Danny Baker has voted, along with his daughter and, I presume, his partner.

An old woman wanted to check that her vote would be valid as she’d put a tick, not a cross. I assured her that as long as it was clear who she’d voted for, it’d be fine.

The Tory candidate is quite young.

No activists from the Tories or Lib-Dems joined me at the Polling Station.

Lots of people really don’t know what to do; they approach the station tentatively, unsure as to whether I was an official part of the process, or some hanger on (answer=somewhere between the two). I wonder whether beneath cynicism there lies fear, or being the ‘weird’ one who doesn’t really understand what they have to do, and hides that behind statements about how politics ‘isn’t for them’ or ‘doesn’t seem to have anything to do with my life’. The ritualistic aspect of voting, something I love, is seemingly dying out, and it need not. It really just needs explaining, and Delia Smith is the woman to do it.

I’m counting people scowling at me in my Labour rosette or point-blank refusing to give me their number as Tories, which means on current evidence, Michael Howard isn’t going to be in Number 10, as he needs to seriously run Labour close in this seat.