The First Leaders Debate

I’ve just finished watching the first ever political leaders election debate on ITV. There’s two more left, one on Sky and one on the BBC. I thought I give you my thoughts. Not on the debate, but on the Twitter fall that went with it.

First off, Damn! So many tweets it was impossible to keep up. And I mean impossible. Apparently there were almost 30 tweets per second carrying the #leadersdebate hashtag. That’s a lot. Nearly 200,000 over the 90 minute debate. Picking your way through that lot was hard.

But I managed.

What struck me the most was way that those tweeters carrying a ‘twibbon’ on their avatar of one of the parties all seemed to think that their leader came out on top. No surprise there then. And they all seemed to think that the one they see as their main rival did badly. No surprise there then either.

It was interesting to see LibDem leader Nick Clegg was the leader featuring highest in the twitter trending topics. It was also interesting to see “I agree with Nick” as a trending topic – not because everyone on twitter did agree with Nick, but because Gordon said the phrase a number of times.

All good interesting stuff. Anyway, time for #bbcqt now.

An Open Letter to all those standing in the General Election

Every day since the Prime Minister called the General Election, I’ve arrived home from work to find my door mat littered with leaflets from all the leading parties and many of the minor ones, letters addressed to me personally from prominent members of the leading parties, and other election related bumpf.

I would ask, very politely, to please stop it. I don’t want or require your propaganda literature. I am an educated, thirty-five year old man. I am perfectly capable of listening to the political arguments, seeking out and reading your manifestos and weighing everything I hear, read and see against my own views, morals and beliefs, and then making an informed choice about my vote.

I understand that you think the majority of the Great British Public are not capable of this, but I must inform you that I very much am. As, I suspect, are most of the rest of us.

Frankly, the only election related item I want posted through my door arrived today, and that is my polling card.

So do yourselves a favour. Save yourselves some money. Save some paper – hell, you’re all always going on about saving the planet, here’s your chance to do just a little bit towards that goal. Stop pushing crap through my door!

Yes, I have been saying for many, many months that the country needs the renewal that an election would bring. That we need the debate it would bring. But tacky leaflets and letters telling me how the other parties would only make things worse are not debate. They are a waste of my time. All that happens to them is they go in the bin. Sorry, in the recycling.

If you want my vote, knock on my door and convince me. I’ll listen. I might not agree with you. We might actually enter into a debate. But I’ll listen.

I have been eligible to vote since 1997. That’s the last three elections. I have yet to have a conversation with a candidate, or even an ‘activist’. Why? I don’t know. You tell me. Perhaps my vote isn’t valuable enough.

Or maybe it’s because I work 9 to 5 and the canvassing stops just about when I get home. My vote clearly isn’t worth missing your dinner for.

If you want my vote, tell me what YOU would do to make things better, not how the others will only make it worse. I’m sorry, but the Labour Party’s argument for re-election seems to be “Sorry we stuffed up, but they’ll only make it worse.” At least the Tories and the Liberals seems to be saying “Give us a chance, we can’t be any worse than they were,” which is sort of optimistic in a pessimistic kind of way.

So, to all those standing in this election – in my constituency of Northampton North and beyond – come talk to me. Convince me you’re worthy of my cross in your box. I’m easy to reach. Knock on my door after six or tweet me at @marcnobbs. Let’s discuss. Let’s argue. Let’s talk about it over a nice cup of hot chocolate. But don’t ignore me. Don’t take me for granted. And don’t treat me like some idiotic half-breed incapable of rational thought.

Thank you for listening.

Yours faithfully

Marc Nobbs – registered voter.

Monday Morning Flash – “Accident Report”

A couple of weeks ago I posted one of my flash stories on this blog. At the time I suggested that I might post more, but circumstances beyond my control meant that I haven’t gotten around to it. So,I figured I really ought to. For the next few weeks, I’ll treat you to a Monday Morning Flash. If it proves popular, I’ll try and keep it up. I’ve got eighteen older flash stories already written, one of which I’ve already posted. That leaves seventeen. Seventeen weeks of Monday Morning Flashes. And who knows, I might even open up the feature to some guest authors.

This first one is special to me because it’s the very first story I ever had published – over at Ruthie’s Club. It wasn’t the first one accepted – that was the longer, Scratched – but it was accepted soon after that and the publishing schedule meant it got released first.

Enjoy.

Accident Report
(300 words)

Gem loved fast cars.

