So last year Steve Moran asks a few of us to share our election night thoughts (yes, yes, the one in north America) and the resulting text eventually gestates into a web page. Here.
Here’s what I wrote on November 6:
‘I’m so excited. I got a twitter from Obama.’
This from the friend who is normally more excited about his twitter feed from Stephen Fry, which includes soliloquies on odd socks and mini-missives to the technologised world.
Anyway, we’re curled on the sofa, we have popcorn (which I don’t eat) on the table and champagne in the fridge, and we wish they’d just get going. We have no TV, so someone has done all the media stuff to get something up on the computer, and there’s a bunch of Brits and Yanks talking bollocks round a small table on the very small screen, and cutting away every so often to ‘results’ that have not yet arrived, and then bumbling back to the studio again. The Brits are all wearing red so it looks like they support the bad guys.
[But we do, don’t we? Or we are the bad guys. Isn’t that why we’re sending our soldiers off with theirs, to make a mess of a country we never plan to go to? Isn’t that why our supermarkets are full of Israeli herbs to cover the bad taste in our mouths, and stacked high with cheap persimmons renamed Sharon fruit?] This is not our election, and I resent having to watch it, but if the rest of the world has to keep an eye on America to be sure the ‘democratic process’ is what is claims to be, then so be it.
The loser comes up all in white with his all-in-white Jackie-O wife, and keeps saying ‘it was a great ride’, which if you once lived in Dublin still sounds a little rude. He is telling us goodbye, and his wife’s pinched face is thinking how much money the great ride cost.
We look out for Nigel who has texted us he’s in the park in Chicago, shivering and being forcibly divested of banners and badges that security say count as ‘weapons’. No sign of him.
By the time I stumble off to bed the states are turning blue. We have improved our knowledge of American geography and also hit on an idea for a new board game where players must vote in as many states as possible before the polling stations close.
A champagne cork pops softly as I drift off under the duvet, hoping this American dream works out happier than the last, that Obama holds his gloss a little better than a certain British PM whose rise to power started out equally full of hope and faith and conviction.