As voters throughout the land beg for mercy, this
interminable election campaign chugs relentlessly on. The leaders’ debates may be over, apart from
a residual buzzing in our ears, but we’re now in a period called “36-hour
non-stop talking”, as our lords and masters criss-cross the country in cars,
buses, trains and helicopters – you’d have thought hot-air balloons would be
more appropriate – in a last-gasp attempt to not-win the election more
impressively than the other parties.
Nick Clegg was revelling in his crack-of-dawn photo-call at
Land’s End this morning, as he unveiled his plan to travel the length of
Britain thanking each remaining Lib Dem voter personally for his or her
support, and his advisers anxiously tried to point him in the right direction
so he didn’t accidentally walk off into the sea.
The Lib Dems still have hopes of shamelessly hitching their
wagon to whatever bunch of charlatans grabs power, and this time they’ve even
thought up some Red Lines (buzz-phrase alert) to make their opinions look
relevant. Cynical observers, or as they’re
nowadays known “the electorate”, can’t help but compare these policy positions
to sheets of lasagne: they may look firm
at the moment, but as soon as the heat’s on they’ll soften up and be submerged
in a load of mince.
Meanwhile, David Cameron has rolled up his sleeves, knocked
back a jeroboam of espresso and declared himself “pumped up”, a sure sign he’s
absolutely terrified. The Tories have put a massive amount into this campaign:
slander, obfuscation, hyperbole, bribery –in fact, everything expect the
slightest indication of where they’ll slash £12 billion from welfare – and yet poll ratings remain unco-operatively
static, like a mule embedded in cement.
“We’re aiming for an absolute majority,” insists Dave, though
everyone knows that’s as likely as Jeremy Clarkson opening a charm school. Propeller-headed party strategists are already
working on alternative scenarios, including a rose-garden smooch with Nigel
Farage, a tearful reconciliation with never-say-no Nick and, in extremis, Dave digging
his fingernails into the carpet and having to be dragged out of number 10 by a
hydraulic pulley system.
Ordinarily this would all be academic to Scottish voters, but
these days the tectonic plates aren’t so much shifting as doing an eightsome
reel. Only tactical voters, nursing
their wrath to keep it warm, stand between the SNP and a near clean sweep, and depending
on whether you read the National or the Daily Mail, Nicola Sturgeon is either a
stadium-filling superstar, scourge of the Establishment and paragon of
progressive politics or the most dangerous woman in the universe, defacer of
Barbie dolls and harbinger of the Apocalypse.
One thing’s for certain: the SNP have caught the eye of
Middle England, and not necessarily in a good way. Press coverage has generally
represented them as a horde of barbarians at the gates, smelling of yak-piss
and bent on mayhem.
This presumably lies at the heart of Ed Miliband’s recent
statement that if he’s asked to do a deal with them, the answer will be “hell,
no”. I say “presumably” because it’s
never quite clear what Ed’s on about, even if you’re an experienced translator
with advanced training in balderdash. Fortunately
he’s getting his thoughts chiselled on a monolith, so that gives us a fighting
chance.
Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see the how the “no deals”
policy affects Labour MPs’ behaviour. Perhaps they’ll have to wear
la-la-I-can’t-hear-you ear muffs in the Commons restaurant, in case an SNP MP
offers to pass the salt. Or they’ll be obliged to slam a door in their own
faces rather than allow Stewart Hosie to hold it open for them, and hurl
themselves under any taxi that Pete Wishart offers to share.
So many permutations, denials and caveats, so much
uncertainty. But if we end up with a
prolonged post-election stalemate, is there one possibility we haven’t identified?
Is it conceivable there could be a grand Labour-Tory
coalition, or at least an agreement for Labour not to intervene while the
Tories insert the last few sticks of dynamite into our public services? Those who’ve suggested this have usually been
considered wild conspiracy theorists who also believe that Martians are trying
to contact them via their kitchen utensils.
But isn’t it a teensy-weensy possibility, for the good of the
nation, of course, with the future of a new royal baby to consider? What a fiendish twist on the usual SNP complaint:
this time Scotland might vote neither Labour nor Tory and get both. The Queen wouldn’t just be purring, she’d be
doing cartwheels through the cat-flap.
