Spot The Balls

All that money, all the fawning press coverage, and all the enthusiasm of all those party activists, and Young Dave still couldn’t get the Tories over the win line. The spin – fatuously making comparisons with 1931, which was sold to the electorate as a National Government and not a purely Tory one – cannot mask the single fact that they came up short.

And it is becoming clear that some of that effort was misdirected in the forlorn hope of producing a “Portillo Moment”: the idea of claiming the scalp of someone of such seniority in the Labour Party that it would echo the toppling of Michael Portillo from his perch in Enfield Southgate in 1997. The target for far too much Tory resource was Pa Broon’s confidante “Auguste” Balls.

Thus everything was thrown at the outgoing schools secretary. And it didn’t work. The Balls majority may have been down to 1100 or so, but it was still a majority. The tactics failed to produce their intended moment, and some of those tactics were pretty low, even by Tory standards: a video was circulated supposedly showing Balls in a Wehrmacht uniform, in a crude smear attempt.

And who was behind this waste of time, effort and money? Step forward the routinely clueless Paul Staines, who blogs under the name of Guido Fawkes. Staines’ role in the “attack advert” (the nice way of saying “personal smear”) came courtesy of the Sunlight Centre For Open Politics, which is supposed to be about increasing the transparency of the political process.

Instead, it seems that the Sunlight Centre is being used as a front for Tory cheerleaders: apart from Staines, its luminaries also include Henry Cole, otherwise known as blogger Tory Bear. And all that their “attack advert” has gained them is the wider knowledge of their partiality, along with the realisation that they have sprayed an awful lot of money up the wall to no purpose.

Which begs the question: if the resources thrown at trying to unseat “Auguste” Balls had been better targeted, might Young Dave now have rather more than 306 MPs? As with so much in the election campaign, there is no-one else for the Tories and their cheerleaders to blame but themselves.

A Fugging Billion And A Half

Nobody who has any handle on the business dealings of Mohammed “You can call me Al” Fayed will be in the least surprised that he has sold Harrods, as the Beeb has reported. Why sell, and why now? Put bluntly, he needs the money

This may seem strange when Fayed’s personal wealth is considered – reckoned to be well over half a billion notes – but as any regular reader of the business pages of Private Eye will know, his empire has been taking out loans, refinancing and all the while spending, for many years.

As well as Harrods – no longer in possession of the Royal Warrant following Fayed’s bizarre tirades against Phil the Greek – there is the small matter of Fulham FC, into which Fayed has poured millions and still not equalled Manchester United, as he boasted when buying in to the club in the first place.

Indeed, he could have found himself even less well off had Roy Hodgson not secured a late escape from relegation last season and then got the club into the Europa League final this term.

Even so, among the various lenders, someone has clearly called time on the Fayed money-go-round, and one or more of the loans will have to be repaid, and sharpish. The idea that he has “decided to retire” is merely a convenient excuse.

Added to all of this is Fayed’s annoyance at being denied a British passport, which may diminish his desire to carry on doing business in the country. But his departure will not be missed by many, except to pause and urge him to Fug Off.

For good.

Beware The Right Embrace

So last night’s exit poll as declared by the Beeb just after the polls closed at 2200 hours has been shown to be pretty accurate: it reckoned that the seat count for Tory, Labour and Lib Dem would break down 307:255:59. With just two seats left to declare, one of which (Thirsk and Malton) will be delayed after the death of one of the candidates, it’s showing 305:258:57.

There was suitable disbelief in Tory cheerleading circles as the estimated result was announced, with the most memorable call coming from Iain Dale, a compliant and reliable conduit for Tory propaganda, who unwisely committed himself to running naked down Whitehall if the projected numbers were right. Dale invoked memories of 1992 to suggest that Young Dave would get a majority, without pausing to think that the polling organisations might have refined their techniques in the intervening years.

So now Cameron is offering the prospect of potential coalition to Corporal Clegg, who should know what happens in peacetime to any party that goes in with the Tories: the other party gets screwed over, and the Tories emerge stronger, being the ones with the strongest survival instinct and the least hesitation in deployment of anything featuring ruthlessness and low cunning.

Which means that Clegg would be best advised to decline any formal embrace and let Cameron and his jolly good chaps form a minority Government. Despite all the dosh that was thrown at the Tory campaign, the idea that those funds could be switched on again at a few months’ notice is not credible. Together with the equivalent lack of money available to Labour and Lib Dem, this could focus minds wonderfully.

