Tuesday, November 3: Election Day
At 4 p.m., I called my beleaguered manservant Roger in for a meeting. I told him I was not to disturb me on Election Night, unless I called to him to bring me food or beverage or needed him to clean up something I’ve spilled.
Election Night is a holy night in this household. I’ve watched every election unfold since the invention of television, sometimes live in studio. This led to my best-selling book, “The Calling Of The Election 1968,” and its hit sequel, “The Second Calling: 1972.”
But because this is a pandemic year, I’ve remained sequestered in my Mount Winchester Estate, even though I have herd immunity.
“It will be white wine and fish tonight, Roger,” I said to him. “Heavy food on Election Night is never a good idea, as it leads to gastrointestinal upset.”
“The turbot is already poaching, sir,” Roger said.
He is a good man, and hard to