7.10: As a devoted citizen of Great Britain, not only did I submit my postal vote in plenty of time to be counted, I also went down to the polling station at the parish council to vote there, just to make sure.
8.30: Bumped into a second cousin, twice removed, of Lord Sutch at the flower shop…he’s got his fingers crossed, a mouse in his pocket and a very, very large rosette on his waistcoat.
9.33: Yesterday Nick Clegg tripped over a clump of grass while on walkabout at Royal Eastbourne Golf Club and muttered “Divot,” unaware his mic was still on. Was the scandal too late in the day to affect voters?
10.42: Despite the fact that I’ve not had it set this morning, my hair is looking rather fetching.
11.10: Jodie Marsh announces she’s hoping for a well hung parliament.
12.08: Could have sworn I heard a crack in the voice of our local radio DJ at the top of the hour, as he said the Prime Minister’s name. It was like a goodbye between lovers. I made sure to avert my eyes from the wireless, to show respect for his sorrow.
13.58: WE HAVE A WINNER! Kevin Pieterson is the man in power as England defeat Pakistan.
14.21: You mustn’t spoil your ballot paper—if it’s a close call, they award extra credit for neatness.
15.03: Crisis for the BNP. Hoping to get his party’s webpage back in its full glory, Nick Griffin spends the last twenty four hours trying to do a Downfall parody meme for the election, but cannot post it. He does not see the irony.
16.21: Rarely do we know in advance that a day is going to be historic. Today is one of those days. Here’s a thrifty tidbit for you: buy an issue of each of the major papers and seal them in plastic. In the future, you will be able to sell these on eBay for a good £2.50 each. Free money!
17.43: Cameron claims Obama’s support before realizing that the “slick” the President is working so hard to get sorted doesn’t refer to him.
18.15: Shock news…Charles Kennedy can’t take the pressure, steps down and has, in the last half hour, developed a drinking problem.
19.47: If you’ve not voted yet, get your little bottoms into gear. As soon as you’re behind the curtains, read each of the parties’ names carefully (sometimes they do try to trick you).
20.19: Christopher’s heading over here shortly to accompany me for the election results. It’s a potluck event. I’m providing cheese, crackers, biscuits, and other nibbles. Christopher’s bringing Bacardi Breezers.
21.14: If Nick Griffin is standing in Barking, shouldn’t Cameron represent Cockermouth, Brown Pity Me, and Clegg Lickey End?
22.00 Anyone who’s been turned away from the polling booth, please remember that my ballot box is accessible twenty four hours a day.
23.44: They’ll keep the red flag flying here (in Sunderland).
0.28: I do hereby declare that Joan Collins should keep her trap shut.
1.01: My first experience with a Swing–O–Meter was in my early twenties at a rather unorthodox job interview. It was measuring something slightly different than the one is tonight (though my result was highly un-Conservative).
1.34: Gordon Brown finally genuinely smiled. A genuine one is much less scary. Congratulations, Mister Prime Minister.
1.46: Freedom for Tooting!
2.21: Oh, Lembit. How we’ll miss your quirky ideas and gal pals.
2.32: Just because the UK followed the US style of televised debates doesn’t mean you needed to go whole hog and introduce American dodgy scandals at the polls. My word, there are already Facebook groups set up to protest!
3.01: Well done to the Monster Raving Loonies for giving Cameron a real run for his money. I’ve no doubt you fought as hard and as determinedly as you could. I’m sure your constituency is proud.
4.37: Porn destroys lives—ask Jacqui Smith.
4.52: Balls.
5.59: I can’t believe Nick Griffin’s reaction. I was surprised when he got the tears in his eyes, but when he fell down, went foetal and began rocking like a baby, I just about shit myself.
6.44: I’m cross with Christopher. I think he’s eaten too many biscuits. He’s just spent quite a bit of time moaning on the floor, distracting me from the lovely Nick Clegg’s results. I knew Jaffa Cakes were a bad idea. I’ve always said they’re not real biscuits; now perhaps Christopher will accept that I’m right.
7.08: Now I’m feeling a bit funny in the tummy. I didn’t have any Jaffa Cakes, mind—I think it’s just the feeling I get when I hear Clegg described as the “king maker.”
7.47: I’ve put Christopher to bed, but he can’t seem to settle. I’m going to go sit with him for a bit. Gordon, don’t stand down while I’m gone.
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
Agatha’s Public Chimes In