So, as I said earlier, Cameron should go ahead and form an administration. He should consult widely and proceed sensibly: if he is the Real Deal, then he’ll step up to the plate. Neither of his rivals have the appetite to bring him down for a year or two, he’s got the most seats, and the small matter of most of the Fourth Estate fawning over him.

Although that does not guarantee success.

Well Hung

Now it’s official: there is going to be a Hung Parliament. Young Dave and his jolly good chaps are 36 short of a Commons majority, with 35 seats still to declare, so he’s going to come up short. Actually, with Sinn Féin winning four seats, and customarily refusing to take them up, the winning post isn’t 326 but 323 (the Speaker is bound to cast his vote in favour of the Government on a tie), but the Tories aren’t going to score all of the outstanding seats.

So what gives, now that the dust is finally settling? Who will form the Government? What deals might be done? Endless hours of fun will no doubt be had mulling over the possibilities, but the most straightforward would be for Pa Broon to bow to the inevitable, visit Brenda, offer his resignation, and suggest she sends for distant relative Dave.

Cameron would then have the opportunity to govern without doing any formal deals, as leader of the largest party. If he ends up with around 305 seats, there will be opportunities for him to lose votes, but if he bats sensibly and refrains from trying anything obviously divisive, he could manage for two or three years, enough time to show either that he’s up to the job, or that it wasn’t such a good idea to give him a try.

There would be enough votes within the opposition parties to stop him trying to neuter the Beeb and otherwise favour Murdoch The Interfering Foreigner, to nudge him towards some measure of electoral reform – even though his party would have to be dragged kicking and screaming in that direction – and temper any lurch into Europhobia.

We might actually get a period of level and sensible Government out of what is being talked up as uncertainty.

Serves You Right, Brother

Boundary changes could have altered the makeup of the constituency – this was the first time that they had come into play – but Labour have only themselves to blame for their failure to retake Crewe and Nantwich from the Tories.

And fair play to Edward Timpson: he and his team have worked their socks off to hang on, with the result looking easy for them. So what went wrong for the Red Team?

As I’ve posted previously, there has been very little effort put into the campaign by any challenger: the Lib Dems came third again (at least I got that prediction right) and Roy Wood was more or less invisible. Labour did not, in my part of town (where they and the Lib Dems hold the council seats) make any effort to get the vote out, just as happened in the by-election.

David Williams can have no complaints: he had the backing of his union (Usdaw, not Unite) and the opportunity to re-establish the seat as a moderately safe Labour one. But his campaign was not easily visible, and without some effort and enthusiasm it went nowhere.

I expected Labour to win the seat, and got that one wrong. Mea Culpa! And what is worse, Timpson’s re-election does not seem to be registering within the wider news coverage, which is unfair on him and his team.

Equal Before The Ballot Box

Voting can be a humbling diversion. You quickly realise that this is a process where there is genuine equality, from the highest of flyers to the lowliest and least mobile: this morning, casting his ballot just before me was a man who was clearly less than fully mobile, but absolutely determined to exercise his democratic right.

He shuffled slowly but with some purpose from receipt of voting slip to voting booth, back to place carefully folded ballot in the familiar black metal box, then contentedly out of the polling station. His progress was clearly uncomfortable, but his determination absolute and the eventual satisfaction clearly evident.

And that man is what today is all about: the decision is his, and his alone, and no business of Michael Ashcroft or Rupert Murdoch, neither of whom are on the electoral roll anywhere in the UK. That is how it should be.

Whatever Your Stripe, Vote!

And so we come to the day of decision: the opinion polls have stopped coming, the campaigning is over, and all that remains is the exercising of the democratic process.

Although many like to think of the UK as some historic bastion of democracy, votes for all over 21 years of age did not arrive until as late as 1930. The present lower age limit of 18 did not come until 1969. There had, back in the 19th Century, been the hurdle of property ownership to jump before men could be allowed to vote, with women barred from the process until well into the 20th.

It’s been a long and difficult process to get everyone over 18 the right to vote, and this memory is part of why I make the effort to cast my ballot in Parliamentary elections, at least. Today there are also local polls in many parts of the country, and so if you’re turning out to vote for an MP, there’s no excuse for avoiding the local election. These, too, can make a difference.

