I read this on David Boyle's blog, with the same title. He took it it a very thoughtful direction about authenticity reacting to loss. I'm not as clever or as thoughtful as he is, so started thinking about it more literally, and here you have it: the election results, and their aftermath, explained in terms of being hit by a van:
Stage one (Thursday night, Friday): doing my thing, crossing the road. 10pm exactly, turn around and... holy crap, bright lights approaching. BAM! Pain, misery, suffering, I must be dead.
Stage two (Saturday, Sunday): I blearily open my eyes and realise that... I'm alive! Adrenaline surges through my body. Since I've survived such a horrendous blow – I feel more alive and active than ever. I want to sing and dance. And better yet – other people, some old friends, some new people, have come to help me to my feet again. The world is a wonderful place because despite it all, I'm alive.
Stage three (Monday): All the people who helped me up. I'm still so happy to see them, and I'm still happy to be alive. But the adrenaline and the oh-my-God-I'm-alive joy are wearing off, and I'm starting to feel the pain, realise I've broken some bones and probably done all sorts of other damage, and it's going to be a long, hard road back to recovery.
Stage four (late Monday): I hear a siren in the distance. It's the ambulance coming to collect me. Is it a Tim-shaped driver, or a Norman-shaped driver?
Either way, they'll take me to the hospital and with good luck and the help of all my old and new friends, I'll be out eventually. And I'll be stronger and wiser than I was before.
And once I'm out, I'll start a community campaign for a pedestrian crossing. Because I'm a Liberal, and that's what we do.