So the great day finally arrived - and after all the speeches, soundbites, broadcasts, walkabouts, punches, and arguments over what we were or were not allowed to say on h2g2... not much happened. After the UK General Election 2001, British political life will carry on much as before for everyone except William Hague, the ministers caught up in Tony Blair's post-triumph reshuffle and the relatively small number of new and former MPs who either entered or left the House of Commons.

I believe that I am now allowed to confide in you that I have long harboured a deep dislike of the Conservative Party. (I apologise to any regular readers or on-line friends of mine who might be shocked by this revelation). The night of the 1992 UK General Election was accordingly one of the most depressing of my life, as I and some friends watched the life being slowly squeezed out of hopes the British centre-left had nurtured for years. Election night 1997 was a night of laughter, cheering, drinking and hugging strangers, as the Conservatives' 18-year reign was decisively ended.

This time round, election night was... well, mostly harmless. Poor Peter Snow, in the BBC Election Night studio equipped with lots of whizz-bang state-of-the-art computer graphics designed to emphasise the hoped-for drama of the night, must have felt like a kid with a new toy that didn't have the necessary batteries included. His virtual Charles Kennedy ascended a few virtual steps as the Liberal Democrats scored some successes, but his swingometer remained stubbornly static.

The most satisfying aspect of it all for me was that the Conservatives' campaign seemed squarely aimed at accessing and harnessing some of the ugliest aspects of the British national character - and it failed completely. They did their damnedest to appeal to xenophobia, promising that if they had their way any foreigners who came to Britain to escape persecution would face more persecution here, beginning with imprisonment in detention camps. They raged hysterically against the idea that Britain might adopt the Euro (the currency that, many European internationalists hope, will eventually replace pounds, francs, marks, guilders etc.) claiming that Britain's national identity would be fatally undermined - as if that had happened when we all learned what a litre of water or a kilogram of sugar looked like. They also tried to appeal to the self-interest of prosperous voters, promising tax cuts. All of that failed spectacularly - as did the UK Independence Party and its call for a British withdrawal from the European Union. Good.

But xenophobia did have its moment of triumph in Oldham, recently the scene of racial violence, where the far-right British National Party picked up thousands of votes. Fearing that the BNP's candidates might try to use election night to stir up further trouble, the authorities decided that on this occasion none of the candidates would be permitted to give speeches after the result was announced. When fascists can't pose as heroes, they love to pose as martyrs; and this was the attitude the BNP's two crop-headed, thuggish-looking representatives took, appearing on the platform for the announcement of the results wearing gags and T-shirts proclaiming the wearers to be 'gagged for telling the truth' and 'the voice of Oldham'. The BNP's third-place finish in Oldham, gained whilst advocating a programme including the expulsion from Britain of its non-Caucasian citizens, was deeply disturbing - but still hardly justified that 'voice of Oldham' claim. Perhaps the local authority should sue the wearer of that slogan for libelling their town.

Another dramatic, though far less sinister, spectacle was provided by the disgraced former minister and one-time close ally of the Prime Minister, Peter Mandelson. After comfortably retaining his seat in Hartlepool, Mandelson delivered an hysterical, ranting victory speech that was both embarrassing and compelling. He raged wildly against those who had tried to write him off, especially those who'd suggested that the voters of Hartlepool might reject him after he'd twice been ousted from the Cabinet in dubious circumstances.
'They underestimated Hartlepool and they underestimated me because I am a fighter not a quitter.'

he declared.

Watching in appalled fascination, I half expected him to start singing "I Will Survive". I have had a nervous breakdown in my time, and so I can recognise the symptoms when someone else is heading for one. Put it this way - I just hope that Mr Mandelson finds the time for a good holiday soon. If by any chance he's a bit strapped for cash, perhaps his old friend Tony could lend him some holiday funds out of that very generous pay rise he's just awarded himself.

