All noise but no fragrance

This week my political canvassing activities have stepped up a gear and, having experienced a mass-canvas in Waterlooville (where a dozen or more clipboard people assemble at a given point and doorstep an entire neighbourhood), I am now allowed to go flying solo. Me and my clipboard are given designated streets to canvas without the backup of the more experienced old timers.

As I go from door to door I seem to be gathering a whole gallery full of English peculiars. The worrying sign outside one house that reads 'Forget about the dog, BEWARE OF THE OWNER'; la dame en deshabille; the howling of assorted birds and animals when the doorbell is rung; a curious old lady who, when I asked how she was likely to vote, told me that she would vote for the party with the highest morals and which was closest to Jesus: "You know who I mean!" she said, fixing me with an ice-cold stare. I nodded sagely and marked her as "Undecided".

The odd thing about canvassing is how affable people are when you go knocking on their doors on dark, rainy evenings. Certainly there are some who simply refuse to answer. You know that they are there, you can see the glow of a television, the car still warm in the driveway, but no-one answers my call. But most households do respond and, even if they have different political views, they listen politely to my rumblings and appear to pay polite attention. I'm sure that, as an angry old door-slammer, I have something to learn from this. Next time someone knocks at my house I'll pay a lot of attention and even give the canvasser marks for style, content and artistic impression.

All this aside, I noted in today's newspaper the story about the prisoner in a Swedish jail who uses flatulence as a means of protesting about his prison sentence. When reprimanded about his unsavoury habit, he replied that it was "all noise but no fragrance". A bit like politics I suppose.