I voted last week in peace and quiet. My sealed envelopes were handed over to the postmaster in his little dark corner of a post office, which doubles up as a village police station. The premises also provide second hand book sales, local information and village news, (Gossip).
Unless he is in animated conversation with someone, in which case, you will be served without his searching pleasantries, you are unlikely to get away from the postmaster without some convivial information-gathering banter. His local knowledge must be invaluable, although, I think his descriptive powers would hampered by his dimly lit service area.
I could so easily have been disarmingly entrapped into telling all. However, knowing how he operates, I determined that any conversation with the postmaster would, insofar as it could, be about anything but me. It’s a long time since I visited, and the man did not show any recognition. While he managed to extract from me that I had an uncomfortable eye, excusing my not seeing the collection times, it was as far as he got. The postmaster gave me a quizzical look while scrutinising the postal vote correspondence. My head voice questioned whether he would dare to ask me anything about it. I am sure he would have loved to, it was soon clear however, that even he knew where the boundaries were drawn. >:XX
There is something intrinsically pleasing and comfortable about having already voted. I can rise above all the information and disinformation about the Alternative Voting System, the political power squabbles, the media, the hooha and hype….I’m out of it. The deed is done!