As I covered the elections at Alexandra Palace, what I didn’t expect is how much I would actually care, or how passionate I would actually feel about who won this election or about politics in general.

As I watched the machine in action, by jove, it had me enthralled.



Local politicians, proudly bearing their party rosettes in hues of red, blue, green or yellow, crowded round information screens to monitor the count progress, jostling each other out the way to get the best view of how hard-fought campaigns were faring. Some, falling apart.

Like punters in a betting shop, they commentated, they roared, they analysed and attacked all to my amusement.

“Damn the UKIP. They’re stealing votes that should be mine. I’m going to have to machine-gun a few people”, snapped one Tory prima donna.

“You’re getting in the way” a Labour supporter moaned to David “Don’t forget the M” Shmitz, the man hoping to pinch David Lammy’s Tottenham seat.

Mr Shmitz was painstakingly measuring voting progress, with what looked like a remote control, pressing it against the screen to see which candidate had inched ahead.

Don’t question the accuracy of remote-control measuring. Don’t you dare!

Mr Shmitz shot back: “And I’ll keep getting in the way”. Ater a dramatic pause he added: “Metaphorically and physically.”

And I believe the words: “And self-delusionarily” were muttered, prompting Mr Shmitz to exclaim: “It’s people like you that inspired me to get into politics” with an angry shake of his Lib Dem fist.

You certainly don’t get that down the bookies!

But the highlight of the very long day for me had to be Brian Coleman, GLA candidate for Barnet and Camden, a measuring stick himself for all things modest.

He stood poker-faced bar a small smirk when the returning officer announced his landslide victory.

The taxi-loving Tory then grabbed the mic and directed an angry tirade at his Labour rival, Nicky Gavron, ending with the words: “The king of bling is back!” The youths of Grahame Park must be so proud to have Brian reppin' them.

Then he swept out, with his visibly proud dear, old Mum clutched to his bosom.

Who says there’s no heart in politics?