Elsewhere, a new national hero emerged in the unlikely form of Richard Taylor, the doctor who won in Wyre Forest while standing as an independent, his candidacy dedicated to supporting the preservation of a threatened local hospital. The universal admiration that greeted this result underlined two things. One, a great weariness with the party propaganda machines and their party line-parroting, pre-packaged candidates; everyone seemed delighted to see any independent win, and the fact that it was someone with a specific good cause was a bonus. Two: although Mr Blair and his Labour candidates endlessly repeated the mantra that a vote for them was a vote for schools and hospitals, people in Wyre Forest preferred to vote for a man who had actually worked in those hospitals, and thus represented them in the most direct way possible. Blair must surely know now that if he doesn't deliver on all those promises of better public services, he could face a backlash as fierce as the one against the Tories that swept him to power four years ago.

For me personally, this election provided two firsts. It was, as mentioned last week, the first time that I have been called upon to visit a red-light area in order to vote. I set out in bright sunshine early in the afternoon in order to cast my ballot, and managed to avoid receiving any salacious proposals despite the fact that the women on the street corners were there as usual. One was waiting on the corner directly opposite the entrance to the polling station. Perhaps she was pausing for thought before going in to cast her vote - but probably not. In a way, I thought the setting of the polling station was apt. If anyone making their way there was in any doubt about what under-investment in inner-city areas leads to, they would have got a sharp reminder in the shape of the squalor that surrounded Bradford's centre of democracy.

The other "first" was that although I have voted Labour on many previous occasions, this was the first time that I did so tactically. There seems to be little doubt that the Liberal Democrats are now a more progressive party than Labour, and on several issues I preferred their policies to those Labour was offering. I'd have switched allegiances if I'd been living in a constituency where their candidate had any chance of winning. As it was, many voters in Bradford West had seemingly made the same calculations as I had. The Conservative candidate Mohammed Riaz , who had fought the same seat in the 1997 election, increased his share of the vote. But the local Liberal Democrat vote collapsed, their candidate trailing in fourth behind the Green Party's representative, and Labour's Marsha Singh appeared to be the beneficiary. The man named Marsha's percentage of the poll improved more than that of the Tory, and he was safely delivered to represent me with a slightly increased majority. Around the country, tactical voting seemed to secure some notable successes - notably in Dorset, where two Tory MPs were narrowly ousted, in one case following large-scale switching of votes from Liberal Democrat to Labour and in the other by Labour supporters backing the Lib Dem candidate. Tactical voting is surely here to stay, as the evidence of its effectiveness becomes ever clearer.

Now it's all over for another four years; and there are many who question whether any of it mattered at all, when market forces control so much and a worryingly large number of people failed to vote at all. But I'd say that it did matter. The UK 2001 General Election produced a decisive rejection of insularity. Those Britons who can be bothered to vote are overwhelmingly in favour of recognising the fact that our nation is part of Europe - an important decision and, I'm sure, a wise one.

And finally, for those of us who remember the Eighties, it provided the wonderful, unprecedented spectacle of Margaret Thatcher campaigning vigorously in a General Election campaign, and ending up with her side resoundingly defeated. Thatcherism as we used to know and loathe it is finally, decisively dead.

We've waited a long time to be able to say that, and saying it feels just great.

I'm usually a keen consumer of broadcast news programmes, but on Monday I had to keep my TV and radio switched off. I just couldn't bear to hear any more about the execution of the Oklahoma bomber Timothy McVeigh. I didn't want to see any more diagrams explaining exactly how a lethal injection kills someone, any more details of what exactly McVeigh would do, eat and wear on the day of his death, or any more rehashes of the story of the dreadful crime he committed.

Above all, I couldn't bear to look at one more gloating capital punishment enthusiast relishing the imminent poisoning to death of a human being as if it were a particularly attractive sports fixture. The great BBC satire show "Have I Got News For You" displayed a souvenir T-shirt bearing the date of the execution, crossed hypodermics and the slogan 'McVeigh. You are the weakest link. Goodbye.' It is truly staggering to think that in America, glorious America, the great nation that gave us rock'n'roll and the movies and "Star Trek" and "The Simpsons", someone wanted to wear that - and the federal Government provided them with an occasion on which to do so.

