There is a general election rapidly approaching, a mere two years after the last—the idea of them being fixed at every five years having been quickly made a mockery of when it suited the incumbent government—and the media is full of calls to make sure I’m registered^{* I am}, to make sure I go to the polls. Yet I can’t help but wonder why I should. Unlike the last general election where my vote might have counted, this time I moved to James Brokenshire‘s ultra safe¹ constituency of Old Bexley and Sidcup.