However much you check yourself against groupthink, we all swim in the same ocean and meet the same fish. Between the sight of a triumphant Nigel Farage parading around Clacton, the drip, drip effect of vox pops saying all politicians are the same and the spectre of far-right victories in Europe, I missed one minor detail: I’m really excited about the election. All this work, furiously managing my own expectations, worrying about the future, muttering about Labour and its timidity, and I haven’t extinguished the delight. Whichever way you cut it, we seem on the brink of getting rid of the Tory government. The sound of them on the radio, audible defeat cutting through the habituated pomposity; some day soon, we won’t have to wake up to that.
Polls can’t decide how large Labour’s majority will be, and people talk airily about “supermajorities”, when the phrase has no meaning in British politics. You either have a majority and are golden or you are Theresa May, and are not. Yet as sceptical as I am about almost all predictions, I am picturing a Labour win, and there is a non-negligible chance that the Lib Dems become the party of opposition.
