Success

I have been weary and suffering a cold, often over the past few days feeling petulant, tired and frustrated, and relying on the good nature of my colleagues and loved ones to insert the feeding tubes and mop my furrowed brow with a soft cloth soaked in cool liniment. At least, that's what I think was happening.

This past month has been a struggle. I still haven't tracked down the last two interviewees, the UKIP and the Independent candidates. But without struggle, there is no gain, and generally I can say my month of politics has been a success, especially considering everything else I've been up to whilst covering the election, like eating, sleeping, reinventing my domestic life, paying bills, walking in bluebell woods. I was running a fever and it was a rather surreal experience, the colour and scent spacing me right out. Viruses can be a powerful psychedelic.

Joining the great movement towards democratic inclusion that blogging, podcasting, DV cams, mobile phones offer has been more than a good exercise. I have enjoyed meeting the candidates and conducting interviews, and despite mild exhaustion, I now know that my endeavour has been valuable, specifically because of this comment from Ollie. When I read it, I couldn't stop smiling.

Thanks for making available these series of podcasts with the candidates in my constituency - much appreciated. I'm planning on listening to each one before casting my vote on Thursday. I've been away from Islington a lot recently so I've managed to avoid any direct canvassing from the candidates - and election flyers are not something I read. Hence your podcasts will probably be my primary tool for making the decision.

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Posted by Ollie to Five at 5/3/2005 10:59:53 PM

This alone makes my efforts worthwhile.

I've also had some realisations about these strange and colourful people who seek public office, recognition, attainment beyond the usual, which I shall share with you in conclusion.

Plan A: tomorrow night gain entry to the count and the declaration. This is my final hurdle, and my legs are aching with the effort. After calling various numbers at the Town Hall, I spoke to the local council press geezer Rob yesterday. I am vieing with a journalist from Sweden, he told me, although quite why a Swedish journo should be deemed more worthy than me, I cannot say. I've lived here 21 years for fuck's sake. He really didn't want to listen to why I should be there, didn't promise to let me in, made a big thing about how it wasn't his decision and joked about charging me £55. There is also the spacious nature of the Sobel Centre, into which surely can fit a single blogger. I felt like spitting, thanked him politely for his "help" and decided to wait and see.

I'm in a position now to apply for an NUJ (National Union of Journalists) card - Five has been a genuine independent political news outlet for the duration, it's syndicated feed carried alongside the established quality media, Guardian, Observer, and the BBC, republished on BNN, as well as linked and linking to multiple other excellent blogs and sites - and so I have to decide what to do with it now I've set it up. I don't necessarily want to write news, at least not in terms of modern news media, but the wonderful thing is that this month, having to explain to people exactly what I am doing, why I write and where it is read, I have realised I am a journalist, in the tradition of Sam Pepys, living here and observing and writing about my London life, it's crazy pace, beauty, shenanigans, decadance, invention, fortune, savagery, poverty and splendour. Writing is a part of my life, and I take it as seriously as I take living.

Plan B: if I don't get to be there in person with assembled political hopefuls and assorted TV crews and card-carrying journalists on the night, I am going to do what everyone else does which is stay home and watch the election unfold on TV, in which case I'll be online tomorrow (Thursday) night (GMT) and happily live chat with anyone who wants to show up. Watch this space, ye brethren, and despair not, for the future, or at least a funky bit of it, is in our hands.