I tried to do the middle-aged cynic bit. Because it’s a part I like to play and because it keeps me safe. That way you don’t get disappointed.
But there was no disappointment the morning after the election. Watching the news, I allowed myself for a little while to be moved. It was Jesse Jackson’s tears that finally did it.
It felt like 1997 again.
Maybe that’s my reason to be cynical. Because after the euphoria of that May night (which will always be a treasured memory, regardless of what came afterwards) the disappointment was worse. What can you say about Blair? ‘He’s not the messiah: he’s a very naughty boy.’
The expectations on Obama are even greater. I’m trying not to hope. I wish I could.