Let is turn from trivial matters to an event of National Importance. Yes, it's the day of the General Election, and I think that it will turn out to be a day to remember for a long time to come, if only for the consequences that will flow from the result.
So here I am at 6.52am, outside my house. It's still dark.
There's a little pitter-patter of rain, but it's not really cold, and I have my cosy green hooded raincoat on. I can laugh at any rain. As I start to walk, I can't see anyone else about, but I can hear traffic on the road through the village - commuters going off to Brighton and elsewhere - and surely, away to the west and some miles off, the sound of heavy traffic on the London-Brighton main road, the A23.
The Village Hall is the local Polling Station, and it isn't far away. I still don't see anybody on foot, but as I come near I realise that the Village Hall car park is almost full up, and there are lots of people arriving. Here I am at 6.58am, literally dodging those arrivals at the car park entrance:
So much for being the First of the Few! There was only one chap greeting voters outside the Hall, the Conservative agent. I said to him, 'You know, I thought I'd be one of a small select band of early voters!' He replied with a wink, 'Yes, it's packed already. There must be something on.' And once inside, and out of the rain (which was getting more persistent), I found a long queue which was snaking back on itself, and would shortly extend out into the open air. At least thirty people. All with smiling, purposeful faces, people who had made up their minds. A very good initial turnout indeed, considering the early hour, the darkness and the worsening weather. If attendance was as brisk throughout the day, the overall turnout percentage would be very high. Which of course would lend extra clout to the result.
Then it was 7.00am, and the inner doors opened. The queue began to move forward. Soon I was giving my name and address at a desk. I saw my upside-down name on the Electoral Register before the man in charge of it did. I was given a ballot paper, and went to one of the booths. I'd done this many, many times before. The trick is to take your time, a few calming breaths anyway, and make absolutely certain where you need to put that cross before you write anything. This time, I didn't use the pencil in the booth, which as usual was attached to a cord and would be (from past experience) awkward to write with, even though an X in the right place was all one had to do with it. It was within the rules to use one's very own pen, so I got Water Dragon, my Parker 51 fountain pen, out of my bag, and used that instead, making an altogether nicer and super-confident black X.
It felt like a significant moment. Indeed, it was the most important writing task yet for Water Dragon. And - who knows - the particular effect of my vote might be to save the day for the candidate I voted for, who was replacing someone who had stood down, and therefore couldn't yet rely on a well-established personal vote. And if securing that seat might ensure a decisive majority for the party I wanted to form the next government (the Conservatives, for the sake of Getting Brexit Done), then Water Dragon would truly have been the Pen of Destiny.
And the same could be said of every other item I was wearing or carrying at that critical moment in the booth. Thus:
The Bag of Destiny.
The Necklace of Destiny.
The Bangle of Destiny.
The Fitbit of Destiny.
The Green Hooded Raincoat of Destiny.
The Dress of Destiny.
The Leggings of Destiny.
The Boots of Destiny.
The Bra of Destiny.
The Knickers of Destiny.
How I wished I could have taken a few shots inside the Village Hall, of the election process at work! But that was most definitely not allowed.
In the entrance, however, was a vast board on which bodies from all around, even as distant as Chailey, could pin up their fliers. One caught my eye, about WUPS, the Weald Ukulele and Song Band, seen right-centre in this shot:
Aha, I thought. My friend Angie (who plays and sings for the Forest of Dean equivalent, the Ukes uv Azzard - see https://www.ukesuvazzard.org.uk/) will be interested! As will my cousin Rosemary, who has lately taken up the ukulele after lessons on a cruise ship, and finds it a lot of fun. I wish I were so musical.
It occurs to me that a singalong ukulele band outside a Polling Booth on a winter's day would be a Jolly Good Thing! There were no glum faces at my local Village Hall, but doubtless there are places around the country where the locals feel quite justifiably über-disgruntled, and a bit of musical cheer would lift their spirits no end.
