Good afternoon. As I’m writing to you, Nigel Farage is on a TV about 12 feet from my head in a striplit office, shouting “BORING, BORING, BORING” for reasons which were not immediately obvious. It’s making a vein in my right temple throb in time with his “ing” sounds, and I’m wondering if it would be weird to work in sunglasses.
I say all this to explain that this will be a pretty short email: I really think dork machismo about staying awake for elections is the worst kind of dork machismo there is, but it’s time to go to bed. Still. It was exciting, wasn’t it? More on how to grapple with that feeling, and how the dust is settling at the end of day one of a Labour government, after the headlines.
