The room where it happens My husband is a political animal. It’s how he’s built. Addicted to the news and likely to have strong opinions on issues I haven’t even heard of, election day sees George outside our local primary school handing out how-to-vote cards, chatting happily to the volunteers from rival parties and munching away on a democracy sausage. George is actively involved in a political party at the grassroots level. It’s not something I take much interest in, except that it gives my husband joy. But last year, things were different. In what was quite possibly some new fo...