How to vote in the election (if you must)

There is supposedly an election in Scotland on Thursday, though I’ve yet to see much evidence of it.

A whole one of the political parties standing in my constituency has darkened my door, and it was the party — in fact, the candidate himself — that I had already decided to vote for.

Had that not happened, I would have been convinced the whole thing was some postmodern discourse constructed through mediated images, like that French lad Baudrillard who reckoned the Gulf War never really took place. He’d have told you this Holyrood election is a simulacrum but I’m afraid it really is happening.

And what a pitiful affair it is. One dull mediocrity after another. All that changes is the colour of the rosette, or it would if candidates still wore rosettes. Hardly any do anymore.

I liked rosettes. They made it easier to identify which insufferable bore was closing in on you down the precinct one week out from polling day, and you could decide whether to swerve or buttonhole accordingly. I’m putting rosettes on my list of Things They Should Bring Back, alongside Cadbury’s Time Outs, Dave Benson Phillips, and the Latin Mass.

The thing about this election is that it’s been monumentally dull.

The candidates: dull.

The televised debates: super dull.

All the inane rows and fake outrages and “BUMFACE: FARTHEAD MUST APOLOGISE FOR ‘SHOCKING’ COMMENTS” press releases: duller than Radio Scotland.

Of course, when you’re a political columnist it’s not the done thing to admit that an election bores you, because sacred ritual of democracy or some such, but there’s only so much Alex Cole-Hamilton one man can take.

As for the decision itself, my mind is made up on the constituency ballot. On the list, I haven’t the faintest idea, on account of hating them all with the eructive fury of a thousand Krakatoas.

I’ll probably spoil my second ballot in the usual fashion: by scrawling a mad disquisition on some niche topic that squats in my mind, will never be considered by the average politician, but which in a very close race will be scrutinised by the candidates for an expression of preference.

No spoilers, but come 2am on Friday some lucky, sleep-deprived people are going to learn about the origins of the Altalena affair.

People not especially interested in politics have been asking me, ‘How do you think I should vote?’ and I’ve been replying, ‘By placing a cross next to your preferred candidate’, and after they’re done rolling their eyes, they’ve said, ‘But who should I vote for?’ and I’ve said ‘Whom’, and if they’re still talking to me, they’ve asked again, and I’ve deftly danced around the issue (‘Oh, I haven’t made up my mind either’), but what I’ve wanted to say is: ‘If you’ve given the matter such scant consideration that you’re about to base your vote on the advice of a random acquaintance, I think it would be best all round if you didn’t vote at all.’

Of course, I don’t say that because, well, rude, but also because it would only invite an avalanche of well-meaning midwittery about men having fought wars for your right to vote and how your ballot could make a difference, and I have neither the heart to point out that this country has never gone to war for the cause of parliamentary elections, the men they have in mind having taken up arms for King and Country, and against Kaiser and Kraut, nor the patience to explain the arithmetical insignificance of their vote and the sheer unlikeliness of it determining the outcome.

The British are misty-eyed about ballot boxes and stony-eared about statistical probabilities.

So, no, I won’t be telling you who to vote for, but if like me you insist on participating in this electoral offering to the gods of Holyrood, I will tell you who I won’t be voting for. I won’t be voting for:

• Anyone who thinks men should be held in women’s prisons, or anyone who knows this is an outrageous policy but keeps quiet for an easy life. There are sundry views on gender identity ideology, and I respect the sincerity of those who disagree with me on the matter, but I cannot respect and certainly will not vote for anyone content — and, let’s face it, in some cases, eager — to see one of the most vulnerable demographics, women in prison, made even more vulnerable. (Yes, trans-identifying men and women are vulnerable, too, which is why those sentenced to custody should be placed in safe, separate accommodations.)

• Anyone who has spent the past few years demonising Jews, demonising the Jewish state, demonising Jews who know in their gut why there is and should be and must be a Jewish state, which is to say the overwhelming majority of Jews— anyone involved in the drenching of the public square in so much kerosene who, at first glimpse of the flames, has fired off a ‘solidarity with…’, ‘no place for…’ tweet. At least have the courage of your prejudices, you snivelling little wimp.

• Anyone who has not engaged seriously on the subject of the Scottish Government’s £5 billion fiscal black hole.

• Anyone who pretends it is possible to have social democratic levels of public spending on current levels of income taxation.

• Anyone who says the answer is ‘making the rich pay their fair share’ when they know we don’t have enough of the rich to make such an approach sustainable.

• Anyone who colludes in the lie — for that’s what it is, a lie — that the NHS, social care, Social Security, transport, schools, public sector pay and pensions, university tuition, policing and prisons, and the other activities of an active state can continue to be funded without significant increases in income tax across all bands.

• Anyone who plays on voters’ ignorance, panders to their prejudices, or otherwise pretends there are easy answers to a looming public policy catastrophes.

Well, that all got a bit serious, didn’t it? I think that’s what I object to most about this election. When they made the grave error of setting up the Scottish Parliament, Labour handed power over serious matters to a legislature that has since been filled mostly by unserious people with unserious ideas pushing unserious policies, but with results which have been far from unserious. When a country does this much damage to itself and shows no slackening of its appetite for self-harm, laughter is the only serious response.