from The Sopranos. I really can’t explain it, nor can I seem to stop it.
I wish I could put it down to mild gas poisoning, but apparently my gas system is fine. Maybe my chattering gas man fixed a fault and forgot to tell me after all, and I’ll be back to normal tonight… More likely he made something worse, and I’ll be hallucinating in a gas fuelled haze from now til election day.
At least it’d be a change from letterboxes…
Rick
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