Boris Johnson has decided not to appear at our Mayoral hustings tonight at the University of London. As The Guardian picked up on today, this isn’t the only time that the Conservative candidate’s campaign team have hustled him out of the limelight. Could it be that they’re so nervous about the gaffe prone candidate that they’re not even allowing him to speak to the public?
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Well what an interesting night, and not just because I fell asleep on the train home and ended up in an old people’s home in Gillingham at three o’clock this morning. No, interesting because Time Out readers came in their droves to our quiz and proved our platform to be correct - that is, they are clued-up bright and generally the best people in London - by displaying an astounding amount of knowledge about our fair city.
This wasn’t any old quiz but a fiendishly tough one devised and delivered by Marcus Berkmann, the master of the form and author of the rightly lauded ‘Prince of Wales Quiz Book’. Thanks to everyone that came but since you had a free drink, I am informed by the electoral commission that it would be a criminal offence if I then asked you to vote for me. So don’t, ah, vote for me (if you get my drift).
Read what the crack team of London bloggers had to say about the evening (and their less-than-perfect performance!)
And there’s a report from the Word magazine’s admirable team who are still deluding themselves they came joint third. In reality, they fell at the final tiebreaker hurdle and missed out on a slap-up meal for six at the Wagamama of their choice.
Photo credit: Jonathan Perugia
So why should a bad-tempered former toilet cleaner from the North Riding of Yorkshire be Mayor of London? Well, a long time ago, a farm boy from Gloucester called Dick Whittington managed something similar. But more importantly, the relative obscurity of my beginnings actually counts in my favour – I came to London by choice not accident of birth and now, after more than 20 extraordinary years in this occasionally strange, frequently unsettling but always addictive city, it is time to put something back.
I’ll admit I lack some of the qualifications of the three main candidates – I didn’t go to Eton, I have no experience of running a major city and I did not achieve a high rank in the Metropolitan Police. But my experience of being a Londoner means I understand this city in a way that the other candidates don’t.
As well as cleaning the capital’s toilets I have worked as a doorman, been a professional bongo player, fitted the air-conditioning unit at the Chelsea Cinema on the Kings Road, been knocked down twice on London streets (by different cars), been ejected from several art galleries, recorded a single, put the roof on the University of North London, been booed off stage in Brixton, had a drug-induced breakdown in a Kilburn cemetery, rowed the Boat Race course, been chased by Millwall fans, managed a pub (not for long, things got out of hand) and had several knives pulled on me.
I have lived in Greenwich, Camberwell, Putney, Barnes, Balham, Clapham, Shooters Hill, Battersea and on a boat on the Thames. I’ve even crossed the river and laid my head in Tufnell Park. In short I have lived a London life, and that experience makes me uniquely qualified among the runners for Mayor of London.
But I don’t just bring my own life to the mayoral campaign; I hope to involve your lives as well. I see myself as representing you – London’s most knowledgeable, canny and generally clued-up citizens. This really is your campaign and my objective is to get your voice heard. I’m also planning to have some fun along the way.
I am not just standing against the other candidates, and if I am honest there is much in the Liberal Democrat, Labour and Green manifestos that I agree with. Nor is this an extended joust with Boris Johnson (although extended jousts with Boris in public parks with mud flinging, food stalls and flagons of mead would be very popular) but a serious attempt to shake up a system that presently lets Londoners down.
I may not win, I may not even raise enough money for the nomination (I’m chasing £10,000
and since the cash machine swallowed my bank card last week I’ll be needing help) but, just perhaps, we can pick up some momentum and let the career politicians know that the votes of 200,000 Time Out readers cannot be taken for granted.
And, like Dick Whittington, I’ve got a cat.
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