I’m guessing the results are in now.

So will I be painting my fingernails red or blue this evening?

Whoever wins, I’ll be using it as an excuse to indulge in a celebratory/consolation glass of prosecco.

As you have probably guessed I’m not what one would call politically-minded.

The closest I get to a serious vote is texting Britain’s Got Talent.

Usually it’s to vote for a dog that’s whizzing about in a sequin waistcoat with a stage name like Mr Jazzy Paws or something.

I stay away from politics for the good of my health.

My brain would no doubt implode if I tried to decipher a manifesto.

Plus, I’ve already been involved with “playground politics” (if you could call it that) and, I’m afraid, it’s scarred me for life.

When I was younger I wasn’t what you would call attractive. Very hard to believe, I know, but bear with me.

I was the chubby kid. I was the weird kid who hung out with other weird kids doing weird stuff and was generally WEIRD.

Of course I thought I was the bee’s knees.

I was extremely attached to my My Little Pony ‘gothed up’ backpack and white foundation.

Strange that all those years ago I was trying to make my skin look more ghostly and now I’m bathing in bottles of St Tropez every night just to look half alive.

Anyway, being the outsider was always bad at school, particularly during PE.

They would line everyone up and two captains, always the most popular and athletic girls, would take turns choosing who they wanted on their hockey team.

Guaranteed it was always the seriously asthmatic, the comatose and yours truly left at the end to be picked.

I swear Hitler probably would’ve been picked before me.

In an attempt to “campaign” I would indulge in some imaginary hockey moves, with the intention of showing off my (lack of) skills.

With hindsight this was a faux pas on my part – I must’ve looked demented and achieved nothing other than demonstrating how athletically and mentally challenged I really was.

I can remember once I volunteered to be the class representative in my form group. We weren’t forced to prepare a manifesto or anything, but the candidates gave a quick speech addressing why they would be most suitable then left the room whilst the other kids voted.

I got one vote. I got one vote from my best mate, a fellow wannabe-goth and My Little Pony enthusiast.

To add insult to injury she clapped and cheered when it was announced that I had only won the confidence of one other class-mate.

I’m sure she was just trying to be supportive, but in reality she highlighted my unpopularity further and triggered an epidemic of contagious laughter.

So you must forgive me if I fail to get excited about the General Election.

In truth it brings back too many bad memories. I don’t want to vote for one of the others because I don’t want to make anyone the “Shelley”.

Childish and ignorant, you say? Tell that to the face-painted girl rocking backwards and forwards in the corner with the My Little Pony bag.

I think I’ll stick to voting on issues that I understand and don’t cause nightmares. Mr Jazzy Paws, this vote is for you.