Douglas Adams, one of my favourite writers, once spoke about how much he loved deadlines. He said what he really loved about them was “the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”

I’ve always thought that was one of the funniest of his many funny lines (“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't” is my favourite) but I don’t believe I really understood it until the deadline for this blog went whooshing past last week.

So I’d like to start by giving a hat-tip to those journos, both here and elsewhere, who churn out material to order and on time. How do you live without the whooshing?

In the time that’s passed since I posted my previous blog into News Shopper’s digital letterbox so much has happened that events, dear boy, simply overtook me.

Over the previous couple of weeks we have seen the starting gun fire for the general election and some very real guns fire on the streets of Paris. Both events have had an effect on campaigning since we last spoke.

Starting with the official(ish) commencement of the general election campaign; it is an event that, depending on your feelings about the subject matter, fills you with either great excitement or a deep dread.

I’m quite an optimistic character and I genuinely enjoy campaigning. As I said in a previous blog, I believe that people are, on the whole, rather decent. The chance to listen to people and understand how they feel about issues is a great privilege and one of the things that brought me into politics.

I do appreciate that some people have a different view on this and regard the whole process as a waste of time. I can assure you that they express that feeling to us frontline politicos using various colorful metaphors. It would be inappropriate on this forum to relay verbatim some of the things that have been said to me in the past but, suffice to say, over the last few weeks my paternal lineage has been questioned more than once and one lady suggested I go away and do something to myself that I’m not sure is biologically possible.

The highlight this week was when a woman refused to let her Yorkshire terrier talk to me.

I don’t mind admitting that sometimes it can be quite hurtful but it is balanced by the many positive experiences that you have. It is, quite simply, the cost of doing business. At no point, as I engage in this bizarre political dialogue, do I ever feel threatened or unsafe. Sometimes people disagree with me, which is fine. We move on.

On January 7 two gunmen burst into the offices of Charlie Hebdo and slaughtered 12 human beings.

The reasons, cause, blame and counter accusations were the focus of media scribbling for the next week. Everybody had a view and I really won’t bore you with mine.

In the aftermath, as I knocked on doors and chatted with people, I got a real sense that emotions were raw. The views expressed were often passionate and in some cases frightening.

I understand feeling a desire for revenge. I, like many others, was on the Tube on the morning of 7/7. I remember how the network shut down and we on the carriage made our way to the surface to find there was a jammed mobile network and general confusion as to what had happened. I can remember walking towards Euston where my dad used to have a pub and experiencing those feelings of revenge. Somebody had tried to hurt us and we were going to get them back.

But it passed. Anger was a part of the healing process, not part of the solution. After the bombings in London we did some very dignified mourning, coughed and then carried on.

The French gathered in Paris to celebrate the lives of those lost and defend the right for freedom of expression. The country of Voltaire and Diderot refused to be quiet. On the very streets where the mercilessly satirical Encyclopédie was penned and published they queued to buy a publication that many of them do not read, simply to show they could. That edition of Charlie Hebdo had its largest ever run demonstrating, with delightful irony, the purpose of the attack was entirely counterproductive.

So, this weekend, if I knock on your door please feel free to say nasty things about politics, my party or my pointless hair. Refuse to let your pets talk to me or dump my leaflet straight in the bin. I won’t mind. I’ll be glad because I’ll still be safe and we’ll still be free.

#JesuisCharlie

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Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here