Saturation point

I felt as though I was drowning with all the election news we were forcefed. We had Abbott and Gillard going at it on television commercials, newspapers, radio, debates, and when you think they have done it all, they pop up at a local school or hospital.

With so much saturation, I switched off. At any sign of the election, I pounced on the remote control.

But for whom were we supposed to vote? My vote had to go to someone who recognises me as an equal person, but if you voted one way, their preferences may go where you didn’t want them to go. Does it come down to which party is less shithouse than the other?

My voting experience is the same every time. I’m usually in the middle of something, with that niggling feeling I had to do something important. About lunchtime I bump into someone who asks if I have voted already.

In a panic, I race to the church on Darlinghurst Rd, where the line is to the main gate. I’m met by an army of people handing out large amounts of paper, which I hope is recycled.

They always put on a sausage sizzle, so with a handful of sausage and the other hand filled with ‘How to vote’ paper, I take my place in the queue. Most times there is also a junk fete, so as the line slowly creeps to the voting booths, I rummage through pictures, ceramics and the odd piece of furniture.

Again I’m handed a fistful of paper and I shuffle to a cardboard booth. This is where the pressure starts to mount.

Who, who, who — the saturation has confused my brain — was it that lady with the red hair in the Speedos, or was it the man with the big ears who didn’t want to marry the hairdresser? Then out jumps the Sex Party. I haven’t had sex in ages — can I still vote for them?

As soon as I make a decision, which I hope is the best for me, I neatly fold my paper and slip it into the slot. Done till the next one.

Someone told me you have more chance of changing government with your one vote than you do of winning the lottery. The lottery sounds like more fun though.