A couple of weeks ago, when it became clear that the election was going to become interesting, I decided to take today off in case I wanted to stay up to watch the results.

Just as well: I think I finally managed to catch about 20 minutes’ kip around 07:00, when the pace of results slowed down to a trickle, and the incessant revenance of Fiona Bruce sniggering about Nigel Farage’s aerial fiasco and looking studiously concerned about late-evening voters locked out in Sheffield and locked in in Lewisham began to wear down my resistance.

Absolute high point of the night was seeing Caroline Lucas win Brighton Pavilion, although I took a certain satisfaction in seeing that our local constituency didn’t fall to the Tories, despite my refusal to vote tactically for our lobby-fodder incumbent. (I know it was highly unlikely that mine would be the casting vote, but the thought of voting X and getting Y nags none the less.)

And now I’m sitting glued to the Grauniad waiting to hear the next nugget of news. I have a lovely bit of grouting waiting for me in the bathroom, and an idea for a clarinet sonata I really want to work on, but somehow reading about whether the SNP and Plaid Cymru are considering entering a coalition with Labour is much more pressing.

On which note, why am I wasting my time blogging when I could be reading more idle speculation? Nose back to the grindstone!