Later, I shall walk down into town with a notebook, to spend an interval deliberately writing a diary entry in longhand, and then I shall come back to continue the editing of Unicorn's Blood. Too many screens; too much erosion of the ability to concentrate. Everything is the form of itself, acted out, without substance. The election endlessly in the background, but the Q&As aren't worth the effort put into them: such insistence on points of no consequence.
If this election is decided on a sense of the personalities of the leaders, then it will be Ed batting off questions about his relationship with Nicola for the next five years. Or maybe Alex. But nothing much will happen. This is such a "between" moment: the new politics is as much in flux as is the new technology.