Thursday and its general election day, my partner has gone to work by the time I am fully awake. I go through my morning rituals, making myself comfortable and taking my vitals, these are good as usual. I dress in everything this morning as I intend to vote at some point after breakfast. My eldest daughter is a hero and goes to the shop to buy honey so I can have my favourite breakfast of muesli and yoghurt. With the kitchen cleared and having had a post breakfast rest I take the plunge and decide to shuffle to the polling station accompanied by my eldest daughter.

Having collected my voting slip I swash over to the booth and peruse the ballot paper. In this heart land of conservative politics it fell to the liberals last time so there is a decision to be made about whether to conviction vote or tactically vote. It occurs to me that this could be the last time I get to vote, of course I hope not but I have to be realistic, and suddenly I can’t face not being tactical, I would not forgive myself if I had not used my last vote to reflect my life long political views. I make my cross, fold my ballot paper and make my way to the ballot box, where I drop my vote into it. The polling station has filled up, full of very clean and pressed pensioners and I wonder if my vote will have been in vane, perhaps these are the people that have worked hard all their lives and at last sense they have a chance to have the world they want. There is no way of knowing, they may equally be those tempted by Reform and its promise of a return to some imaginary colonial heaven. I’m just content I’ve done right by my conscience.

I shuffle home and settle on the recliner and rest for a while before making myself lunch whilst watching Wimbledon. Its a rare match between two British players in the second round and is a match that goes on and on until it comes to a ten point tie breaker. There will be tears. And there were as the under dog finally wins out.

By the time my partner returns from work I am pretty much out of spoons and I can feel myself flagging. I may not last out for too much of election night especially as I due at the TWOC clinic tomorrow at 10am to get rid of the catheter and that is by far my priority at the moment. It is also my greatest source of anxiety, in that I am desperate for it to go right. It will be a sensible evening ending in night meds and hopefully my last night in the spare room with all my paraphernalia.

I go to bed having seen the exit pole, and it is good. Tomorrow will bring the reality of what a Labour landslide actually means.