The Curse of Beestonia hits Election 2010.

The Election grinds ever closer, so I decide to take a break and hit the Peaks to cast all thoughts of polls, hustings, campaigns and suchlike from my head. Surely a weekend in the depths of the Pennines will give my buzzing brain a break, the only policies running through my head involve how much alcohol I’m allowed before attempting to climb Mam Tor/Kinder Scout.

Yet there is no escape. Driving through rural Derbyshire should be an experience that exhilarates in its bucolic majesty, but there is no respite. Remote fields are scattered with huge red, blue and yellow signs imploring you to cast votes for the local candidates, drawing the eye from the dizzying gritstone-edges, the gambolling lambs, the spring-blossoming hedgerows. Rather than marveling at the aesthetic spendour, im fervantly checking swings in the constituencies to check their swing-value .

Naturally, being in the countryside, the profusion of blue is predominant, possibly due to the countryside’s tendency to vote to the right, possibly testament to Ashcroft’s largesse.

There is no escape halfway up a hill, either. Climbing up the lung-straining path to Peveril Castle, I get emails telling me results of polling on Peveril Road. Staring over the stunning vista of Surprise View, I am checking my Blackberry to hear surprise news on latest opinion polls. I now know, even if I was to crush my phone beneath the wheels of a quarry truck, blind my eyes with red-hot biros, i’m in this deep for the duration, liberation only available on May 7th.  My apologies.

Now back in my Marlborough Road palace, I’ll lance the swollen boil of thoughts i’ve had since I last stuck owt down here.

First off, the legendary Curse of Beestonia has struck again. Regular readers will both know that whenever I state one thing here as an evident, unarguable truth, the opposite happens.   So when I claim that crime in Beestonia is overstated by scare-mongers, I catch a burglar in my bedroom mere days later. I write about how death/funerals can be quite funny, a lovely uncle dies two days later. I write how Humber Road chippy is the second best restaurant in the world after El Buli, El Bulli closes the very next day. You get the picture, and may also argue that I should be blogging therefore about the fact I HAVE NEVER WON THE NATIONAL LOTTERY or SUZI DENT OFF COUNTDOWN HAS NEVER ASKED ME IF SHE COULD POP ROUND ON AN AFTERNOON  FOR A CUP OF TEA, but no, I shall explain further.

I wrote up the hustings event at Roundhill (see last post:) as a two-horse race, Soubry vs Palmer. Next day, I wake up and find that the Lib Dems are surging in the polls, to the extent that when the stats are applied to this rather brilliant BBC  tool: ,and taking in account Broxtowe’s idiosyncrasy right now (a popular incumbent, a popular third party challenger, an unconvincing supposed tory shoe-in), I truly believe that we really do have a three-horse race now. This might be of particular worry to Dr Palmer, as expected tactical-voters may not go his way, but I would not like to be Soubry right now, as the anti-labour vote leak into the middle. If any constituency is a microcosm of the national mood, Broxtowe is it.

I must state that I’ve been given  a mention from Watts in his later newsletter. I’m a sucker for praise; god knows how many finger-blisters, ruined relationships and damage to my kidneys  I’ve suffered to keep this blog afloat, any validation is welcome; but Palmer has also dropped my name to great effect also. You’re probably here through one or the other. Anna, if you’re reading this, please feel free to galvanize the Soubry support base with a plug. I wont be holding my breath.

A poll on the excellent has the rather stunning statistic that David Watts will landlslide for the Lib Dems with  a 62% share, followed by Dr Palmer’s 28% and Soubry’s 4%,but to get all Jon Snow on you, these results are in no way science, possibly more indicative of Watt’s mention of the poll to his supporters. If aweek is a long time in politics, 18 days is an eon. Still, interesting times…

Another party has beat the deadline to join the race, though Im vague on who. The BBC are still reporting its a six-party battle, but I gather its a Christian based party, thus most likely to be the Christian Peoples’ Alliance. Who are they? Well, there name is a giveaway I suppose, but I must state  it isn’t official yet. If it is, here is what I know of them: they are nominally left wing in certain aspects, recognizing the socialist views of the biblical Christ, but small ‘c’ in every other way, opposing contraception and abortion, supporting tax breaks towards the married….

They will only stand to raise their profile, and seep off Tory votes. Im still uneasy. Seperation of Church and State is important, go to a dedicated secular country such as Turkey and you will see how we should not take what we have for granted. There, any government struggles to impose Islamic value on policy is stymied through a intuitive military, who will depose any leader who uses his platform to assume a Theocracy.  I can’t see a hole in the argument ‘Freedom of Religion, Freedom from Religion’. Still, democracy is democracy, so i’ll move on.

The BNP need a mention before I go and get a long, radox-sponsored bath to ease my troubled thighs. You will be aware they are standing a candidate, on the grounds he will appear on telly for three minutes in the early hours of May 7th, and look defiant and proud despite the result suggesting that 98.2% people think hes a twat.

I had a look earlier at some of his personal views. This involves having to visit BNP sites,  which Im not going to link to for obvious reasons. His central thrust seems to be not flagging up his own party’s policy of bigotry, hate and exploitation but claims he is ‘an alternative to the failed policies of the present three-party system’. Not to be churlish,but surely his party and its policies rather showed conclusive they were failed when Musolini swung from a lamppost and Adolf topped himself  in a Berlin Bunker back in 1945.

The battle keeps raging. Don’t go changin’ y’all.