Yesterday, I didn't feel well enough to go to Mass, but Clare drove me over the University School of Optometry in the afternoon to collect two new pairs of glasses, one for driving and one intermediate pair which are good for standing at the lectern or altar and reading text. Having posted my electoral vote last week, I had nothing else to do today. Still feeling aching and exhausted by the 'flu, the only thing I could manage to do was write a few more pages of my novel and revise other elements. I have avoided listening to the news quite as much as I usually do this week.
The media have done the British public an immense disservice by treating the election as an English version of a Presidential election race, between Boris and Corbyn. Britain is still not being told the truth about the practicalities of 'getting brexit done'. Corbyn's political reputation has been slurred if not rendered into impotency by all the allegations of anti-semitism made against him personally. He and his inner circle thinks he's done enough and try to keep the public gaze on Labour policies instead. He's behaved with patience and dignity patiently presenting his party's offer and presenting himself as an enabler and dictator. The public isn't convinced by Labour's neutral brexit policy. It's hard to see how Labour can overcome the emotionally manipulative slogan wielding Boris. All glib charm, none of the mature profundity to be seen in Corbyn.
I dread the worst, and an grateful that I'm not feeling well enough to consider staying up to listen to the election results come in.
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