Why Not Review: Voting

Months of investigations are ahead. The question, "just what did go wrong for all those left huddled outside closed polling stations?" might, sad as it may sound, be talk of the town.  Rocking up at 9.55 does seem cutting things a little fine, yet on the other hand a shortage of ballot papers and queues around the block does sound shambolic.  The Tab team report back that any difficulties experienced in Cambridge were our own doing…

JORDAN BICKERTON found loosing his voting virginity harder than he expected…

Your first time – a beautiful moment which you'll remember forever, they say. 'They' conveniently fail to mention how calamitous, stressful, and ultimately brief the whole affair truly is. 'They' are, of course, talking about the promised land, a rite of passage for every teenager – the first vote.

Naturally, I practised safe democracy – after the mysterious disappearance of my polling card (conspiracy theorists may suggest that the University has been trying to disenfranchise those it suspects of youthful lefty-ism), I prudently called the local council on May 5th to find out where I could exercise my new found political clout. So it was that I came to be queuing in Fisher Hall for nearly 15 minutes, marvelling at the apparently massive turnout in our adopted town.

As the main event drew tantalisingly close, disaster struck, unfortunately, and perhaps predictably. I had been misinformed by the darling bureaucrat. I was, in fact, supposed to be voting on Panton Street. Cue an unseemly outburst along the lines of 'how did we ever win two world wars'…

By the time I was greeted by the lovely old ladies at the Christian Science Church, the rage of my inner Daily Mail columnist had subsided and the vote itself was anti-climactic, after all this drama – a few sweet seconds of exertion and it was over before I knew it. 

MATT BURNS requires an instruction manual next time…

The voting experience was embarrassing from start to finish. I walked to Chesterton Methodist Church head held high, but had my tail between my legs by the end. First I walked past the tellers outside without giving them my number. I then proceeded to somehow join the wrong end of the queue, walking straight up to the man handing out ballot papers without proving who I was, or whether I was even human.

Standing out like an amateur, it took me three minutes to realise where the ballot boxes were and upon realising I lingered there nervously, my shaking hands crushing the paper through the narrow slot. Next time I don’t think I’ll bother after all the stress.