Election night in my mind requires pizza.
Preferably in large amounts, with a side of crisps (UK election after all), lots of fizzy pop (to produce burps disdainfully at the candidates we don't like) followed by ice cream straight from the tub.
However, there were no crisps nor ice cream and we ordered pizza not from Dominos as I preferred (trashy food for trashing, I say) but Pizza Express (the boy won't eat trashy pizza), where the manager serving us implied that we were a Conservative supporting, middle class family, having lively debates as the election results unfolded.
What they didn't realize was that neither of us voted Conservative and lively debate consisted of "quit hogging the spicy one".
The babe may look like the boy but she's definitely mine. You can tell by the way she gets all the meat off her lamb chops and shovels pizza in her face. I'm so proud.