storytime voting

Little a was still up (just) when I got home tonight, even though strictly speaking it was after bedtime. In a fit of election day excitement I suggested a family trip to the polling station, instead of storytime.

What better tribute to the suffragettes, I thought, than to give my daughter a childhood memory of an illicit trip to vote in her pyjamas.

In the event, I fear the only part of it which didn't go over her head was the polling booth itself. She walked in to that handy ledge that's just right for making your mark on, and precisely head-height for four-year-olds.

Still, it's made a nice memory for me: and I can just fast forward myself to that first election day after her 17th birthday (maybe 16th, who knows what tomorrow may bring?) when I'll have something more interesting to tell her than who to vote for. Little a skipping along the pavement in her slippers on a beautiful sunny evening, oblivious to the tensions and hot air and the future of the shiny men in suits hanging in the balance ...