A couple of weeks to the big Election day.

A couple of weeks to the big Election day

Oh well. In a couple of Thursdays we'll all know. That result. That event. Oh the suspense is too much. The beads of sweat are pouring off me profusely. It's the nervous tension you see. It's the feverish anticipation, the not knowing but knowing full well which almost sounds like a contradiction in terms, the uncertainty of it all or maybe the certainty. It's a foregone conclusion isn't it? It's the Great General Election show folks. The one that grips our imagination every so often and then turns us white with indifference.

I know. You've had it. You've had it up to here with all those outrageous sound bites, those tiresome tirades, that Labour bloke who keeps wrestling with that wretched microphone and keeps bawling at us in that very patronising manner in case we didn't hear him the first time. It's enough to drive you crazy. And yet I won't let it. I'm determined to buck the trend by stuffing my ears with cotton wool.

 My boredom threshold is being tested to the limit. I need a lie down in a dark room. The current news agenda is enough to tax anybody's patience and yet on and on they keep bellowing at the tops of their voices, blasting our ear drums with that loud hollering, shouting, begging to be heard, pontificating and being terribly pompous. You'd think they'd give it a rest. But they won't and come the day of the Election most of us will slump back into our sofas and just let them get on with it. Politicians do love the sound of their voices and not for the first time in the period leading up to June the eighth their vocal chords are getting the most vigorous of work outs.

In the blue corner there's the wonderful Prime Minister Theresa May representing the Conservative party, admittedly very sensible, agreeable, most restrained and hugely intelligent. For the last six months or so she's remained very cool and composed when the Brexit fall out could have left her in a dire predicament. It's hard to know how history will judge her because she's only been in the job for five minutes. But hers is the voice of confidence, of sound judgment and capability and nothing has rattled or fazed her. Nothing has caught her out or left her wanting which probably bodes well for the General Election.

To all outward appearances Theresa May is prim, proper, morally and emotionally correct without a hint of anxiety in her voice. There is a smoothness and authority about her which does seem to be putting the nation at ease. And yet those bickering, snarling and complaining critics will continue their nit picking and carping because that's what they do whether we like it or not. But Theresa is in charge so let her take matters into her own hands. It's all being dealt with in house and internally and the whole Tory operation back at headquarters is all going swimmingly well and tickety boo.

She may be thinking that all she has to do on the eighth of June is just turn up on the day and just smile for the TV cameras. This is a tried and tested method which invariably works for the party with an unassailable lead but when you know just how bad the opposition is you may be lulled into a false sense of security. But come on this one is all done and dusted for Theresa May and her Conservatives. Stranger things have been known to happen but Jeremy Corbyn and his Labour loyalists may think this could be the most futile and pointless of political exercises.

So far Mr Corbyn has addressed the nation in much the way that George Foreman once tried to kid us into believing that he could still win the heavyweight title at the age of 56. For Jeremy Corbyn these are truly delusional days, a man with lovely dreams but little in the way of reality. One day Corbyn may well wake up and think he can smell the coffee when the truth is that it's just orange juice or maybe a half glass full of water. Oh dear Jeremy this is going to be very painful and awkward so be prepared. The Labour Party are suffering and it must hurt. Has anybody got a plaster or bandage? On second thoughts this one looks beyond redemption.

And yet in a shopping centre near somebody Corbyn, accompanied by John Mcdonell and that mathematical genius Diane Abbott, banded together, went into a huddle, rallied the troops and began to sound as brave, courageous and single minded as any party has a right to when they're a thousand points behind in the polls. These are the worst moments in the history of the Labour Party and a harrowing fate lies in wait for them. True they did look very united but the sniping and in fighting could take its toll on them. Or maybe we've got it all wrong and Labour will just crush the Tories in the General Election. Remember where you read that sentence. In fact on second thoughts don't remember it because it may come back to haunt me.

But the old stereotypes are beginning to hover. The Labour party will always be associated with that strong trade union presence behind them, the working class Socialist roots, the interference from trade union bodies. the desperate plea to re-nationalise the railways and a stubborn foot in the past. Labour were new Labour for a decade under Tony Blair until one day it all unravelled and the old voices could still be heard in smoky boardrooms and stuffy corridors. Maybe Labour will come back to life when the climate is more favourable and Jeremy Corbyn has finally retired to the Garrick club with a yellowing copy of Socialist Weekly.

