“It’s like being dumped. I’m tired. I’ve cried a couple of times. I’m emotionally drained. I have nothing to do. My routine is broken. I have time on my hands and no desire to do any of the things that need doing. Dazed. A friend said I was making no sense in the pub last night and I hadn’t even started my pint.”

Does it all sound a bit Dusty?:

I remember walking back home at about nine in the morning on May 7 after a glass of wine or two at a fellow activist’s house close to the count at the Brighton Centre. I remember being jeered (yes, we were) by victorious Green supporters awaiting their conquering heroine. But not much else is vivid about the weekend after the General Election.

I wasn’t angry though. And I’m not bitter. Over the course of polling day, I confessed to several friends that I though the Greens would win Brighton Pavilion and I can appreciate the historic significance of Britain’s first Green MP (although I thought the way Caroline Lucas MP compared herself to Keir Hardie in her maiden speech displayed breathtaking audacity).

I also take some heart from the results. What did the Conservatives want from Labour to win an outright national majority? They had Iraq, recession, Gordon Brown and a lack-lustre national campaign from Labour. And yet they still couldn’t win! Cameron couldn’t even match John Major’s 1992 result.

Also, the Greens and the Tories argued that Labour would come third in Brighton Pavilion and we came a very creditable and quite close second. The Green majority of 1200 or so isn’t gargantuan. We were not “rinsed”, as one Green Councillor crowed on Twitter.

The Green victory was well won. They spent a great deal of energy and money on getting this seat. The results across the three Brighton and Hove parliamentary constituencies were good for Labour. Of course, we didn’t win a seat but we did come second to the Tories, with a narrow 500 votes between us, and the Greens overall were fourth after the Liberals. That augurs well for the City Council Elections and also shows we aren’t a spent force.

But what has cheered me most of all has been the determination and energy of activists and party folk. Labour in Brighton has lots to do. And there’s much discussion to be had. And we’re doing it. May 6th changed everything and we’re already responding with ideas and actions. We need radical ideas and action and it was good to get out and about in Portslade yesterday to try some of our new ideas out. Tom French is doing well in the council by-election in St Peter’s and North Laine.

For me, I think one of the most important things that we need to get better at is working with the Green Party. We share many common values and we have common enemies to oppose. Brighton and Hove City Council is a bad council and the small ‘c’ conservative government is starting to show its real colours. In this brave new world of coalitions, I think there is a thirst from voters to see more cooperation and less conflict. I also don’t think the “you had 13 years to sort it out” attack line cuts much mustard when your kids’ school is having its funding slashed.

Everything changed on May 6th. That’s the thing about defeat, I think. You are forced to learn from it. Victory is affirming.

What about the rest? Sylvester McCoy isn’t coy about Doctor Who in the late 1980s: “Our feeling was that Margaret Thatcher was far more terrifying than any monster the Doctor had encountered.” I can’t imagine that either Eccleston or McGann vote Conservative and yet I can imagine a police box travelling through time and space.

Smith was a convincing Labour man in Party Animals. Davison's doing another broadcast soon. I’ll let Troughton and Hartnell off the hook because they’re too long dead. But could Patrick Troughton vote Tory? I’d find that hard to believe.

That leaves us a couple of Bakers. Tom Baker is on the record as hating Labour and Tory alike: “When the Conservatives were in I cannot tell you how much I hated them. But I realise how shallow I am because I now hate the Labour Party as much.”

That might make Colin Baker the ‘Tory Doctor’. I met him in a pub in Richmond once and he seemed jolly nice. But we didn’t talk about politics.

Enough of the actors. What of the Doctor himself? He liked Harriet Jones until she destroyed the Sycorax ship. Lots of Labour supporters understand that: it’s Blair and Iraq. Jones redeemed herself when she opposed the Daleks and sacrificed her life. The same can’t yet be said for Tony. Yet.

Added: 21st April. Peter Davison's PEB.

As a child I spent sublime holidays with my Dublin cousins and also with my granny and aunts in the countryside of County Down, not so very far from those Dark Mournes. My granny, a tiny little woman, may as well have been ten feet tall. She was powerful, argumentative, clever and commanding. I wish I had spent more time with my old granny now and I regret that I can barely recall my granddad, her husband, at all.

