Paul Andrews (Independent) 639 votes: ELECTED

Lindsay Burr (LibDem)         559 votes: ELECTED

Ann Hopkinson (Tory)          518 votes: ELECTED

Howard Croft (Independent)  451 votes: NOT ELECTED

 

I won’t bore you with details of four losers behind me, except to point out that I gave a jolly good thrashing to two LibDems, a Tory and a Labour candidate. I was busy in London on polling day, attending to weighty matters, possibly a blunder  but I didn’t fancy strutting about in the market place surrounded by no-hopers in silly rosettes. I did manage  to get back in time to vote. The polling station was deserted apart from a damp LibDem candidate stood outside in the rain, and two bored clerks inside who looked like they needed a drink. I told them that the eight candidates looked to me like a bunch of Moabite wash pots and it probably wasn’t worth voting at all. They said that I was entitled to take such a view and to act upon it if I wished. I voted anyway. I didn’t attend the count but chose instead to stupefy myself by drinking a couple of bottles of a rather robust Italian red with my clever economist friend.

Incredulous at the news of my humiliation, I swiftly called a meeting to analyse the results. I enclose a photograph of me conducting a post-mortem with old friend, and Michael Gambon look-alike, Tim. The gravity of the situation is written all over our stricken faces.

What went wrong? For a start I was the victim of low tactics on the part of one of my opponents, who falsely attributed to me views I do not hold; this may have cost me votes. This dishonourable campaign was lent plausibility, perhaps, by my friendship with the outgoing Chairman of the Council and my principal supporter who indeed holds these views, but the credibility my candidature gained from his public endorsement by far outweighed any possible lost votes.

 

There must have been something else.

 

Well, it’s this. I am by nature a frivolous person, which by posing as a serious fellow and striking attitudes suggestive of a mature and reflective character I seek to conceal, with a considerable want of success even my friends would say. The electors may have detected this flaw and looked elsewhere. The 450 who did vote for me may have spotted it too, indeed several mentioned it but didn’t seem to mind. I clearly remember my schoolmasters frequently pointing out my lack of gravitas in my school reports: ”He is not a serious boy”.

 

There it is, then. I expect that Fiona will soon get used to people pointing her out at the shops, saying “There she goes, poor woman – the loser’s wife. What a life hers must be!”  And as for me, I can erase all the pencil entries from my diary, relating to future Council commitments and look forward to tackling demanding beefy reds with the economist.

Regards

Howard