After a while you forget: was I up for Portillo, or had I gone to bed? I think I’d gone to bed. Abbott, Boateng and Bernie Grant, in bed, I definitely remember that. And Powell, accordingly, out. Was that – what? – ’87? What even was that? 1997: where the hell was I? 2010? That was the one that landed us with Cameron and Clegg, yeah? Am I right? But the 1992 general election – I definitely remember that one. That was unforgettable.
I remember getting the first Tube home and listening to the Today programme before getting a couple of hours sleep
I was in my twenties. Short of cash, as always, I managed to get a job as a polling clerk and as a counting assistant – double bubble. I no longer have the pay slip but I think the total for the two shifts, from six in the morning till about six the following morning, was at least £50, which was handy money.
Britain’s best politics newsletters
You get two free articles each week when you sign up to The Spectator’s emails.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in