Police Commissioner Elections: sadly free of costumed vigilantes

As you're probably not aware, the Police Commissioner elections are taking place this Thursday. I know, I know, it's been a real hotbed of political discussion over these elections and I'm sure you're all desperate to cast your vote.

After some discussion and thought, I have decided that I will vote for one of these options:

1. Anyone by the name of 'Gordon'.

1a. I will also accept anyone campaigning under a slogan of “Tough on costumed super-villains, tough on the causes of costumed super-villainy.”

2. Anyone who promises to give all of their salary to a police widows charity and to not do any work, instead letting the police do their work without any bullshit needless political stuff.

Unfortunately, I can't find any candidates who fulfil any of the above criteria. The UKIP lady in our area, Merseyside, looks a bit like Gary Oldman but that's as close as I can get.

Not actually the UKIP candidate for Merseyside Police Commissioner. Maybe.

 So now I'm torn between voting Labour in an attempt to keep out the UKIP/English Democrat lot, or spoiling my ballot paper. I'm rather tempted to go for the latter. I'm going to note, no matter what happens, because if I think about not voting I hear my ancestors screaming at me. So like many people, I'm now mostly trying to think of the funniest way to spoil my ballot paper, mostly via trying to think of good quotes from The Thick of It.

I do genuinely disagree with these elections, because we don't need Police Commissioners. I have yet to hear a convincing reason why we should, or frankly any reasons whatsoever. I've heard nothing from any candidates, or from the government explaining this new role, or any reason why we're wasting million of pounds on an election we don't need and can't afford.

I'm thinking 'FUCKING OMNISHAMBLES' wouldn't be a bad start.

London! Yay?

So, after years in a small town in the North of England, I am taking the well worn graduate path and moving down to London.

I would like to pretend this is because I have a shiny new job, but actually it's because my husband has a shiny new job and I am so ready for a change. When I was a student, I sort of assumed I'd end up moving to a large city, drinking lattes and using public transport. I ended back up in a small town I grew up in, managing to move all of ten miles down the road to the coast 18 months ago to a marginally larger town. I'll admit, there's a stonking pub here but that's about it.

As such, I am wildly excited. We're moving towards the end of next month. I remain excited until you ask me the following questions:

1. Where are you going to live?

2. What are you going to do for a living?

3. How do you plan to move that monstrosity you call a sofa down the stairs, anyway?

Then I sort of crumble and have to try to resist the urge to have a little cry.

Now, we are sort of coping with part 1 via going flat hunting at the weekend, and part 3 has been solved with the grim resolve of spending a large amount of money on a moving firm. I am proud of our large amount of mismatching but sturdy furniture, and I simply can't face going furniture shopping in the near future. Logically, the best thing to do is schlep it all down to London, and to prevent Mr DG and I divorcing with less than a year under our belt we may as well avoid the arguments that our mutual attempts to move furniture cause.

Part 2 is one filled with fear and horror and a grim sense of denial. Do I have a job lined up yet? No. Do I have a plan? Only if wildly flailing counts.

Still, I suppose it's more relevant to a graduate blog as we discuss my wild scrabbles through the world of jub hunting. I'm still in my current job at the moment, but desperately trying to persuade employers that I am really very good at administration and should be taken on for the specialist administration roles I'm applying for. OR EVEN A WRITING JOB TO ANYONE READING THIS. Yes, I actually do enjoy administration work, or to be precise I rather prefer getting paid and administration is the quickest way to do it. Quietly I hope I'm going to use this move to find paid employment writing stuff – are you reading this, employers? I can create content for PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING, you should see my portfolio, ASK TO SEE MY PORTFOLIO PLEASE?! However, I enjoy eating and paying rent more than I want to be a starving artist, so now it's a desperate scrabble for a job.

Still, a small and dirty part of me thinks that at least this will be stonking blogging material. Between the job hunt and the move and the new place, I am set up for MONTHS to come, before we even get to the whole bitter Northerner issue.

Plus, bonus Kermit gif.

Greetings from the North!

Greeting, visitors to Britain! You are probably here for the Olympics, which I'm probably not allowed to talk about, being as I'm not an official sponsor. Before Logoc comes to break my fingers, allow me to express warm felicitations from the North of the country. You know, not London. No, Watford doesn't count.

I hope you're enjoying the warm weather! According to the weather lady on Breakfast (is the lack of adverts confusing you yet, by the way?) she'll cheerfully tell you that 'the UK is getting sunshine today!' This isn't strictly true, as she'll go to mention '… except for Scotland, Northern Ireland, the North and some areas of Wales'. It's okay! We're just sacrificing our sunshine for athletes from hotter climes. We're really enjoying having humid yet grim days, and being consistently reminded of how lovely it is down South, like we don't matter. HONESTLY, WE'RE NOT RESENTFUL. NOT AT ALL.

If you enjoy driving, I entreat you to come and visit us up here. We have exactly the same traffic as we always have, not having half of the place shut. I wouldn't advise getting public transport up here, though. Just trust me.

Please also come and see our industrious attitude to work! Unlike our capital, we're all working through the Games, and that's including anyone in cities that are having events, such as Manchester and Edinburgh. When I say 'working' I mean 'signing on', a quaint custom from the 1970s and 1980s that our Government has been working tirelessly to bring back to our cities. Those of us who are not (yet) indulging in this historic tradition may occasionally be found muttering about the difficulty in doing any business south of Birmingham, as for various reasons our economy still swirls around supply there. Still, we're managing to power through the next two weeks, unless the economy drops any more. The excitement, for many of us, is just too much to bear!

You will also be astonished to hear our quirky accents. You won't have heard us on TV before, and no doubt you'll have prepared to cope with London accents via Dick Van Dyke and Audrey Hepburn. Still, if you do take a jaunt up here then try not to look too surprised at our very different approach to the language. “Fookin' cockney twat” is a charming term, we assure you, and please try it on any locals you may find in the East End of the London! They will be amazed at your attempts to take on the language of the entire country. That said, they probably haven't heard it either, as many are of the believe that above Watford simply reads 'Here Be Dragons'.

(We have no dragons. That's Wales.)

Try not to be alarmed at the food prices in the Olympic parks! Come to the North, we can do you double fish and chips with mushy peas for the price you'd pay in the Olympic parks. If you are also alarmed by the security in Heathrow, we can assure you that it's all for your own good. In Manchester airport, it's possible for an eleven year old to wander through without a passport, possibly because the North has also given up all of its Border Agency staff. We do this for your safety, Olympic visitors!

Enjoy the Olympics, and if you have the time, do try to think of the North of the country, and allow us to assure you that we have nothing but warm feelings towards London and our fine and mighty Government!

The author of this piece is in no way bitter and cold about the whole matter, and hasn't just had a surprising and worrying letter at work from some suppliers and contractors about logistics in London, messing up the whole month of plans. Nor does she find the mascots the most frightening thing she's seen in some time. The only sport she's honestly looking forward definitely isn't just keirin. She's overwhelmed with excitement. Honest.