It was for Ann and me an election day like no other we had ever known; mind you, it is fair to say that it was a voting event that probably none other would have experienced – pandemics represent territory alien to us all. Thus our lives for the past 18 months, or so, have largely been a learning curve.

Whatever, on the morning of May 6, we planned our foray by car to exercise our right to express who we wanted to represent us on the county council.

Normally this would be the simplest, most straightforward of tasks; Covid-19, however – as we are all aware – complicates virtually all aspects of our lives and routines. Thus did we scan again the multitude of rules which would govern the registration of our votes. Two pens were laid out beside a brace of face masks, then once more we read the rules – hand sanitising, social distancing and the like – then set off to do our civic duty.

It was not easy to park at the polling station, cars being left in a fashion so haphazard it suggested that vehicles also were self-isolating.

Donning our masks we pursued the well-marked path to the front door of the village hall which is ever the venue for the local polling process. Immediately I was aware of a great change from normal – in this instance one which lifted my somewhat jaded spirits. For usually at elections, both local and national, we are accosted by folk (tellers) sporting large rosettes who seek to ascertain our electoral number – for what purpose I have never been able to discern, for they surely can have no idea as to for whom anyone is going to vote. Their enthusiastic intervention has always put into my mind a version of that perceptive ditty from ‘The Mikado’ – ‘They’ve got a little list and none of us will be missed’; well, no list this year, either little or large; we were able to enter the hall undisturbed.

Shuffling forward, ensuring our masks covered both nose and mouth (not easy as they seem to either ride up or drop down), and keeping the legal gap between ourselves and the folk in front, eventually we arrived at the desks which held the voting slips.

These were overseen by a most charming, diligent and competent lady and gent (wife and husband) who have fulfilled this role for many years, if not decades; they have supervised council elections at all levels, general elections, referendums and so forth. They were in command for some of those long gone times when my own name was, every four years, printed on the list of candidates for the town and borough elections.

After a brief but most affable chat with them, we squirted some cleanser upon our hands, each took the brace of slips proffered, then went to the booths to register our choice.

There were five candidates for the county council, three of whom I knew very well – all able, diligent, likeable folk, with a fine record of service to our community; I made my choice, then turned my attention to the second slip, that which referred to the police and crime commissioner for Devon and Cornwall; I’m not totally sure of the work carried out by holders of this office, and due to such ignorance, cannot give a fair opinion as to their value and relevance. Whatever, a list of names (all representing political parties) lay before my eyes; I made my choice, then, along with Ann, placed them in the box provided. We left by a different door, as instructed.

I’ve voted in every election since I reached adulthood (21 back then); for obvious reasons this one was different. Yet the good old British spirit of carrying on despite all shone through like a beacon. Everything at the polling station was impeccably organised – great credit to all those involved in setting it up and monitoring proceedings. Mind you, if world wars were not permitted to interrupt the democratic process, then a mere pandemic – curse though it is – will not do so.

After going to the supermarket to purchase victuals for the week, we returned home to rest – the decisions involved in voting and shopping are of a grave and wearying nature. Being ever interested in politics, both local and national, my spirits as we went to bed were lifted by the belief – as is usually the case – that results around the nation would flood in overnight and during the next day. I was wrong; counting around the UK – probably due to virus restrictions – was exceedingly slow. It was days before the picture became clear. No matter – the people had spoken, and once more democracy had triumphed.