Even worse, in a way, was the sight - in the midst of one of those pro-death penalty demos, of an ad for a radio show. They were very keen for you to know that someone's breakfast show on station ???? supported the execution. Well, I do hope that made the listeners' coffee and croissants taste better. Personally, I think I prefer radio stations that sponsor charities, rock concerts or soccer matches.

Part of my discomfort, I'm sure, comes from the fact that the McVeigh case is a difficult one for those like me who abhor capital punishment, and find it horrifying that this form of human sacrifice has continued into the 21st century. His crime was an appalling atrocity, he freely admitted his guilt and he wanted to die. If capital punishment could ever be justified, then it would be justified here.

But I'd still prefer to side with Bud Welch, whose 23-year-old daughter Julie-Marie was one of McVeigh's 168 victims. Showing amazing courage and generosity of spirit, Bud travelled to Terre Haute prison, where McVeigh was killed, to demonstrate against the execution.
'I don't see there's anything to be gained by taking Tim McVeigh out of his cage to kill him. There's no doubt about McVeigh's guilt. There's just nothing to be gained by killing number 169.'

Of course, those with T-shirts to sell or radio shows to promote might disagree.

We've had "road rage" and "air rage". Now a new survey has described a phenomenon known as "desk rage". In a survey carried out by computer firm Novatech, one in four British computer users has admitted to physically attacking their computer.

One of the 4,200 people surveyed admitted to breaking his finger in an attack on his computer. Another told how one day, after one "error" message too many, he had unplugged his computer screen, carried it out of the office where he worked, and thrown it down a fire escape. (Lest we regarded him as completely unfeeling, he added that later he had given the computer 'a decent burial in a skip'.

Dr Frank Bond, an occupation psychologist from London's City University, has commented:
'We live in an increasingly violent society and, in the workplace, we are put under large amounts of pressure. Britain works harder than the rest of Europe. This kind of stress will decrease your ability to keep control and to react adequately. The natural checks that keep you from strangling your boss just aren't there any more.'

In which case, it's frankly amazing that some former bosses of mine are still around.

But some are striking out in more subtle ways. Dr Bond continued:
'We communicate a lot by computer. We may get bad news from it. And these stresses may lead us to retaliate. We might shoot the messenger. Organisations are getting increasingly concerned about sabotage.


'People are getting increasingly angry and starting to take it out on the company - not in an overt way, but covertly. By leaving a computer virus on their disk, for example.'

I couldn't possibly condone such behaviour, of course. But at least that way you wouldn't break a finger. Or break a toe, while taking the concept of "rebooting" too literally.

The battle for the dubious privilege of succeeding William Hague as Conservative Party leader promises to be long, bitter, dirty, and enormously entertaining. In a bid to help the Tories make their choice, I have turned to one of my favourite Internet sites, The Internet Anagram Server, to see what a quick reshuffle of the letters in the contenders' names might tell us about them.

I'd actually worked out anagrams for a couple of the candidates some time ago. After Ann Widdecombe made a fool of herself at the Tory party conference by demanding zero tolerance for cannabis users, only for several leading Tories to admit to having tried a toke themselves, I was delighted to find that her name could be scrambled into: "Dim weed ban Con.". I'd also worked out that Michael Portillo was not to be trusted, if his anagram reflected his thoughts: "Oh, I'll plot a crime".

Perhaps Kenneth Clarke wants to make love and war: he can soon be turned into "Tank lecher Ken".

Iain Duncan Smith has been hailed by one anonymous Tory source as "The continuity candidate - bald, right-wing and unelectable". But put him through the Anagram Server and he frankly comes out sounding like a drunken scoundrel: "A cad, thus I'm in inn".

So perhaps the Tories should turn to Francis Maude. He could be the unity candidate, able to get on with even the most unpleasant elements in the party.

After all, he can soon be turned into "A dire scum fan".

Ormondroyd

14.06.01. Front Page

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