While we're whiling away the minutes until the Norwich result comes out, my attention's been grabbed by a Twitter update from Luke Pollard, a Labour PPC in the south-west. Luke has discovered that the Harry Potter actor is a Lib Dem. Someone acidly remarked (OK it was me) that it makes sense for Harry Potter to be a Lib Dem: barely literate fiction, written for children, more popular than reason demands.
But it makes you think, no? Which of our favourite childhood characters would support which party, and why?
*
"My goodness," sighed Anne, plumping up the cushions in the caravan. "It's so lovely to be back here in this rolling rural idyll, but I do worry that we might not have sufficient access to our parents and their colleagues, in order to furnish us with the informal networks which middle-class children such as ourselves will use to propel themselves forward in the professions in later life!"
"Shut up Anne," growled George, licking a bun, ferociously.
"That's right, shut up," commanded Dick. "I'm sick of this proto-New Labour drivel from you. You won't have a career! You're going to be a stay-at-home mummy, based on your cushion-plumping pathology and the obsessive care you take with cleaning the caravan. No-one in their right mind would give you a job!" He flopped down onto a cushion, and began to casually peruse his "UKIP Guide to Employee Relations" pamphlet with increasing fervour.
Anne looked at the floor, wistfully. Nuzzling Timmy close, she wondered how she would ever be able to explain to her friends the difference that Alan Millburn's work on equality of access had made to her young life. "Don't you sometimes think that all these adventures we have are just a substitute for a more home-centred Sure Start in life?" she asked, in a small voice.
"What's that, Anne?" boomed Julian, striding from the caravan's bedroom. He was carrying a rugger ball, a catapult, a map and the remnants of a burst balloon. An exciting afternoon beckoned! "More of that socialist claptrap?" He ruffled Anne's hair affectionately, if a little roughly.
George looked up from her bun: "She's too busy fussing with rock cakes and all that book-learnin' to be out there fighting for socialism." Something snapped inside Anne:
"I've had it with the lot of you! I'm taking Timmy, a knapsack, lashings of ginger beer, and I'm off to help build the Socialist Utopia that will bring joy to the heart of humanity!". With those words, she swept from the caravan, slamming the door behind her, causing a plate of rock cakes to fall on the floor.
An hour or so later, Dick looked up from his pamphlet. "She might have left the ginger beer."
*
Paddington checked that his marmalade sandwich was firmly fixed under his hat, made sure that the front door was closed behind him, and walked thoughtfully down the street. Mr Brown watched his departure from the living-room window. "Where does he go, all these mornings?" he wondered, aloud.
"I think he goes to Mr Gruber's shop on the Portobello Road," offered Mrs Brown, "and they eat buns and look at the antiques". Mrs Bird, who was passing the door, heard this. "Hmmmph," she thought to herself. "What they don't know won't harm them".
A short time later Paddington arrived at Mr Gruber's shop. His friend was in a state of high excitement, hopping from one leg to the other. "All set, Paddington?" he asked, in his curious high-pitched voice. Paddington thought for a moment, and gave Mr Gruber the beginnings of a hard stare. He said:
"I was wondering if this morning we could take matters at a more leisurely pace? I've brought enough marmalade sandwiches for two, and I thought we could begin an inventory of your stock, and - ". But Mr Gruber cut him off, flapping his hand in dismissal, replying to his friend in a shocked tone:
"Now Paddington. We've been through this before. Socialism doesn't take the morning off to fuss around with antique shop inventories, and neither must we. There's a by-election in South Hackney next month, so we're heading over there now with the latest In Touch. There's a fascinating interview with the borough head of planning on the second page."
Paddington sighed, but mainly to himself. Munching a sandwich, he fixed on his blue rosette, picked up his share of the 20,000 Conservative leaflets, and headed out the shop with his friend.
