For I am going to Arsenal Fan’s house for election night where we intend to eat pizza and drink wine and make slurs on Conservatives. And undoubtedly stay up all night watching constituencies we can’t place on a map declare their results. Which can’t exactly be considered conducive for being functional the next day.
“Then - you should go to bed”.
I realise instantly there is something slightly wrong here. Namely I am not the one being sensible. I shake my head. We haven’t – as far as I am aware – slipped into a different dimension without my noticing.
“But I know I won’t be able to leave”.
I’m not good at leaving even under normal circumstances. I think the distinct possibility that Friday will bring George Osbourne as Chancellor would mark the event as being abnormal circumstances.
“By that time you’ll have voted. Everyone will have voted.”
The voice is balanced, reasonable.
“So – you can’t change the outcome. Which means - you should go to bed”.
I realise that this makes perfect, rational sense. Me watching the results cannot counter those votes cast in favour of the Conservatives. Or how crappy I will feel the following day. But it doesn’t mean I’m actually going to buy such rationality.
Time for honesty.
“I’ll be too scared to go bed”.
There’s a slight pause. I sense that at the other end of the phone there is some degree of eye rolling taking place. What can I say – if the proverbial shoe were on the other foot I’d be rolling my eyes too.
“I suppose this is you – and you did feel the need to queue for seven hours to get the final Harry Potter”.
I laugh. Have I, somewhere in the midst of the Potter and the politics and the waiting up all night for odd things, just been summed up in some indelible way?
It's my turn for a pause.
“Yes, yes I did”.