How to lose voters

During the 1983 general election, I campaigned every single day with great zeal and avidity. I knocked on quite literally thousands of doors enquiring of people if we, the Labour party, could count on their support on 9 June. I would start at 9 o’clock and finish 12 hours later, taking a break at about 7 p.m. because interrupting Coronation Street was considered a vote loser.

I did all this with my hair spiked up in jagged tufts held in place by gallons of hairspray, and with a little bit of eyeliner and maybe a streak of blusher on my cheeks. My favoured shirt was fluorescent blue stripes on a pale blue background. My jeans were ripped at both knees. A pair of ragged Converse baseball boots and two badges – one promoting the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament and the other pledging my affection for a band called Cabaret Voltaire – completed my outfit.