Laurence Fox has denied me the chance to quiz his people
While I was out, a canvasser came to the door and asked Mr Z to sign a nomination form for Laurence Fox to get on to the ballot for the London mayoral election. Mr Z said no, and the guy said: “You don’t have to vote for him! It’s just to get him on the ballot.” Mr Z said he didn’t want Fox on the ballot, and the Reclaim party supporter went elsewhere – needlessly, as it turned out, because Fox filled in the form incorrectly and his candidacy was rejected. Fox has blamed “political corruption” and intends to appeal.
While I don’t want Fox on the ballot either, I am sad that this makes it unlikely I’ll meet any more Reclaim canvassers, as I would invite them in and try to work out what the hell they think they’re playing at.
As elections approach, you might luck out and get an actual big beast of Westminster ringing your bell; it’s never happened to me, but it must have happened to someone. How else would politicians hear the things they say they do “on the doorstep”? More likely, it’ll be a local activist, and if you’re over 40, you’ll know exactly what to do: shoo them away if they’re not from your preferred party, and shoo them away nicely, but faster, if they are. There’s a time and a place for having an anodyne conversation about politics with a stranger you mainly agree with. That time is never, and the place is not your doorstep.
But it must be baffling to anyone under 30. Young people don’t even like you to phone them up without a written warning by text, and that’s when you’re their mum. An unexpected knock at the door from someone who isn’t carrying a parcel would process like a tear in the fabric of reality. Imagine how vexed they’d be if they were expecting a Deliveroo.