It's the hope that kills you that's how I have felt about every election for the past 14 years. That small swell of optimism almost instantly gives way to the embittered feeling that you have been a dreamer, a prize fool.
I have been thinking a lot about 1997: that bright May morning when I was nine years old. How happy my parents were. That's all any child wants, really: smiling parents.
One recalls her mum doing the can-can around the house while chanting: No more sleaze! Boom! No more sleaze! Boom!
Cool Britannia was very much a media confection and yet, for children and young people, the perception that the Tories were stuffy and old and mean felt very real to us.
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