Yesterday was, shall we say, interesting. I was out delivering at what passes locally for the Final Frontier (the boundary between Westminster and Camden). You can tell a lot about a place by people's front doors. I feel particular sympathy with the elector who had put a notice above his doorbell stating simply: "This is not a brothel!"
Further up the same street a distinctly worse for wear and far from clean individual asked me whether there was an off licence down the road. I said I didn't know, but that there was a pub. This aggrieved him somewhat (perhaps he'd been evicted from it?) but he was persuaded that there might be an off licence in that direction, so off he went. With a sense of relief I managed to gain entry to a block of flats and was delivering my leaflets there, but my sense of security was shortlived. I inadvertently rattled someone's letter box, the door opened and the occupier emerged to ask whether I wanted to come in. That was fine in itself except that he was minus his trousers and underpants at the time. I told him no thank you, I was just delivering letters, and beat an orderly but fairly swift retreat.
Just as well that the dog and I are champion walkers, because the buses were at a standstill. The reason for this became clear when I spotted a pall of smoke above Oxford Circus and police cars blocking the road. We walked most of the way home.
A campaigning tip: wear comfortable shoes.