"And then he said..."

Very late for work tonight, partly because of traffic, partly because of stopping for petrol and thereby becoming embroiled in the saga of giving directions to a thoroughly lost family, and partly by being reduced to tears by tonight's Doctor Who episode.

I finish at the Independent on Monday night and on the whole I'll be glad of it, because the hours are so disruptive and the speed cameras are always lying in wait during the drive there and back (one more ticket and I'm toast).

But there's a lot I'll miss, too, and right up there at the top of the list will be the writing, which is of a terrifically high standard in even the most obscure corners of the paper.

This is from a piece from tomorrow's paper by racing correspondent Sue Montgomery, describing a horse called Ratki, which won today:

The six-year-old has a mighty engine, but one governed by an unpredictable mind. For if Rakti was human, he would undoubtedly get banned from Bluewater; indeed, he wears a hood for stalls entry. His whole demeanour smacks of simmering aggression; he is as handy with his teeth as his front feet when it comes to making a point. He demands respect from those around him, and gets it, and trainer Michael Jarvis and rider Philip Robinson deserve every plaudit they get for their handling of this equine volcano.

Brilliant.

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USB-compatible
A collection of tubes and taps in the back of my father-in-law's hand. He got out of hospital today after a week in Bedlam.

A few moments on the way to work last Saturday night…

Tricky pollard
A pollarded tree is a healthy tree… but they don't half look naked afterwards, like shorn sheep.

Reflections on Canada
Provincial flags on Canada House in Trafalgar Square, reflected in the wing mirror.

London sunset I
The Embankment and the London Eye at dusk.

London sunset II
Hungerford footbridge against the evening sky.

Me, ascending
In the lift on the way up to the office… haven't had a haircut for a year now. Got one planned for tomorrow.

Docklands in the dark
Through the window of the office canteen - sorry, the staff restaurant - the bulk of an office block soars upwards.

The voters have spoken, and the word they have spoken is “whatever”.

The electorate has watched the campaign, listened to the arguments, and shrugged its shoulders. The people have given almost every party just enough of what they wanted to shut them up, but not nearly enough for them to start feeling cocky.

Labour has been given its majority and its place in history. But it's a smaller majority and, if the awkward squad on the backbenches dig their heels in, party managers can kiss goodbye to a lot of their planned legislation. Tony Blair is now a lame duck PM, doomed to a turbulent time and endless questions over when he's handing over to Gordon Brown.

The Tories have started the long process of recovery and scored well in London. But they didn't increase their vote share, failed to break the 200-seat barrier let alone outperform Labour's dismal 1983 result, and Michael Howard's resignation announcement makes it much harder for them to put positive spin on the result - only losers resign.

The Liberal Democrats now hold more seats than at any time in living memory and scored their highest share of the vote for a very long time, but the big breakthrough didn't happen. They now face a strategic dilemma - if they chase vulnerable Labour seats, they'll lose even more ground to the Tories. This looks like both a high-water mark and a missed opportunity.

Among the other parties, the SNP gained seats but dropped to third in the Scottish vote. The Greens and BNP polled well in places, but didn't come close to taking any of their target seats. Respect won in Bethnal Green, but George Galloway managed to make such a fool of himself that any chance of real respect is dead and buried.

There were no real winners (apart from the independent candidates Peter Law and Richard Taylor), but there were big losers. Plaid Cymru lost a seat unexpectedly to the Lib Dems and somehow failed to take its main target seat, Ynys Mon, from Labour on a night when the People's Party was giving seats away to all-comers. UKIP and - particularly - Veritas both looked ridiculous.

That's all on the mainland, of course, and they do things different in Northern Ireland, where the results are now coming in. It looks like a meltdown for the UUP and a good result for the DUP, which isn't exactly a surprise. Things are polarising over there - Sinn Fein may also overtake the SDLP as the main Republican party.

So what does the future hold? Frankly, I don't know - leadership navel-gazing crippling both main parties, probably, and unfocused optimism doing likewise for the Lib Dems. One thing's clear, though - the results prove the voters aren't particularly bothered.

They just want the politicians to go away and play their games without hassling them.

Gordon abandons Prudence
An unfortunate juxtaposition of billboards on the Cromwell Road has Gordon Brown spurning the doe-eyed Tony Blair to stare straight down the cleavage of a lap dancer.

Closer, by far
And again, zoomed in for detail…

Up with the lark
Election day, 4.30am, delivering 'good morning' leaflets for Susan Kramer

Kramer vs Commerce
Orange Susan Kramer diamonds compete for space with estate agent signage across Richmond Park.

Thank the Goddess that that's over - tomorrow I get a day off work, after 11 consecutive days at the coalface for three different companies. Only one day off, mind, and then I do six more straight at work. Call it bad time management if you like.

Actually it wasn't too bad, owing to the novelty generated by the variety of tasks and offices and journies and colleagues. But I'm bloody tired, I don't mind telling you.

I'll probably spend at least some of tomorrow in Richmond Park campaigning for Susan Kramer - I'm really not into doing anything much at all this election, but I'm a big fan of Susan's because of her caring reaction when I was attacked on the way home from one of her campaign rallies during the 2000 London Mayoral election and ended up with 17 stitches in my head. She was straight round our flat the next day, seeing if I was alright (and, okay, yes, posing for photos for a press release, but that was my idea not hers). So I'm quite happy to pound the pavements for her tomorrow.

Tonight, though, is slob-out time…

Go see. Oh yes.