I was going to try to write about the sense of importance of election day, only Jonathan Friedland in The Guardian has already done it.
Here’s a bit:
There is something beautiful and sacred about this process, something those of us who have always lived in democracies take for granted. Today a friend told me of a chat he’d had with a taxi driver in London: the driver had asked if he was allowed to vote for different parties for different things, choosing an MP from one party and local councillors from another. “Of course,” my friend replied. “You can vote for whoever you want to.” “That’s wonderful,” the driver said, beaming … A new citizen, he had been born and raised in Iran and this was his first time voting in a British general election.
It certainly seems more significant this time around, with the outcome too close to call. There are reports of queues at polling stations; of security outside the count in Barking, where the BNP are attempting to get their first MP. Every vote counts.
(Although not so much in my constituency. Where a Mr D. Cameron seems likely to get in.)