But Really, Who's Prime Minister?

I feel like I have to write a really really long entry about elections over here, because it was the most amazing and exhausting experience I've had here. And yet the UK still has no definitive leader.

The whole mess started on Thursday morning. My alarm went off at 6:30 and I laughed at it and fell asleep for another half hour. When I did get up, I managed to get myself together and get down to Southend around 9 AM. And as soon as I dropped my bag off at the office, I was out at a polling stations telling (recording polling numbers so that the party can see who actually went to vote, and who didn't). Froze my ass off with a few other sort of rude Conservatives down in Southend.

When Dennis made it to the station, I was off to "knock up" doors (which sounds pretty wrong, but it's basically just knocking on doors to make sure they voted) for the next however long. Kevin and Chris and David Norman were off in the Labourmobile (the picture right here) with a loudspeaker on top, yelling at people to go vote - and sometimes to use better language when insulting the Labour party. I went back to Coleman Street to do more telling, ended up talking to this little kid who asked what language I was speaking. Clearly, he understood every word I was saying, but I just sounded different. Thought it was pretty funny.

The exciting part of the night was the count. Over here, they still do the paper ballots rather than the electronic votes that we do (or the crazy ones they do in Florida, which is probably for the best, to be honest), so they had to hand count every single vote in the constituency - the area has over 70,000 people in it, and that's just Rochford and Southend East. So before the count could even begin, they had to verify that all the votes were real, and that everyone agreed on how many there were. So the prelims for the counting started at 10 PM. The actual results didn't happen until 5 AM the next morning.

The bar upstairs was where a lot of the action was, and where all the comfortable warm chairs (the sports center was FREEZING) and alcohol were. It was also where the televisions were with Sky News (they have better election coverage than BBC) and the BBC were showing. Got to watch the whole country vote, got to see Ian more excited than I've ever seen him and almost smack Tim when they called Birmingham Edgbaston for Labour. That's also where we went to drown sorrows when Angela Smith lost her seat to the Conservatives.

The other responsibility was to watch the votes and make sure that they were all going in the right piles. Rob was pretty good at this one, he was watching this one table from Victoria like a hawk. When they finally did turn in the verdict, it was around 4:45 AM. James Duddridge won, to no one's surprise, and gave a nice speech. Kevin got second and made a very nice speech. They called the Southend West right after, and Tom got third place. And then we all went to sleep for like 4 hours before the local count (which unfortunately didn't go as well as hoped).

Turns out that Kevin won a spot on the council in Lewisham, though, so there you go.

Finals vs. Prime Minister

I was given a pretty easy choice around 10 PM last night. I could go to class this morning and take my British Comedy final, proctored by Mr. Bill, which consisted of watching a show and analyzing it for why it was funny. Or I could go to Basildon, wave a "Vote Labour" sign with a mob of excited supporters, and shake hands with Gordon Brown.

Naturally, I chose door #2 (not Number 10, although that would be awesome). I just had to manage to convince Bevan Jooooooones and Mr. Bill that I would make up my final and be back that afternoon to do so.

After a few frantic e-mails around 10:30ish, I decided to wake up early (7:30 AM) and go bother Bill when he got there at 8. I jumped around the front door a little until he strolled up to unlock at 8:10. I asked him, and he took a second to mumble, "Sure, yeah, have a good time."

My next order of business was to make it down to Basildon on time. Kevin said that I should get to Basildon station at 9:15, so that I could hitch a ride with him and Ian. The issue here is that Basildon is halfway to Southend - meaning it would take at least a half an hour to get there. Furthermore, it takes a half an hour to get to Fenchurch St, via Tower Hill. So essentially, I had to leave Fenchurch St. by 8:45 - meaning there had to be a train like as soon as I got there.

Clearly, the powers that be were smiling on me today and as soon as I got my ticket, I saw that there was a train leaving in 3 minutes to Shoeburyness (which I fortunately made it on to). Made it to the station literally at 9:14.

And the rest was rainy history. I made it to the office, got to hold up a "Vote Labour" sign and shake Gordon Brown's hand. We also got to yell at some Conservatives who showed up late to taunt him and get some press. Unfortunately for them, they showed up 20 minutes too late.

ETA: Am I the only one who thinks that Gordon Brown looks a little like Victor Garber?

The One Name Power Surge

I was checking my e-mail today (all of the addresses, as sad as that is) and I realized that my work e-mail is alex@southendlabour.com.

And for some reason, that just made me feel really important. I didn't need a last name, I didn't need anything more than "Alex." People would get e-mails from me and know who it was. And for some reason, that just made me feel really important. Maybe I'm easily flattered, but is that so wrong?

My Bad, Haiti

I have a (rather obvious) confession to make: I have rarely met a low cut neckline I didn't like. I have very few modest necklines in my wardrobe, and I tend to prefer a good v-neck or scoop to a mock.

That said, I think that immodestly dressed women causing earthquakes is a little bit extreme, Muslim Clerics.

I mean, I guess anything is possible. So if this is true, my bad, Haiti.

Now If He Sold Thin Mints, He'd Be In Business

"Hello there, I'm your prime minister. Are there any local issues you're worried about?"

I mean, what would you do if Gordon Brown showed up on your doorstep? Obviously offer him tea, sure, but I think I would like squeal. Even if I didn't like him, that's sort of awesome that the Prime Minister of your country popped up on your stoop.

Labour's unfortunately not doing too great in the polls right now, so Brown has a ways to go before he catches up some lost ground.

Now if he were selling cookies, I think he'd do great.

It's Really Not that Hard, People

Maybe my impatience has only grown from living in a city. My parents observed this as we were crossing streets here, and my dad was like "Geez, you barely looked before you ran across!" or complaining that they kept losing me in the crowds of people around the city because I was going too fast.

But I really wish people in London would learn how to walk.

Example. I was in the tube station today coming back from Oxford Street and I was trapped right next to the moving tube train because people decided not to move along the platform. As I was leaving the station, I almost got trampled by the people walking behind me because the people in front of me decided to stop dead in a mob scene of human traffic (not that sort of human traffic, just people walking).

This isn't the first time, either. I thought Corinne was going to die in Primark that one time.

And Dennnnnnnnnnnn?

So as Elise and I were sitting here ready for a chill Friday night as our roommates plus 12 others were pregaming for a bar of some sort. I had a drink myself to make them slightly less annoying (it didn't work). Out of nowhere, Elise has a Harold and Kumar food craving moment (Only without the pot).

"I really want Chinese food right now," said Elise.

Thus began the very difficult journey of finding decent Chinese food places that were open at 10:50 on Easter weekend in London. I gotta tell you, it's about as easy as finding a close by Catholic church in this city. Which is not easy.

We finally found a place that is open. But it's 20 minutes away in Putney, which means the delivery will take forever. And when we ordered the sweet and sour chicken, they asked us if we wanted the meal or sweet & sour chicken balls.

We ordered the balls, and I'm really hoping we don't get sweet and sour chicken testicles.