And then there's the Lib Dems in the very far corner, just about visible in the rear view mirror but slowly receding into the far distance. The Liberal Democrats are Britain's third political party but are essentially the 27th party because the Lib Dems are just whistling in the wind and you'd be well advised to vote for thin air. Still you never know. Miracles do happen but very rarely so all the best to Tim Farron and see you at the Party Political Conference season in the autumn. How they ever formed a Coalition with David Cameron still perplexes those who made it possible. But when the political historians look back on the early part of the 21st century they may come to regard Nick Clegg as one of the greatest leaders they've ever had. Nobody in yellow since then has come anywhere as close to 10 Downing Street as Clegg without being in total control.

For the Lib Dems these have to be very stressful and worrying times. There is a school of thought that suggests that the Lib Dems are about to get a severe thrashing by their political opponents. In the case of the Lib Dems this has always been about perception and image rather than simple leadership skills. For years and years the Liberals and Liberal Democrats have always remained on the side lines, in the margins, on the periphery, a good old music hall joke perhaps and this time more than ever it looks like a hopeless cause. That Tim Farron may well have some very decent qualities but a Prime Minister may not be his calling in life.

But whether you're a revolutionary, anarchist, pacifist, interventionist, Communist, Marxist, Leninist, Capitalist, Socialist, vegetarian or the I Don't Particularly Care One Way Or the Other Party this is all good old fashioned fun. Or maybe you can't stand it any more and just want to scream at the TV because it's now insufferable and if you could register a vehement appeal to the BBC you probably would. But we wouldn't have it any other way would we? We love General Elections, the cut throat competitiveness of it all, the yahooing, the gnashing of teeth, those grandiose statements of the obvious, those fetching rosettes of red, blue and yellow and that infernal flow of chattering and nattering that gets on your nerves.

Then they'll gather in our town halls at roughly 10.00 and they'll all look very earnest and interested because we are the electorate and we were the ones who were responsible for the appointment of the Prime Minister after all. We were the ones who, either at the crack of dawn or late evening, dragged ourselves grudgingly into a Polling Station, sheepishly walked over to a man or woman, taken our voting slip, marched across to our private booth and then ticked the people we wanted to run things for us at local and national level. And it'll be very wearisome and monotonous because we know it won't matter to us personally so let's just get this chore out of the way..

Finally we'll switch on our TVs, radio, Smart Phones, I- Pads, cookers, kettles, living room lights  and watch the results flooding through because there's an obligation to carry out this burdensome duty. Besides David Dimbleby is on and we know what he's like. He'll have been recovering from his Question Time ordeals and he'll be full of the joys of late Spring. Or will he? Here is a man who has sacrificed everything for this one night. He's given up the Bingo or a trip to the cinema or maybe a rap concert where all the hip and mainstream kids go to.

The fact is that Dimbleby and the huge multitudes of Britain will grin and bare the whole of Election night with all the barely concealed laughter and derision that we normally reserve for General Elections. We'll all watch intently at those battered old boxes while their tons of voting slip papers tumble helplessly onto wobbly tables, looking at the clock in our living rooms and then at 1.00 in the morning finding that the eyes are growing heavy and reaching the conclusion that enough is enough. By then over tiredness may well have set in, David Dimbleby will  probably be snoring anyway and it's time to dig out that box set of The Simpsons that we kept promising to watch when there was nothing else on the TV.

Oh how the British must be admired for their stamina, their powers of endurance, their selflessness, their love of the underdog, their teeth gritting and insatiable curiosity. Election night  is one very long sequence of atmospheric  town halls and bored looking people milling around  trying to show interest while  failing miserably. Then we'll all have a collective yawn and stretch, put the kettle on. finish a crossword. knit a couple of pullovers and then read the Thursday papers again and again. Oh this could be one of the finest Election nights of all time.

Then at the bottom of our screen we'll all be subjected to those momentous announcements, the swings to the Left and Right, percentages, the exit polls, those zany old graphics that tell us about nothing of any substance and then David Dimbleby will be suddenly jolted awake by a nudge by Andrew Marr who will probably ask him whether he wants a latte or jam croissant. How we love General Election night? I know I don't. Or maybe I do. Could somebody put on that Simpsons DVD? Homer Simpson for Prime Minister. Now there's a thought.