In preparation of casting my vote, the Official Poll Card has been dug out, and in a few minutes it will accompany me to the Polling Station. I urge anyone and everyone similarly entitled to do the same at some time today. Because this is when the people make their choice, and have their say.

So, as they say in the USA, let’s get our vote on!

What A Come Down

On the way over to Asda this afternoon, a voice called out to me. Perhaps this was a sign that the election campaign had at last dared show its face? Sadly, it was not: the caller told that he had “An important message” for me, and that message was from a well known group on the fringes of organised religion.

That gives you the level of campaigning in the seat that two years ago saw so much activity during the by-election. In that time, we’ve gone from saturation coverage to a level so low that peddlers of religion are making a greater impact.

Did I stop and humour the caller? Alas, no: Smart Price potatoes were a greater draw.

The Uncertain Election

There is, today, the usual last minute campaigning going on, and in Young Dave’s case, it was going on all through last night as well. But the polls are not showing the Tories pulling away – so much for Cameron’s declaration of “having the momentum” – with the only movement in the YouGov tracker being Labour regaining ground at the expense of the Lib Dems.

In fact, that Tory rating of 35% would be nowhere near enough to get them a majority in the next Parliament, unless they performed significantly better in marginal seats, which could be a big ask if the Lib Dem vote holds up in contests where they are the main opposition. And then there is the postal vote.

Nobody seems to be mentioning postal voting, even though, as I pointed out a while back, there is apparently a lot more of it going on this time round. Now add in those newly registered voters, many of whom are younger and maybe less likely to take any notice of Tory cheerleading from the Fourth Estate, and you have the potential for real uncertainty.

Tory supporters like to cling to the idea that opinion polls understate their vote share, but this time round, that idea might just apply to one or both of their main adversaries. And today is the last day for publishing those polls – not allowed on polling day – with the fieldwork coming from Monday and early Tuesday.

Which means that any late movement in support, as in 1992, may not get picked up. Meanwhile, all the parties can do is to keep pressing on, under the pretence that they are ones in touch with reality.

He’s Moving, But Where?

While much media attention is being focused on wall to wall General Election coverage, events have been unfolding in the world of football, and yesterday’s press conference by current Inter manager José Mourinho hinted at one such.

The former Porto and Chelsea boss, and perhaps Setúbal’s most famous son, did not confirm or deny suggestions that he may not be managing Inter next season. He has always said that he would like to return to manage in the Premiership, and once the assembled hackery has seen the article and translated it, the rumour mill may very rapidly get into overdrive.

So where might he end up? Well, it would have to be a club whose manager was either jumping, or being pushed. Note that I did not use the word “retiring”. Now have a think about it.

A Wanderer Returns

For those not happy with the reporting of wall to wall sunshine in Lisbon, I have to also note that this was accompanied yesterday by a pretty stiff northerly breeze, so out in open country it was rather less warm. But it’s still a substantial improvement on cloud and rain.

And back in the UK, it’s also sunny, so a pleasant welcome home. The journey went reasonably well, there were no strikes this time, and the only thing now left to do is to sift through the past week’s post. There’s an awful lot of the stuff, but it looks as if much will go straight into the circular file, being election guff from the so-called minor parties.

Normal blogging service resumes tomorrow.

Washout? What Washout? – 2

The mildly interesting news on the weather front here in Lisbon is that yesterday’s mix of white cloud and sunny intervals has gone. The even better news is that it has been replaced with wall to wall sunshine, so along with the gentle breeze, and the occasional sound of a tram passing, that sunshine streams into my hotel room as the windows are opened.

But all things, as the Buddha and George Harrison observed, must pass. Tomorrow is time to return to the UK and more moderate climes – and the last days of the General Election campaign. What will happen there? That is not yet certain, but one thing I can reveal is that there will be an awful lot of very disappointed folks come next weekend.

And with that thought, it’s time to head up country once more. Next post should be from the UK.

Eating Out: The Basic Guide

You pays your money and you takes your choice. The sentiment is no different in and around Lisbon, especially when it comes to the most leisurely and (hopefully) relaxed meal of the day: that in the evening.

Making this choice, you can take the safe option, and go with the tourist herd. You will not lack choice, but then, those providing that choice will not lack in the opportunity to cause your wallet to open that bit wider.