Granny taught me a whole lot of things despite being (as so many women of her class and age were) largely unschooled. The darkness of her rural home meant she could point out the stars and constellations of the night skies to us wee ones from the back garden. She grew much of her own produce in her garden and was a sensational baker. But most of all she liked some silliness and mischief. At Easter time she’d take us to roll hard boiled eggs down the hill. I’m convinced she enjoyed that more than anyone.

We also saw our share of The Troubles from her house outside Newry. (It is so Irish to refer to the horrid things that happened in those grim years as simply, ‘The Troubles’.) We weren’t that far from the border so patrolling soldiers were commonplace. The local Dunnes was bombed one day and we watched the plume of smoke rise up from Newry having been there not so many moments before

Yes. My mother and her family come from those 6 counties of Ulster that we have come to call Northern Ireland. But I have no qualms about claiming my Irish heritage. St Patrick is Saint of all Ireland. He’s buried in Downpatrick after all, north of a border set less than a century ago. He wouldn’t worry about how the island of Ireland has been divided up these days. He’d see one Irish island, I think. I hope he’d be pleased that things have been getting that much better of late.

I’m certain my granny would be in favour of the peace we’ve seen. I like to think in these better times that I could persuade her round to my hope for a united Ireland. We’ll never know: but she did like a good argument. I know where I get that from

Not long before she died, my granny paid me what I’m certain was a compliment: “You’ve got the blarney.” And, for me, that makes me Irish enough.

Here are some of my own efforts. Nothing clever. Just a bit childish.

Here's a brace for for Doctor Who fans and lovers of The Divine Comedy.

I have taken part in so many demos and protests that I can hardly keep count. The highlight was opposing the Iraq war in London on that February day in 2003 with a million others. But that was vanilla. I’ve faced up to police as they’ve beaten their shields with their batons with the sole intent to intimidate. I’ve been filmed and snapped by the rozzers before anti-terror legislation was enacted. I’ve mass-trespassed. I’ve squatted. I’ve been questioned, jostled and jibed by coppers. I’ve seen the underside of a police horse closer than I ever want to see one again.

The demos have been for causes various. I was against apartheid and shutting Brighton’s St Luke’s Pool (aged 9) in the 80s. I passionately opposed the CJB/CJA and French nuclear tests and other things in the 90s. More recently I’ve opposed student tuition fees and the Iraq war. I could mention direct action against fox hunting and car rallies on the South Downs. I even joined my mum to protest about midwife pay once.

But I never hid my face.

Protest is about standing up, being open, speaking out, hopefully raising the profile of the cause or issue, and being counted. For me, a protest doesn’t have to be legal but it must have peaceful intentions. I know how demos turn out. With opposing forces of protester and police, sometimes it gets edgy and ugly. As a protester, sometimes you get arrested. Usually you don’t. But passion doesn’t mean aggression. Violence should never be an aim.

That’s why I can’t support the Smash EDO action and protesters. Not only is the case unproven but they seek to make it anonymously. Any group that goes out and protests behind scarves and balaclavas is hiding something. That’s not how we should do it here. Protest must be proud to be credible. Ask Gandhi, Pankhurst, Mandela and King.

This article from DFID caught my eye today: Killing relief with kindness. Lots of people want to help and send things, but the agencies and charities involved basically just want your cash. It makes sense to me having read the article. That’s where eBay for Charity comes in.

If you feel a bit broke, or have stuff you don’t want, you can sell on eBay and donate the takings directly to the DEC (Disaster Emergency Committee). It may not be immediate, but let’s face it: they’ll still need your money in a week’s time when it’s not the top story on the news anymore.

It’s all above board and you don’t need to worry that someone is trousering your donation. eBay guarantees the cash, covers the admin costs and the listing fees if the item sells and you can donate anything between 10% and 100% of the sale price.

It’s a great way of turning something you’ve got knocking about the house, maybe an unwanted Christmas gift, into a few vital quid. Just choose the DEC as your beneficiary when you’re selling.

And, don’t forget you can also buy. All these items for sale will benefit the DEC. Just be sure to check what percentage of the sale price is going to Haiti.

