Is Theresa May the new Barbara Streisand? Three days and we can hardly wait for the General Election.

Is Theresa May the new Barbara Streisand? Three days and we can hardly wait for the General Election.

Well, I don't know about you but I can hardly wait. In fact I'm beginning to count down the hours, minutes, seconds. This is the one General Election that has everything going for it or maybe this is just a figment of my imagination. We are now days away from the big day and the finger nails are being bitten to the quick. The contenders and main protagonists are all fit, ready and raring to go. They've all undergone late fitness tests, passed their medicals and should be ready to make their entry into the lion's den at any time.

All of our fine, upstanding politicians are baying for each other's blood and can even now smell the scent of victory under their noses. We're close to the finishing line and all of the respective parties are within sight of the finishing line. If you were to listen to some of the experts then you'd have to admit that even Prime Minister Theresa May may have had one or two problems in recent days. The chances are though that all she'll have to do on Thursday is simply to turn up at her polling station, make one of those emphatic statements of intent and still win the General Election with something to spare.

But yesterday's rather baffling statement from our wonderful Prime Minister left most of us scratching our heads once again. In the light of the London terrorist outrage on Saturday night Theresa May gave us a very convincing impersonation of Barbara Streisand and Donna Summer. Yes folks Theresa felt that enough was enough and if this gets any worse she'll have to take decisive action. You really couldn't make it up.

Now I'm sure that, in the general scheme of things, May is passionately committed to world peace and will do her to utmost to sort everything out in due course. At the moment she seems to be faced with the unenviable task of calming nerves, readying her troops for action on Thursday and then scoring a political double hat-trick to emerge as Prime Minister on Friday morning.

And yet for all the understandable shock and horror of  the last couple of days perhaps we needed to hear something stronger rather than something we already knew in the first place. In these crucial days leading up to a General Election she seems to responding to a crisis in much the way that helpless politicians have always reacted. You extend your condolences and sympathy to the family and friends who have tragically lost their lives, soothe fevered brows with a few well intentioned words and then insist that terrorists will never destroy us, the battle against terrorism will always be won and in the democratic free world, the great English public are full of guts, defiance and fortitude. Terrorists will never win the day and the public should just vote for the Tories on Thursday.

So it is that in the final few days we've heard the same track from the same album played and played until it gets terribly scratched and your favourite songs keep jumping on the turntable. All around us the central characters in these pre- Election days are almost emotionally torn, stating the obvious and then turning back to their original agenda of standing up on orange crates, blasting out their blather from their tannoy and just desperate for that last influential speech designed to send us into a deep sleep.

Yesterday the London mayor Sadiq Khan, a man of some intellectual weight but little in the way of variation in his pronouncements, spoke very forthrightly about Saturday night but then reminded you of that London tube train announcement. At any minute you half expected Khan to tell us to mind the gap or take a bottle of water in the hot weather. He stood in front of a London still in a state of mourning and quite naturally told Londoners not to panic and that those verminous terrorists would never win in any part of Britain. But Khan still sounded like a benevolent vicar conducting a particularly heartwarming sermon in front of his appreciative Sunday parishioners.

Then you know who had to make his contribution to this dreadful, global disease. Donald Trump couldn't wait to join in with this great heated debate. Trump, one of Twitter's finest representatives, had to make his voice heard as if anybody really cared. Trump went on record as saying that the London mayor hadn't a clue what he was doing and should seriously quit or just keep a very low profile since Londoners had no reason to believe his so called weasel words anyway. But none of us can really make head or tail of what exactly Trump is trying to tell us anyway. Answers on a postcard please.

But against this explosively rancorous backdrop there was the Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn and the Lib Dem boss Tim Farron all breathing hot air, clinging on for dear life and all the while believing in the impossible and miracles. Quite clearly both men seem to be whistling in the wind which may sound a cliche but the truth is that Corbyn and Farron are rather like those horses in the Grand National who, having unseated their jockeys, just keep running and jumping over fences with no sense of direction.

Then there was the Nicola Sturgeon, the Scottish leader, looking very photogenic but vaguely ineffectual. Yesterday Sturgeon was hot footing on the campaigning trail joining in gamely with an exercise class and looking for all the world like a woman who just wanted to keep fit on a Monday morning. I'm not sure whether this is true or not but I think she looks and sounds like a very feminine version of her predecessor Alex Salmon but without the male hormones.

 But the whole presentation and delivery though is beginning to look  like a repeat version of the day before. Poor Nicola we wish you well on your personal mission for glory. Maybe she ought to take up hand gliding or hill walking if it all goes wrong for her on Thursday. Still Sturgeon is hugely intelligent and eloquent which may work in her favour. But there is something of the dissenting voice about her that very few of her rivals are really worried about.

Now who have I forgotten? Hold on what happened to Nigel Farrage? Has Farage taken a sabbatical, backpacking across the world, taking a well deserved safari holiday or just moving from one radio station to the next. The new UKIP leader Paul Nuttall is beginning to sound like a voice in the wilderness, a man hovering in the shadows of the political mainstream and with about as much chance of becoming the next Prime Minister as Dennis Skinner or that bloke who always waves his papers angrily at Prime Ministers Questions and then just heckles anybody prepared to listen.

So here we are with two days to go and the Britain is poised to tick its box and vote for their choice of Prime Minister for the next five years. The truth is though that most of us are just coldly disinterested in the outcome and just wish that Friday morning was now. It is hard to make head or tail of all the recent disruptions and turbulences in our every day life. The politicians are telling us not to worry and just hold everything together. The bottom line is of course that we'd rather watch wet paint or look at our wallpaper than vote for our next Prime Minister.

Gather around everybody. There's a General Election on Thursday and throughout the length and breadth of Britain, those scratched black boxes are being dug out of town hall cupboards, local community centres and halls are quite definitely on the front foot, eager to greet their residents and making a determined effort to look businesslike. Maybe it'll end in a score draw, maybe it'll go to extra time, maybe the referee will add on an hour for injury time. Perhaps it'll go to penalties or will the Tories win it by a street? Will Jeremy Corbyn shave off that thick thatch of grey beard, will Theresa May turn into Barbara Streisand and will Tim Farron just throw in the towel?

There is an inconclusive air about Britain at the moment, issues that may never be resolved and politicians who will never be forgiven. Here in Manor House we're surrounded by cranes, brand new housing developments, a lovely water feature in Woodberry Wetlands reservoir and Diane Abbott. Oh well two out of three is acceptable but Diane Abbott may not be to everybody's liking. Regrettably the borough of Hackney may think they're just stuck with Abbott and there are no real alternatives.

Still roll the drums, blow the trumpets and let the hostilities commence. Oh no they're here everybody, knocking on your door, handing out their leaflets, flaunting their red, blue and yellow rosettes, persuading us, gently prompting you to vote for them and then launching into some potty piece of propaganda you must  have heard a million times. They nag and pester, hound and badger forever pleading and posturing, bamboozling you with more facts, figures and statistics that are enough to get on your nerves. Oh well I think I'll just wish that this whole General Election caravan
would just take itself off to some other part of the world. Roll on Friday morning.