Interlude

I can't believe where May has gone. The month, I mean, not someone by the name of May. And I know I say this every month, but this time it is particularly true: May has just vanished, slipped away without leaving a trace, without even a parting glance, as if May had never existed. Clearly, this would have been particularly amusing if I actually did know someone by the name of May, although, on reflection, if I did, and they had actually disappeared, it would probably not be such a light-hearted matter but one worthy of involving the local police. But you get my point.

It hasn't helped that the weather has been a bit iffy. There have been moments of sunshine, but only as frustratingly brief interludes within long unbroken days of cold and damp and occasional hail. The meteorologists may complain that I am exaggerating and it hasn't been anywhere near as bad as that, but they are obsessed with their charts and weather balloons and computers the size of a small planet, and don't always take the trouble to stick their heads out of the window to see what is actually happening out there. Anyway, as a consequence, the flowers in the garden are looking a little jaded, as if they were hoping for a little more spring sunshine to perk them up, and I have not been able to make much of the light evenings, given that they have tended to be obscured by gloweringly leaden skies.

So we shall have to see what delights June brings tomorrow. The month, I mean, not the person.

Ballad

– This is relentless. How much longer does it go on?
– Sorry?
– Eurovision. How many hundreds of songs are we expected to sit through?
– Well, they've whittled it down somewhat through the semifinals. These are the remaining best twenty-seven, I believe. It may seem a lot, but there are a lot of countries in Europe nowadays.
– They seem to take the definition of Europe fairly loosely.
– I think it's about being inclusive.
– Australia?
– Well, I agree perhaps that's taking inclusivity a little too far. But I think they were feeling left out. It's good to see so much enthusiasm for wanting to be part of Europe. Especially considering the efforts some politicians go to to take us out of Europe.
– Perhaps I am starting to see their point. Some of the songs are decidedly odd.
– It's refreshing to celebrate the cultural diversity across this great continent, rather than have everything sound like a bland imitation of western pop music. Even if sometimes they are a little – unusual. It's a pity that more countries don't sing in their native tongue.
– Yes. I don't get many chances to try out my Hungarian.
– The songs are almost over.
– Thank goodness.
– Yes, it's always exciting when the voting starts.
– That's not what I meant.

Grade

We are in the middle of the examination season. Hopeful young adults, my daughter among them, are sitting their GCSEs. Day by day, week by week, a relentless succession of papers. The stress is palpable.

I struggle to remember much about my O levels. It was all so long ago, and I suspect the mind has a knack of repressing such painful memories. We seemed so less well prepared in those days: we were taught stuff during lessons, we went away and learnt it, and then regurgitated as much as we could under examination conditions. But now youngsters are coached on exam technique, practise on endless past papers, have private tutors if they can afford them, re-take modules till they get them right, and even have teachers who actually murmur encouraging comments rather than ignore them entirely, or, at best, lob pieces of chalk at them across the classroom. And they probably don't even have chalk any more.

Perhaps this is just a consequence of my advancing years, a stubborn refusal to believe that any generation could possibly have had a harsher upbringing than mine. Perhaps I envy today's young adults the information they have at their fingertips, accessed in a moment on the internet, and the resources and support network available to them. Or perhaps I still haven't come to terms with the C grade I received in History.

VE

– It's funny how these things all happen at once, practically.
– Yes... What things, exactly?
– These great national events. The 70th anniversary of VE Day, when the people of this proud nation took to the streets to celebrate the end of long years of hostilities. And then the arrival of the Royal baby Princess Charlotte the other week, bringing heart-warming good cheer across the land.
– It is certainly inspiring to see the mood of the country uplifted by these events.
– And, of course, not to forget the election of the new Prime Minister.
– I thought it was the same one as before.
– Well, superficially, maybe, but this time he is on his own. Rather than being in a coaltion with someone else.
– And is that a good thing?
– Only history will tell. And that won't be for a while. That's history for you.
– And are people celebrating on the streets as a result?
– Well, not so far, but sometimes these spontaneous things take a while to arrange.
– I suspect people are still reeling from the surprise outcome. A Conservative majority against the odds; Labour wiped out by the SNP in Scotland; the utter collapse of the Lib Dem vote.
– I suppose it wasn't the best of days for the pollsters. The dozens of polls over the last few months were all way off the mark. You can never trust statistics.
– I have to say I'm a little uneasy the way it's all turned out.
– It'll be fine. What can possibly go wrong?

Cross

– Well, here we are: the day before the General Election. The country's future gets decided tomorrow. Only a matter of hours till the polling stations open, and the first votes are cast in the most unpredictable election in living memory. We are stepping into unknown territory – a once in a lifetime decision. Who knows how it will all end?
– That seems like quite a lot of clichés.
– I try my best. I think it is compulsory at times like these. Perhaps I have been watching too many election broadcasts.

Rosette

– You know, I've not been canvassed yet this year.
– You haven't? I wish I could help. But I'm all out of – canvas. Not even a scrap of  tarpaulin to hand, I'm afraid.
– Usually parliamentary candidates like to engage with their constituents by accosting them on the high street or the doorstep.
– I'm not sure I would be very keen on that – Mr Cameron or Mr Miliband turning up at my front door.
– It's unlikely they would turn up themselves: at best you might get your local MP. Or some callow youth delivering leaflets.
– But even so, what would you say to them?
– I think you would find they have plenty of questions. They would ask your opinion on all manner of local and national issues.
– So they would take my opinion seriously when it comes to deciding on future policy?
– I doubt it. The main reason for knocking on your door is to convince you to vote for them. If they pretend to listen to your complaints, it's only to persuade you that they are on your side. Which in practice they rarely are.
– Do I need to invite them in? Make them a cup of tea or something?
– Not unless you are particularly keen on them, or there are television cameras hovering in the background: it's become quite popular in this election to be filmed in your kitchen.
– Only I don't tend to keep that much in – though there's usually a packet of biscuits at the back of the cupboard.
– I'm sure that would be fine. If you're too hospitable, you will never be rid of them.