Alternatively, you can follow the locals to one of many cantinhas around the city. These may not speak much (if any) English, the decor will be basic, the TV will be showing whatever football is on (so there may be a small gathering of fans sharing the tables with you), but this is part of the authentic Lisbon. Why not dive in and enjoy it?

Here’s three value for money eateries for those staying in the Baixa or Chiado: two of these are near the top of the Bica funicular (head from the Largo de Camões west along the Rua Loreto, where the 28 tram runs). Looking down from the top of the funicular, at left is the Casa Liege, a one room cantinha which has recently started doing menus translated into English. Good value fish dishes feature strongly.

However, for those on weekend breaks, the Casa Liege is closed on Sundays, but across the track of the funicular, a little lower down, is the Alto Minho, with tables set out in the back room. This is a slightly more upmarket cantinha, but still excellent value. They do an agreeable and filling chicken curry which is popular with the locals.

And to round off the trio, at the back of the Rossio (north side) on the Travessa do Forno, is the excellent Restaurante O Marques, hosted by tram owner and enthusiast Paulo Marques. Again, the tables are laid out in the back room, looked over by a selection of framed photos of the heyday of Lisbon’s tram network. There is the usual range of daily specials, and it’s top value.

Or you could play safe.

Wally No More

Why does the England football team have yet another foreign manager? Well, the stick handed out by the fourth estate to every home grown occupant of the hot seat may have something to do with it: the last such, Steve McClaren, was dubbed the “Wally with the Brolly” as he watched his team fail to qualify for Euro 2008 while sheltering beneath an umbrella.

How things change: McClaren took a few months out, got back up, dusted himself down, and went to manage FC Twente, home team of the eastern Netherlands town of Enschede. Twente had never won the Eredivisie (the top flight), although the former England boss saw them into runners up spot in his first season there.

And now they have gone one better, outdoing even the mighty Ajax, now managed by former Spurs boss Martin Jol. Right now, Steve McClaren won’t mind being a wally, with or without the brolly. He’s a winner. Not that there will be too much of that coverage in the UK.

Not Quite As Old As It Seems

The tram network in Lisbon is a shadow of the system of half a century ago – before the city’s Metro began operation. Only five routes remain, with one not operating at weekends, and another working a part route Saturday afternoon and Sunday. But the routes that climb into the Alfama district might be difficult to replace with buses – and they draw in the tourists in, well, tram loads.

So those tourists wait patiently at a stop down in the Baixa, or at the Largo do Chiado, then climb aboard the little four wheeled cars for the circuit of the Alfama and Graça – or out to Estrela and Prazeres – in the belief that they are travelling on a little piece of history. Well, yes and no: the tram’s body is indeed elderly, but under the floor it is usually modern.

City operator Carris had 45 trams rebuilt in the 1990s, using “donor” bodies from 1930s “standard” cars, mated with new running gear. As four wheelers go, they are remarkably smooth running – you only have to journey north to Porto, where you really can ride on a 100 year old tram – to experience the difference (the giveaway is the modern pantograph on the roof).

There are still a few 1930s trams around, but you are unlikely to find them running in normal service. Most of today’s drivers have been trained on the “remodelados”, and the big people mover trams that will take you to see the sights out at Belém. This is also true of the red and white cars that provide a reassuringly expensive tour of the city, with commentary and guaranteed seat.

But the UK does it too: you can journey across central London on what looks like a Routemaster bus, but the old technology AEC engine has been replaced by something modern and clean. It’s a sort of heritage experience.

Out To The Seaside

Today the city of Lisbon is quiet, even for a Sunday: yesterday’s holiday celebrations and all the rest seem to have worn out many of the locals. But there have been plenty of tourists on the move, as I found at the waterfront station of Cais do Sodré earlier.

Time was that the ticket windows were all removed, the idea being that everyone could use the machines: after all, only local services along the coast to Estoril and Cascais are on offer, the line being effectively self contained. What could go wrong?

Well, it seems plenty could, and visiting back in late 2007 I found a small ticket office tucked away at the south side of what was then a building site. Now, with all ticketing using the ubiquitous Lisboa Viva card (a rechargeable cardboard smartcard), it seems that even more manual intervention is needed. The machines don’t, in my experience, cope well with debit cards, or notes.

