Oxford life. Thirtysomething challenges. Music leanings. Anything really.

After weeks of repetitive and meaningless drivel, today saw the climax, and the only day that really mattered.

I expected to vote without much emotion, but I did feel somewhat proud and special. Our electoral process is flawed - we should have proportional representation - but there I was, mixing with my neighbours, and the X on the ballot paper meant a lot.

It also brought home the importance of democracy; voting for us is taken for granted. And yet around the world it isn't. To think that an election took place in Iraq this year almost (almost) forgives Tony's Big Mistake - at least they have moved forward in one way.

Voting's fun for all the trivial bits.

The old, yellowing polling station signs with their purely functional font.

The wooden booths - where do those things live for the rest of the time? There must be a few warehouses around the country chock full of these. Someone somewhere is the custodian of that warehouse. Someone, therefore, is paid money to look after polling booths. I want to meet that person.

And the little pencils. They're so cute!