Polling Doubts and Rubbish Bags

Just a few more days, and the USA's long national nightmare may be laid to rest. I'm cautiously optimistic, although I'm taking note of Michael Moore's warning that the polls aren't correct and Biden is not as far ahead as everyone thinks. I think that's entirely plausible -- many Trump voters are skeptical and don't like or don't trust media or pollsters. I think it's likely that they refuse to talk to pollsters or outright lie about their voting intentions. Dave argues that pollsters have built ways to detect those lies into the polls, but I'm still skeptical.

What happens if, say, a pollster calls ten people, and five of them are Trump voters, but they all hang up without talking to the pollster. The five Biden voters, meanwhile, are happy to talk. Does that mean the poll's result is 100 percent for Biden? I'm sure it's not that simple, but how does that work? Maybe if there's a large number of hangups that widens the margin of error.

I think if the polls prove to be off like they were in 2016, it could signal the death of political polling. What's the point if they can't get an accurate result? Not to mention it will mean another four years of inane blustering from the overly bronzed commander-in-chief -- which I keep telling myself we could survive, but ugh.

At any rate, the bottom line is, if  you're an American voter, GO VOTE!

Meanwhile, in the UK, the BBC has told its journalists that they should avoid marching or demonstrating for controversial causes -- an edict that some say could prevent people from joining LGBTQ Pride marches. This seems ridiculous to me. When I worked at The New York Times, there was a similar rule about expressing overtly political opinions, and that makes sense. But marches that centered on identity as opposed to politics were fine, even if some of the other participants expressed political views. There was no prohibition against the Pride march.

Further evidence that the time change has screwed up our internal clocks -- Dave had dinner ready last night at 5:30 p.m.! I was like, "I can't eat spaghetti NOW!" It reminded me of that Seinfeld episode about the early bird special -- that's exactly how I felt. But eventually I talked my stomach into it.

On my early-morning walk with Olga...

Mmmmmmm...garbage! Don't worry -- she didn't eat any of it, though I'm sure she would if I allowed her to. She insists on checking out every bag we pass. For me, a walk is a nice opportunity to get some fresh air and enjoy the scenery. For Olga, it's a chance to enthusiastically bury her nose in the neighborhood rubbish.

(Top photo: A colorful mushroom on Hampstead Heath.)