A UK general election is like no other event. After weeks of wall-to-wall politics the day itself arrives and quite suddenly, as with a sudden snowfall or a solar eclipse, all the usual frenzied activity of daily life is momentarily stilled. It’s almost as if a bomb has fallen. For a few precious hours, the politicians stop shouting, the live debates and extended news bulletins are replaced by shows about gardening or reruns of The Simpsons and an eerie calm descends on the country.
Having risen early last Thursday morning to cast my vote, I later found myself in central London, where the sense of unreality was palpable. Westminster itself was deserted, while gaggles of foreign tourists gathered at the end of Downing Street, peering in vain for any glimpse of the prime minister. Technically speaking, there wasn’t an incumbent to view; and anyway, David Cameron was at his local constituency awaiting results of that election.
For a few short hours, the tweeting of political candidates was replaced by the tweeting of birds. Even the customary London traffic barrelling round Trafalgar Square seemed to be making less noise. But the lull didn’t last long. No sooner had the polls closed at 10pm than the media beast swung into life once more. Votes were counted, candidates waited nervously in town halls and sports centres up and down the country for their constituency results to be announced and TV studios crammed to the gunwales with analysts and commentators preparing to number-crunch through the long night ahead.
For anyone who cared to stay up to watch the unfolding drama on TV, it was immediately obvious that something startling had occurred. The accepted wisdom had been that there would be no overall winner of this election but now an early exit poll suggested an inexplicable surge in the fortunes of the Conservative party. Something must surely be wrong with the analysis.
By 1am, the surprise had turned into glassy eyed bewilderment, with Labour party grandees gaping like fish as they tried to explain the turn in fortunes. By the time I went upstairs to bed at 2, it was obvious the next few hours would be a political bloodbath.
And so it proved. By the time I turned on the TV at 8am awoke and the nation had spoken, and many of the country’s leading politicians had been culled, with the Liberal Democratic party virtually wiped from the political map.
I walked the dog, by which time the Conservatives had gained the all-important figure of 323 Parliamentary seats, giving them an overall majority, while three separate rival party leaders had announced their intention to resign.
The first to go was Nick Clegg, once deputy prime minister of the nation in those far off days, just a few short hours ago. His speech at 11am on the Friday was as gracious as it was shell shocked, but it wasn’t only lack of sleep that caused the bloodshot eyes and trembling lip. He had given everything to the cause, yet now he found that he and his party had been virtually obliterated as a political force. Eyewitnesses at the event reported that he burst into tears moments after leaving the room and the unflinching gaze of the cameras.
By noon he’d been joined in resigning by Ed Miliband. Had things gone differently, the Labour party leader might have expected to be receiving the keys to Downing Street. Instead, he, too, was falling on his sword, after his party’s worst election showing in nearly 40 years. Whatever one’s political persuasion it was impossible not to feel profound sympathy for him and his like, forced to confront their failure in full view of an unforgiving media.
Of course, by this time next week the election will be a distant memory, something to be talked about in hushed tones. Were you there? Did you see it? Like snowfall and solar eclipses, it will be several years before we experience another one. But when it does occur, it is unlikely to prove quite so spectacular as the 2015 vintage.
Michael Simkins is an actor and writer based in London
On Twitter: @michael_simkins
