The secret diary of an MP: A clean-cut lad in my campaign team turns out to be neither

Our secret candidate is tired, worried and beginning to make a few serous mistakes identifying voters - and that’s before he visits a local sauna

The whip has been on the phone as polling day approaches (Getty Images)

My constituents seem exhausted with this election campaign. So am I. And with less than a week to go now I’m also nervous.

I’ve spoken to several colleagues, and regardless of the size of our respective majorities we’ve all got butterflies in our tummies. It always seems to happen that way in the last seven days.

My whip phones me again. He asks how I think things are going. It is a general ring round to all candidates who have been MPs in my party. I tell him. At length. He listens. “Oh,” he says. “Can you spend the next few days campaigning in a marginal seat?” It’s 50 miles from my constituency. The call is swiftly terminated.

The great thing about an election campaign is that there are opportunities to do things you might not otherwise be able to do. After a school visit organised by the National Autistic Society, I was moved to meet some incredibly bright and highly articulate 14- and 16-year-olds who have learning difficulties because of Asperger’s. Their special care in a mainstream school has broadened their horizons. I decide I must campaign to educate the public more about this, as others have in the past about dyslexia.

---

Are you undecided about who to vote for on 7 May? Are you confused about what the parties stand for and what they are offering? Take this interactive quiz to help you decide who to vote for...

Click here to launch

---

As I leave the school a bunch of sixth-formers shout: “Vote Ukip.” I smile wanly. Others want selfies with me. Well, at least they recognise me.

I visit another town in my constituency and spend a great day campaigning, meeting locals and going into pubs. Despite some good beers on tap, I know I will have to stick to lager shandies if I am going to last out the day.

All goes well until I notice a clean-cut lad in my campaign team. I attempt to bond and comment that I like his diamond ear-studs and that maybe I should try them out as a new male fashion accessory too. A helper whispers into my ear that he is in fact a she – and that she is standing for the local council.

We also visit a smart leisure centre run by the council. There are two swimming pools, a gym, squash courts and a sauna. It’s not a very private sauna as it has a glass door. I comment on the fact. “We need the glass door for when it’s men only,” I am told. How exactly am I supposed to respond to that?

Last week I explained the hazards of posting leaflets through difficult letter boxes. But leafleting also gives an opportunity to admire large and small front gardens and imaginative house names. It’s not all Dunroamin. Liliputia Maison and Helvetica House have both caught my eye in recent days.

I get a phone call. It’s from NHK, Tokyo. Would I go live on air on one of their phone-in shows in five minutes and talk about the British election. In Japanese. I reply that while I can say “Yes” in Japanese, that’s about my limit. “Oh,” she says. “But on Wikipedia it says you are fluent in Japanese.” Does it? Not the last time I looked. I hope no one is trying to set me up.

I think about my conversation with my whip a few days earlier. Maybe I should show willing and I offer to help on the party’s battle bus. I arrange a date for next week. “Where should I meet the bus? In which town?” I ask. “We’ll let you know.” The Magical Mystery Tour.