My companion slamming on the brakes to avoid turning an errant lamb into jellymeat as we travelled to a Tapanui family gathering was the most heart-stopping event of election night for me.
As we later listened to the radio coverage on our way home, where the best bit was the description of wily old Winston and the panting media throng failing to go anywhere in a lift, I couldn't help thinking of how different it was from the last time I had followed an election by car radio.
That was 1972. Dad had come to pick me up from the Picton ferry after the completion of my journalism course in Wellington. On the way home to the farm, enduring intermittent radio reception, we eventually learned Labour had trounced National. At 17, I was too young to vote, but Dad was thrilled. He'd been waiting since 1960.
The party leaders were Norman Kirk for Labour and National's Jack Marshall, who had replaced Keith Holyoake earlier in the year. Marshall was often referred to as Gentleman Jack but always called Daddy Marshall by my father - a moniker which was disparaging but also almost affectionate. It is interesting to note that after that thumping, Marshall remained as leader until mid-1974, something which would be unheard of in the modern era. (Dad had no affection for new leader Rob Muldoon, who was only ever referred to as Piggy.)
The turnout in the '72 election was 89.1%, a far cry from the weekend's 68% showing.
Why have we become so hopeless at voting? Is it because many of us can't see campaigns as having anything to do with reality?
Watching politicians cuddling dogs, making babies cry, interrupting people's work to make small talk and smile, smile, smile, night after night on television could be part of it. What would happen if journalists decided this rubbish wasn't newsworthy and stopped meekly covering it? Would voters be more or less informed?
We get captured by the trite and the trivial because often it seems we are offered little else.
It is completely understandable that reporters assigned to this endless yawn were captivated by the Johns' cup of tea saga. But having been invited to witness this event in the first place, why did they obligingly retreat to press their noses to the window when the PM decided they should? And what were the security men thinking, not noticing that a bag had been left on the table between the tea-supping pals? What if it had been a bomb?
Is it just me, or is Banksy trying to do a Woody Allen impersonation?
I find myself screaming "Go and make a movie, John, and please make it funny" whenever I see him peering at a reporter through those owlish glasses.
Maybe the persona is a suitable one - I find Woody and John equally baffling.
I am as susceptible to being captivated by trivia as the next person - when I heard the Keys had ordered home delivered pizza on election night, I wondered what flavour it was and whether John would tip the delivery guy.
I'm probably showing my age, but I miss the excitement and drama of the large public meetings major leaders used to hold.
Highly controlled television debates where there is no heckling are not the same. They are seldom illuminating and playing bits of them repeatedly, as they are analysed to death, probably makes many people see them as more important than they really are.
Winston has certainly recognised the power of public meetings, particularly for the over 65s, and his series of them around the country no doubt helped him considerably.
Perhaps all the stage management has gone too far and rather than keeping voters interested, it makes them feel they are being treated like idiots.
The calculated drip-feeding of policy, even extending into the last week of the campaign, is a nonsense parties should not be allowed to get away with.
What about a rule ensuring parties must front up with their policies at least a month away from an election?
And am I the only one who gets poll fatigue?
Does the frequency of poll reports lull some voters into thinking the outcome of the election is a foregone conclusion, particularly if the major parties are a long way apart? If they would be inclined to vote against the predicted result, do some people think it is pointless and just not bother?
I should be agonising over all these things, but my trivial mind strays to the fate of that lamb. Did it find its way safely back to the flock? Should we have tried to catch it and throw it over the fence? Is there an election analogy there struggling to get out? I'm sure Dad would have had an opinion on that.
• Elspeth McLean is a Dunedin writer.