I’ll certainly be flogging a few things in the next week or so.

(I must say, as an aside: why isn’t eBay promoting DEC Haiti items on the homepage? It’s a small gesture and it would be great to give the items for sale greater profile. The eBay Community has a great history of being generous: let’s unleash that spirit again!)

I paraphrase his reply, but it was unequivocal, slightly venomous and laced with regret. “Never again. John Major and his “classless society” nonsense has seen to that.”

It was exactly the notion of a classless society that meant it could happen again, I argued back. After all, Tony Blair (Labour leader at the time) was a public schoolboy, class politics was on the wane and that meant an Old Etonian (OE) could be Prime Minister. Mischievously, I added that an OE PM need not necessarily be Conservative.

I do remember his withering look and the finality of his response keenly. “Normal public schoolboys perhaps. But not Etonians. Eton is a dirty word. A four letter word. Home was the last.”

It’s probably worth noting that when I had this discussion I was an Eton schoolboy replete with black tailcoat and starched collar. I was (as I indeed remain) a fully paid up member of the Labour party and in a subsequent post I might talk about how a this state comprehensive schoolboy from Brighton ended up at Eton if anyone is particularly interested.

I tittered at Gordon Brown’s recent comment at during Prime Minister’s Question time that David Cameron’s tax policy had been dreamt up “on the playing fields of Eton.” It was funny enough. I wasn’t particularly impressed by Cameron’s response that called it “spiteful”. It was certainly less spiteful a jibe than Tory quips calling former Speaker Martin “Gorbals Mick”. Brown also has the merit of being accurate. Cameron went to Eton. Lord Martin isn’t from the Gorbals.

But what’s surprising is how much coverage Brown’s Eton line generated. For over a week, and even today, it’s still driving comment in the press. A certain rough and tumble is an acceptable aspect of politics. In some senses it’s part of the fun. For Cameron to criticise what he has called “Punch and Judy politics” is like a sewer objecting to shit.

It might be fun, but we don’t learn a lot from it. It was little more than Gordon Brown legitimately pointing out that Tory plans do indeed benefit the rich over the poor. It was also apt in a week when millionaire Old Etonian Zac Goldsmith was criticised for evading tax as a non-dom whilst also seeking election to Parliament.

Equally, the public school jibe doesn’t stand up to much scrutiny. There are plenty of good Labour comrades who went to public school (Attlee, Tony Benn, Blair) and plenty of Tories who didn’t. Not a few Labour figures were OEs, including notably the very great and dogged Tam Dalyell. Attlee’s first Chancellor of the Exchequer in those great reforming Labour governments of 1945-51, Hugh Dalton, went to Eton. (The other two, Cripps and Gaitskell, went to Winchester.)

But I think the Eton jibe was invoking more than just public schools and speaks to the peculiar place Eton holds in the public imagination. As my old beak said (that’s what they call teachers at Eton), it’s a dirty word. It invokes something visceral and reviled. It’s almost a synonym for the ruling class, privilege and aristocracy. It’s not for nothing that the old joke says that Eton should have a sign above the door: “Cabinetmakers to Her Majesty the Queen.” The Queen has worked with 11 PMs. 3 have been old Etonians. 18 in total since Walpole had the school motta ‘Floreat Etona’.

And that’s why Brown’s comment was powerful and potentially effective. It doesn’t do anything for talking up Labour’s achievements but it does raise questions. Can an Old Etonian with substantial personal wealth like David Cameron understand ordinary folk? And it also encourages scrutiny of the extraordinary number of OEs in the Tory ranks.

In this age of post-aristocratic politics, that there are more Old Etonians than women in the Tory top team does deserve greater examination. There are 15 OE MPs. 13 Conservatives. Labour and LibDems have one apiece. They represent something like 7% of all Member of Parliament. (Incidentally, in the House of Lords there are more than 80 OEs.) It’s not difficult to say that it’s too many and that representation on the Tory frontbench is disproportionate.

But what’s the cause? Is it favouritism, a Nietzschean will to power, elitism, misplaced deference, connections, some sort of conspiracy or what? In any case, it’s bizarre and possibly worrying. In my next post, I‘ll write about how I think the nature of Eton as a meritocracy and aspirational environment, its ethos and schooling influences students and encourages its former pupils to go into politics.

