Doorstepping

'A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.' - Oscar Wilde

My family are troubled by my latest eccentricity. With a general election nearly on us I went out canvassing in the pouring rain on Saturday. I have decided that for once in my life it would be interesting (if not fun) to see Britain's political process at close hand, and to meet the great British electorate face-to-face.

Pity then the inhabitants of Horndean, once a staging post on the London to Portsmouth road and for many years home of Gales Brewery (now owned by Fullers). The peace of many residents' Saturday morning was rudely interrupted by the arrival of a dripping wet, huffing and puffing, and distinctly rumbling Nappa on their doorstep. In the space of three hours I bored and annoyed builders and schoolteachers, a policeman, many rather fragile old ladies, a huge alsatian dog (who successfully resisted my attemps to put a "Sorry to have missed you..." card through his letterbox), a lady trying to redecorate her house, people trying to go out shopping, gentlefolk in their pyjamas and dressing gowns, some very talkative people and some rather cross people - "I'm voting Green and that's that..." they opined, shutting the door rather firmly. I was even asked if I was a Jehovah's Witness.

Mysteriously, although I have been adopted as a canvasser by one of the major parties, I steadfastly refuse to pay a subscription and become a member of their party. I'm there to win the election, not to bake cakes and sell raffle tickets.

I'm out again next Saturday. But then I'll take waterproof clothing, galoshes, an umbrella, shin pads and (possibly) a cricketer's box.