Democracy is a messy business.

I was, as some of you know, in Malawi in the winter.

In 1964, Malawi emerged from the British Protectorate and became a fully independent country. After years of protests, Dr Banda stepped into the role of President. My guide, Everlasting, worked for him at one stage - I think he was a mechanic looking after the Presidential vehicles and he was in a prime position to observe the machinations  of the system. He told me at length about Dr Banda's diplomatic skills, notably his efforts to bring the apartheid regime in South Africa back into the international fold. Everlasting was, however, reticent if I raised the question of Dr Banda's abuses of power at home.

In 1994, under pressure from within and outside Malawi, Dr Banda agreed to a referendum to introduce a parliamentary democracy and this launched the current multi-party system. There is, now, a proliferation of parties - but rarely a transfer of power. If an election produces a surprising result, ministers simply change parties so they can stay in office. Roads leading to ministerial homes are maintained while others are full of potholes. Ministers' friend and family live in luxury while it is common for teachers and other public servants not to be paid. None of this is hidden; I heard people discuss is openly and read stories of mislaid funds and unpaid teachers in the newspapers.

'So,' I asked, 'was life better under Dr Banda - before the multi-party system?'

Everlasting thought for a long time. 

'Now we have freedom of speech,' he said eventually. 

And that's the point. Now he can complain about his government and its incompetences. Yet even now he can't talk about the atrocities of the Dr Banda years, though he must have known about them.

This is democracy. It's messy and imperfect and can expose deep divisions. But it's precious. So maybe we should celebrate our current chaos - it's what we have the privilege of voting for. 

Time to write, reluctantly, about the election.

Can I bear to write about the election? My first reaction, when her Mayship announced her change of mind and summonsed us to the polls again, was the same as Brenda from Bristol. (For those who haven't met her, you can see her here)

But, whatever the rights and wrongs of yet another poll, we are where we are. So it will be off to the polling station on Thursday, to put my cross on the ballot paper - and then to prop my eyes open until the small hours, to see the first results come through. (I always remind myself the result will be the same if I wait until the morning to find out who has won - but somehow the anticipation of those early results keep me awake long after I should have snuggled under the duvet).

For six weeks we have been drowning in electioneering. At first there appeared to be clear water between the two main parties; as I write this there is barely half a length between them. I've lost track of the leaflets that have plopped onto my mat. To be honest, I've barely glanced at them. It seems to me that most politicians make promises that they can't possibly keep.

So - how to decide which way to vote? 

I was on a local bus on the day her Mayship announced that her party was thinking about withdrawing universal winter fuel allowances for 'wealthy pensioners' (whatever that means). A group of older women on the bus were vociferous in their condemnation of the policy.

'No fuel allowance, no vote,' said one. Nobody challenged her.

Whatever the rights and wrongs of the policy, what depressed me most about this comment was the implication that the prime motivation in deciding who to vote for was self-interest. Are we really a nation of egoists?

None of us wants to pay more tax. But surely, when we come to vote, our priorities should rise above, 'What's in it for me?' Even if, like Brenda from Bristol, we might like to scribble on the ballot paper to show our irritation with yet another election, we owe it to our families, to the families down the road, to all the families in villages and towns and cities across the country, to mark our ballot paper in the belief that the party we vote for has the welfare of us all at heart

Grumbling

Goodness me, we've got a lot to grumble about at the moment. I almost can't bear to watch the news - what with Trump and his trumping, so say nothing of the lies and self-aggrandisement of our election. 

Here in the south of England we're worried about the lack of rain - the gardens are parched. Even closer to home, a recent gas leak brought the town to a complete halt; children were late for school. Closer than that, and I'm embroiled in a house-selling saga that ... I won't go on about that, it's too tedious.

Hang on a minute. I won't be homeless. What's more, my home has electricity and running water and the bricks won't be eaten by ants (not like this home in Malawi):

So, children were late for school. But their teachers waited for them. Their teachers are overworked and resources are limited. But they will be paid. And the libraries won't leak during the rains leaving books and equipment soggy and unusable (not like in Malawi)…

Our gardens are parched. And the farmers are warning of a poor harvest. But most of us will have enough to eat - I know there are hundreds of families who use food banks here (unforgivable in a country as rich as ours) but we aren't dependent on the World Food Programme to feed about eighty per cent of the population.

I can't even think about Trump. But our election: I know it's tedious, but it's important. And I know I've posted this picture before (in connection with our local elections) but it's a mantra (from Malawi) that needs to be sung from the rooftops: