Looking back, it’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment I found myself back in the tank. I’ve spent much of the last two years in despair at Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership of the Labour Party, an opinion that came very close to costing me friends. And at the start of the election campaign, I was seriously considering voting Lib Dem, on the grounds that I really, really hate Brexit.
But then something shifted: I decided, grudgingly, to vote Labour. And as the weeks went on, and the manifestos appeared, that turned, gradually, imperceptibly, into something resembling enthusiasm. My spirits soared every time YouGov put out a poll, and I started to notice my hackles rising when anyone suggested Corbyn wasn’t up to the job, despite the fact that as recently as April I was saying the exact same thing myself.
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