And within the long queues at this morning’s two windows were lots of Brits, heading for Cascais. It’s a pleasant resort, with boutique shops, pedestrianised streets, a marina, yacht club, and views out over the Atlantic. Eating opportunities abound. There are of course lots of green spaces to be enjoyed within Lisbon, but Cascais can be called a “proper day out”.

How much? The return fare is a princely EUR 3,40 per person. Compares well with London to Brighton or Southend, or Manchester to Blackpool. And the building site has now become a pleasant combination of supermarket, eatery and open space.

Washout? What Washout?

The headlines say it all: “Bank Holiday Washout”. I am momentarily concerned, so stroll over to the window of my room at the Borges Chiado. Opening it, the sunlight streams in, there is a pleasant breeze, and the racket of last night’s celebrations has been replaced by Sunday morning quiet, broken only by the occasional metal on metal sound of a tram entering the Largo do Chiado outside.

This morning, the only difficulty has been negotiating a very full breakfast room down on the first floor, and although the unsettled weather has apparently got as far south and inland as Madrid, it’s not arrived in Lisbon. That will do me just fine. Today will bring time to relax, along with a trip west along the coast.

Deciding how to enjoy your time in this city can be a difficult job. But someone’s got to do it.

Hypocrisy Update

Anyone who looks in on Zelo Street with any regularity knows that I’m an aficionado of Comedy Central’s Daily Show. So when a Tory cheerleader plugs Jon Stewart’s show, you might think I’d be over the proverbial moon.

Well, up to a point. After the hooha generated by Bigotgate, the story was picked up in the USA, and Stewart gave Pa Broon both barrels. So far, so plausible, but then enter Iain Dale, a compliant and reliable conduit for Tory propaganda, who has somehow become a convert to a show most of his pals wouldn’t be seen dead watching.

In future, I’m sure (not) that Dale and his pals will be watching as Stewart gives the full treatment to Fox News Channel (fair and balanced my arse) and the rest of the right wing wingnuts. Or, more likely, he will leave the Daily Show well alone until and unless it lays into someone that accords with Dale’s particularly narrow dogma.

Or perhaps he won’t even mention it again. It’s his usual style.

They Do It Here, Too

It’s a popular myth that, when rail travel is disrupted in the UK as engineering works take precedence, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen over in mainland Europe. But it does, and today I had that message underlined for me.

This morning I checked out of the excellent Residencial Gameiro in Entroncamento – very, very good value – and walked over to the station. There was a queue at the ticket window, so I used the machine, which issued a ticket for the next Regional for Lisbon.

Only when on board that train did the conductor come through the train and tell the punters that part of the journey would be by bus, as there was a weekend blockade around Santarém, involving single line working through the station there, as rebuilding work progressed.

All Intercity trains were passing through the affected area, although subject to delay, but Regionals were not. We were put onto buses at the wayside station of Vale de Figueira, where the adventure began. The buses’ luggage stowage was unavailable, so all of that had to be dragged aboard. After a sight of Santarém station as we lurched across a nearby crossing, we headed for the wayside station of Setil to continue the trip.

Problem is, Setil is a small number of houses clustered around the railway. The road has not seen significant attention for decades. So the bus lurched from one bump to another – slowly – as it became clear that it would have made more sense to send the replacement transport to Azambuja, where access and train service is better.

So that’s one more to put down to that category that says, basically, that what can go wrong in one country can go wrong in any other.

Mayday, Mayday

While most eyes will have been on Greece – because that’s where the news is coming from – the first day of May has not been without incident elsewhere.

In the UK, the thought of a serving Prime Minister going walkabout – whatever their party – would not arise. But today, Portuguese PM José Sócrates did just that. The reaction was, let us say, mixed, and ultimately I was reminded of the moment in the (original) The Taking Of Pelham 1-2-3 where the police have their train of thought interrupted by a chorus of boos, the senior officer exclaiming “hey, it’s da goddam mayor”.

Elsewhere, the Benfica team coach (transport, not manager) was attacked in Porto, which tells you how serious the rivalry between the country’s largest cities can get. And the celebrations of this day (remember, it’s a public holiday across Europe, even if we in the UK have to wait until next Monday) have been featured on local TV, including one part of Lisbon where I have been out and about this afternoon.

Those of a sensitive disposition will be glad to know that I managed successfully to bodyswerve this potentially dubious venture into the limelight.