So, Blighty goes to the polls May 6th, huh? Well, Our Man won't.
Despite posturing that it's because he doesn't even have an old nag in the race (Although he is a registered voter in Margaret Beckett's seat, Derby South, ahem), it's actually because he can't. See this about voting by post (from here):
Eh? He's got to receive his postal ballot from the UK, tick on all the "none-of-the-above" boxes and bung it in the envelope licketty quick, pop it back in the post and pray it arrives back in downtown Derby all in 96 hours.
T'ain't gonna happen. (Unless it's delivered by Prius-post)
Well, he may consider a proxy voter, as the Electoral Commission helpfully suggests. OK, so who does Our Man trust to cast his vote for him? Well, there's his Old Man and Little Sister in Blighty, but he can't ask them to motor up the M1 on a Thursday night into strange (in oh-so-many-ways) territory to cast a vote in an election that he has no idea who to vote for anyway.
So, he won't be voting this election.
You, dear reader, are an anarcho-liberal-traditionalist with feminist/pragmatic/Woody-Allenist tendencies - and promise to vote for whom in your heart you know Our Man should pick, oh, and you live in the Derby South constituency.
Any takers? Apply within, er, sharpish.
More (or less) thought on such matters, here.