When we first met, I had a little MG-F roadster. It was one of the things that attracted her. On country roads, hitting fifty around the bends, her pleasure was etched all over her face. But we had a problem. The roadster had no back seat, and the front seats didn’t tip back. We made out this one time, at lover’s leap overlooking the town. We were desperate to go further, but the gear stick got in the way.

When I asked Gem to marry me, she agreed on the condition that I sold the MG and bought a car with a back seat. I went for a VW Golf GTi. The engine purred almost as sweetly as Gem. On the motorways, pulling at least eighty, Gem would slide her hand onto my leg and squeeze. I’d push down on the gas, and we’d top ninety. By the time her hand reached my crotch, we’d hit the ton.

When the children came along, we needed a bigger car. I made sure it still kicked ass. Gem would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t. BMW M5. Expensive and powerful. The back seat had more than enough room for the kids. It gave Gem and me plenty of space to have some fun, too.

For her fiftieth birthday, I treated her to a proper sports car. An Aston Martin BD7 convertible. Gem was a James Bond fan. In the country one summer afternoon, Gem caressed her gear knob as I eased through the bends. I’m sure she stained the leather seats. I tried valiantly to keep my eyes on the road. She leaned over, unzipped, and went down on me.

The newspaper report hangs on our bedroom wall. The headline reads: Distracted Driver Destroys Historic Tree.

So, Where’d you Go?

You may (or indeed, may not) have noticed that I didn’t blog at all last week. I mentioned in yesterday’s Six Sentence Sunday post that I had my reasons and I did. One reason. Quite a personal one. I’m not going to elaborate because, quite frankly, it’s nobody’s business but mine and my family’s, but suffice to say it was a very, very good reason which kept me out of the country and away from my laptop.

But I’m back home now and ready for more.

I did manage to write another couple chapters of my WIP – both while I was on the ferry across the channel. That was a weird experience, writing and looking up every so often to see if anyone could tell I’m writing dirty stories. I don’t think anyone did, but I couldn’t really tell.

Coming back on Saturday was particularly awkward. Normally when I cross the channel I use SeaFrance. I like the boats, they are comfortable and atmospheric. There’s a very continental ambiance about them. There’s also tons and tons of space. Not just in the lounges and bars but there are seats in little hideaway places all over the boat. Crossing to France I was able to find a seat – with a table – looking out of the nearby window at the sea whenever I needed to collect my thoughts before continuing to type.

On the return the SeaFrance workers were on strike and so I was bumped onto a P&O boat. It was horrible. Mass Market, down market, I felt like I was part of a herd of cattle rounded up on this vessel – as many of us crammed into the space as they could get. No ambiance, the atmosphere was… not pleasant. Rather than a seat in a hideaway with a table and looking out at sea, the only place I could find to sit was in the ‘lounge’ – rows and rows of seats next to each other.

I imagine the difference is a bit like flying on Ryanair as opposed to First Class with BA. I don’t think that’s all that far off given that P&O actually have a first class lounge (which you naturally have to pay extra for and because I’d been transferred from the rival company, they wouldn’t let me) whereas SeaFrance don’t and the P&O first class lounge looked a lot like the ‘normal’ lounge on the SeaFrance boats.

To be honest, I felt a little bit dirty after getting off the P&O boat. I know that makes me sound a bit snobbish, but I don’t care. If wanting to travel on a nice boat with a nice atmosphere makes me snobbish, then I’m snobbish.

The weird thing is that I’ve always found SeaFrace to be as cheap, and sometimes cheaper, than P&O. Given that, why would anyone choose to travel on P&O? Perhaps it can be summed up by someone I overheard as they were queuing to get in the cafeteria. “Oh, thank God, they’ve got English food!”

I despair. I really do.

Six Sentence Sunday 04/04/2010

I know I haven’t been around this week, and there are reasons for that I might explain later, but I’m back for Six Sentence Sunday. My six this week again come from my impending print release, Kissed by a Rose, which you can get in digital formats now if you can’t wait for the print copy or just prefer you book digitally anyway.

Here we go…

“Upset? You don’t think I’m all that upset. You haven’t got the first fucking clue, have you? You’ve got no fucking idea at all how I’m feeling. Look, just because I’m not crying my eyes out, drowning myself in ice cream or threatening to throw myself off Central Pier, doesn’t mean I'm not all that upset.” He took a deep, calming breath.

I didn’t mention it last week when I should have, but you can read other Six Sentence Sunday posts by checking out the main blog.