Pure Janus...

...H here on a quick luncheon break from the rigours of polling day.

The Cathy question has indeed become fairly complex, though not in the way that dear PP had envisaged. There is no going back to the Mrs J. camp for her, which is all to the good, but there then remains that matter of Mrs J. being informed [not good] or finding out [double-plus ungood].

Cathy herself, being too young easily to dissemble, is all for letting Mrs J. know that should she [Cathy] be successful in her candidature then Mrs J. could no longer rely on her support on crucial voting matters at the Council. Were that to happen, of course, Mrs J. would be ripping through the town ticking off her supporters - and they are not an insignificant cohort - not to vote for her.

Keeping absolutely silent on the matter - my initial thought - would equally lose Mildred the votes of the Cathy supporters [most of the village men under 97 and active] who would be following her into what they assumed to be still her chosen party - that of Mrs J.

Spreading the word among the menfolk that Miss Shanklin's allegiance had now shifted would not affect their attraction for the creature, of that I'm sure, and they would as happily follow her to Timbuktu as anywhere. The slightest slip of a hint though would instantly result in Mrs J.'s mob discovering the 'treachery' as they would define it, as gossip of this magnitude could not fail to be around the pub and out the door within minutes, if not sooner.

I do still blame myself. If only I'd paid more attention to the woman when she first arrived I am sure all of this could have been avoided. No going back though. We are, as poor MacBeth, half-over our bloody crossing and must press onward and upward.

A telephone call to M for advice would perhaps - on the strictest reading of the rules for local elections - be outlawed on polling day itself. Other choices are, however, strictly limited at this juncture.

Pause for sandwich, glass of beer and a good think.