It was election night, I was in Westminster and the polls had closed.
Besides a smattering of American tourists in North Face jackets and a gaggle of reporters lit up by naked spotlights, it was a ghost town. It had been since Parliament was dissolved on the 3rd of May. Still, I figured if there was anywhere to drink on election night it was in the shadow of the House of Commons.
I was hoping to escape my echo chamber and witness the results with the real British public. The impossibly out-of-reach British public. The kind I'm told don't know what a Facebook is. The kind that votes Tory. Because if we were going to spend another five years under Conservative rule, I thought I might as well get to know a few sympathisers. Face my fear. Get it out of the way.
Starting with popular Westminster spot The Red Lion, I'd work my way from Whitehall to Walworth, stopping at every election party I could.