Shadowing a Labour Candidate

9:30 am on a cold spring morning in April, and I’m heading towards the office of the Ipswich Labour Party.
On arrival of the office I am introduced to the team behind Chris Mole, including his secretaries, and his agent Bill Knowles. However, Mr Mole is absent, and his whereabouts are unknown to everyone, including his agent.
The imaginative plans for the day are already cancelled, because Mole is busy preparing for a local Hustings Meeting in the evening. I am told the five leaders of the main local parties will be there having a debate, but ‘not riff raff like the BNP’ I am assured by his agent, who cuts the figure of a friendly Grandfather, and speaks with a soft tone. There is a team of about seven or eight seemingly enthusiastic middle-to- old aged people working on leaflets, and phone canvassing in the office. The atmosphere is friendly but focussed.

It is five sweaty hours before a flustered looking Mr Mole walks into the office, wearing a striped suit which wouldn’t look out of place in big city business, and spectacles with distinguished red frames.
In his solicitor-like office he introduces himself politely, and recommends I spend some time with him the following day. He speaks calmly, but comes across as a man pressure.

On the recommendation of the councillor I attend the Hustings Meeting, and on the journey there I am told how he quite often has the tendency to get flustered and ‘ramble’ at times and is out of his comfort zone in these situations. We approach the venue of the Meeting, an ageing church near the Town Centre, which is filled with local people, who appear to dress a generation or two behind normality.
Mole sits back in his seat with his arms folded, and looks up at the traditional dark wooden ceiling of the church. He has an aura of power about him, which his counterparts who are all smaller physically smaller don’t possess.
Mole often stutters when trying to get his point across, and doesn’t smile once during the debate, which quickly becomes a tedious affair. Mole often seems irritated by his counterparts, which leads to more arm crossing and ceiling staring.

The following day, and there is more of a buzz around the office. Joan Ruddock, minister for climate is due to visit the town. As Mr Mole waits outside the dated train station for his guest, he takes a glance at my newspaper, and humorously questions a headline relating to the growing popularity of Nick Clegg. He stands with his hands behind his overcoat covered back and paces the meeting area of the station. On the arrival of Mrs Ruddock, Mole rushes over to say his greetings, and looks much like a man greeting a close friend. He then cheerfully introduces myself and three of his councillors to the guest, but not before double checking the name of his shadowing journalist first!
We then rush into cars, (Ruddock and Mole going into the newest car) and drive to Ipswich furniture project, a run down warehouse where they refurnish and recycle second hand furniture. Mrs Ruddock with her designer red bag and shoes combination looks somewhat out of place amongst the recycled sofa’s and washing machines. However Mole looks alarmingly comfortable in this environment, and listens intently to the man walking us around the tatty site, and appears to have plenty to say about the project, and appears genuinely interested in the technical side. Mole even spends time chatting to workers about the manual side of the project which appears to impress his guest.

The cars then speed off to a nearby Primary School to do some canvassing at the school gates. Labour rosettes are distributed keenly by a councillor, and Mr Mole is keen that all of us have one. Whilst waiting for the canvassing to begin Mole turns his attentions to Mrs Ruddock, and quizzes her on her local constituency. Once again he adopts the confident, knowledgeable tone which was apparent at the furniture project, but lacking at the Hustings meeting where he appeared an anxious figure.

When handing out the literature, Mr Mole cuts a polite and enthusiastic figure, but despite being hurried, appears unflustered. Standing by the school gates on a bright but chilly April afternoon, Mole keenly shakes hands with electors of which he is familiar with, and seemingly takes the occasional cold-shoulder treatment in his stride. A teacher from the school comes out briefly for a chat, and Mr Mole laughs off suggestions of teachers getting pay-rises.
Mr Mole is then confronted by the mother of a pupil, who complains about the schools bullying policy. Mole appears caring, and humble but explains there isn’t a lot he can do and refers her to a school governor, who just so happens to be his agent!

Later as the sky goes from blue to grey, and the rush hour traffic begins to materialise, Mr Mole, and 6 of his councillors make their way to North Ipswich for some canvassing. Mole frequently waits at the gates of the front gardens, and waits to be invited to speak to the tenants of each house, and appears only keen to speak to people who want to listen. On the walk I quiz Mr Mole on the previous nights events of which he admits were a ‘nightmare’. He also agrees that he is far more comfortable talking to the public privately than in debates.
Mole then finds himself in a 15 minute ‘doorstop debate’ in which he argues the case for Labour party on a national basis. Mole exclaims that it was ‘an interesting discussion’ of which he ‘thoroughly enjoyed’, but concedes he may not have done enough to win the vote of that elector.
Soon after, I am being driven home by a middle-aged labour councillor, who in his tobacco smell ridden car concedes that Labour’s hold of Ipswich may be about to come to an end.