The jackets are off

Election fever has hit the Philpott household. Both Clive and Ginny are in a quandary about who to bless with their vote. Living in true-blue Tory land they reckon it's unlikely that a vote for anyone other than their Conservative candidate would make a difference. He's got a huge majority and it would take a major postal vote fraud to shift him - come to think of it that's not so unlikely.

Ginny has the advantage over Clive in having met all three of the main party candidates for this area. She gave Clive a run-down.

'Labour - pimply, ambitious youth from Birmingham, reminded me of a little terrier. Just been put in to make up the numbers. No chance.

'Lib-dem - dour, middle-aged lady no sense of humour, wants to tax us into the grave. Bad teeth. Might have a chance if the Tory voters don't want Michael Howard to get in.

'Tory - seasoned campaigner. Smooth, oily, works a crowd well, pro-hunting. Dead cert.'

Tony Blair's decision to campaign in his shirt sleeves has left Ginny fuming. 'Does he think we're so thick that we'll see him in his shirt and say "oh yes, he's one of us, we trust him with our vote".'

Ginny is intrigued to know how Tony has managed to stop sweating. 'He sweated like a pig last time they let him on stage without his jacket. What have they done to him? Do you think they've zapped his sweat glands to stop him getting moist? Or is he wearing a super-absorbent vest?' Ginny scrutinised the telly. 'I think it's a special vest,' she declared. 'What a wuss.'

So that's how the nation will decide its next Prime Minister - on the basis that his super absorbent undergarments have stopped the sweat staining his shirt.

Now that Michael Howard and Charles Kennedy have taken their jackets off for the campaign trail Ginny is really fuming. 'Why are they playing copy-cat? Don't they have minds of their own. Who am I going to vote for now? I can't vote for anyone who thinks it's okay to walk the streets in a shirt when it's tipping down with rain.'

The TV news reported Charles Kennedy as brimming over with confidence. 'His stomach's definitely brimming over his waistband. Put your jacket back on Charles,' Ginny shouted at the telly.

Clive filled in a questionnaire in The Daily Telegraph to find out where his opinions put him. He is Labour verging on Socialist Worker with a dollop of Green thrown in. One question: why is a socialist reading The Daily Telegraph? Quite how Clive's political views square with his constant carping over Blair and Brown's stealth taxes Ginny can't fathom. 'Clive do you realise that your New Labour government now takes 70% of our income in stealth and not-so-stealth taxes. We are middle-class and it's hurting. How can you be happy about handing over your hard earned cash to be spent on things like lesbian outreach dance projects in the Outer Hebrides. We don't even get free dentistry any more.' Ginny and Clive's dentist has just gone private. They now pay £30 a month for the privilege of staying on their dentist's list. 'How can that be right when Labour have promised not to charge for healthcare? I don't get it.'

Ginny filled in the same Daily Telegraph questionnaire. She is UKIP and Green. 'UKIP!!' Clive nearly exploded. 'How can you be UKIP? Think how easy our holidays would be if we were in the Euro. Green!!? Are you going to get rid of the car, get a composting toilet and start weaving your own clothes from Arrow's hair?'

Don't bring me into it Clive. On the evidence of The Daily Telegraph's helpful questionnaire the one thing that is certain is that Clive and Ginny are totally incompatible. Roll on polling day and we can all settle down to the usual arguments about who's left the toilet seat up and whose turn it is to unload the dishwasher. All this politics is getting in the way of normal family arguments.