(This is the first of several posts where I'll discuss Eton, politics and my experience there. If there’s anything you might want me to cover, do leave a comment and I’ll see if I can squeeze it in. Subsequent posts haven’t been written yet.)

But after a long time, I’m on the verge of changing my mind and going Mac. But not quite. Not quite.

Key to my loyalty has been a very effective Dell laptop that has never let me down. Never let me down. (Ok. Once. Service Pack 3. Lesson learnt.) Ever since I bought it in January 2006 it has been a reliable, lightweight, versatile and frankly indestructible machine. It’s been punished. Travelled everywhere I’ve been. It does what I want it to do admirably (which is predominantly writing and net use although increasingly I’m meddling with photos, videos and sound files) and it has so far proved to be unbelievable value. It’s the third or fourth (via a few work PCs) in a succession of very reliable machines from Dell that takes me back to 1997 when I first took a laptop for University.

I bought my latest machine in April this year and in terms of sturdiness the new Dell machine isn’t as good. Vista has also been an absolute disaster. I’ve actually gone back to using the immortal XP machine. God I love her.

In the past months, confronted with Vista and the new machine, I’ve thought about making the switch to a Mac. You know me. I do my research. My major concerns relate to the fact that I deal professionally with organisations who uses old Windows machines and I need Word and PowerPoint docs etc to reach people with formatting intact.

I’ve asked Mac users: trust me, I know plenty. Many of whom who have been useful but many have not. I have an iPod. I understand that Apple make beautiful things. But it’s astonishing that so many Macists rely on evangelical statements that even your average fundamentalist Christian would shy away from because they’re so unsubstantial. When I ask why I should swap to a Mac, and whether this or that will work and whether wotsit and the other can be done, I’m not interested in answers that start with: “As Steve Jobs said…” I am as uninterested in the Book of Jobs as I am with the Bill is Right brigade.

The thing is, remember, my PCs have served me well. They’re not the crap ‘Mac Wankers’ keep telling me they are. Of course, I don’t code, or graphic design or game on any serious level. This two or one click mouse thing bothers me not. Taskbars and brushed stainless steel. Meh. Snow Leopard? I have no tangible idea what that practically means. But Macists tell me “it’s amazing”. I kind of accept that Macs are indeed better. But is one Mac, in particular, going to be better for me? That’s the answer I want. It’s certainly not going to be cheaper, after all.

I must have been into Apple Stores a dozen times in London and Brighton looking for the answers I need. On one occasion I wandered in, started meddling with a Macbook and got asked to move along because other people wanted to “experience” it. I’d been there about two minutes.

Apple Stores represent an unusually pointless experience for the uninitiated. I visit them like I visit Churches. I just look at things and admire them and watch people who know what they’re doing, doing what they want to do. As a non-believer, I just amble around respectfully, appreciate, nod, show respect and leave. It’s a pleasing pastime but not necessarily very illuminating. I’ve visited hundreds of Churches and never found faith. It’s rather the same with Apple Stores.

On my two appointments at the genius bar to get the skinny, one was excellent and most informative (and 90% got me there). The other was nonsense and, to continue my Church simile, was like taking confession whilst the priest tried to find the “Fuck Off” App on his iPhone. To the smiley unlistening, uber-euro, seemingly non-gender specific Appleton with trendy specs, an asymmetric, pedantically scruffy fringe and a faraway look suggesting a night before enhanced by hallucinogenic drugs: there’s no such Windows program as Metebelis 3. I made it up (or rather stole the name of a planet in Doctor Who). That’s why I scoffed at your claim that not only will Metebelis 3 work on a Mac, but it will work even better.

My current inclination, mostly because having bought one computer in the past 6 months I’m not inclined towards the expense of buying another, is to get Vista off my new PC and live with it for a few months and spend a bit more time learning about Macs. A few snatched minutes in Apple Store hasn’t been enough for me but now I’m back at Uni, it’s good to note they have Macs for use there. Maybe experience will tip the balance. But as I look at the latest raft of Mac and Windows ads slagging each other, I’ve got to say: if those guys could focus on details and facts, I’d find that a great deal more useful.