Brring brring … it’s the Lib Dems on the phone, ringing to see if I’ve noticed there’s a mayorial election going on. I have, as it happens, and I even toyed with the idea of getting myself a postal vote so I could still participate, seeing as my local polling station will be inconveniently a few hundred miles away on the big day. After all, there’s a frighteningly good chance that London could be be in the charge of a blithering idiot* this time next week. But voting for mayor from the safety of Scotland seems a little unfair - no representation without taxation and all that. So I told the nice young man I was moving to Scotland and wouldn’t be taking part. ‘Had enough of it, have you?’ He said. ‘Scotland. Lucky you.’ It seems even the pols are weary of the rat race these days.

Then I open the paper to read Ian Jack inciting Londoners to head for Scotland if Boris wins, or maybe even if he doesn’t. Nice as it is to actually be ahead of a trend for once, I wish he’d kept schtum. If everyone who I’ve told we’re moving, and who got a wistful expression in their eyes at the thought of it, actually upped sticks and moved, we could have a problem. We’re moving to get away from it all, not bring it all with us.

*I leave it up to you to decide which one. Literally, if you live in London.