As the voting got under way, CHRIS TITLEY watched democracy getting down to work

DEMOCRACY is a deeply solemn business. I was saying as much to the York candidate in the quiff and the yellow teddy boy jacket sporting two dozen badges, one of them reading "Ban Badges". You've guessed it: Hugh Bayley.

No, I'm kidding of course. It was Eddie Vee, the city's Monster Raving Loony hopeful. And Eddie was hopeful. With a 20 quid bet at 20-1 on him polling 500 votes or more, he was quietly confident of making a killing.

Would he spend his winnings on taking the long-suffering Mrs Loony and the little loonies on a family holiday? No, he said. It's going behind the bar for a drunken night out.

We could have done with a little more party spirit at the Barbican early this morning. The mood was subdued, very different to the excitement of 1997.

Anyone popping in from the Outer Hebrides would soon have guessed who each of the candidates represented. The earnest looking young man carrying a yellow box file and pencil had to be the Liberal Democrat (Andrew Waller). The grim-faced chap pacing around in his pin-striped suit: there's your Tory (Michael McIntyre).

The bearded fellow in a green jacket, green shirt, green cotton trousers and green shoes was not hiding his political colours under an organically grown bushel (this was Green Party candidate Bill Shaw).

The chap not here yet, apparently in hiding until his victory speech was imminent owing to a fear of being mobbed by delighted voters: that'll be sitting Labour MP Hugh Bayley.

And then there was Eddie with his two supporters, one in stripy top hat, the other sporting bunny ears. (The couple had scrapped the idea of coming as a pantomime horse as the suit was too smelly.)

The count itself is hypnotic. Fifty or more counters sit at trestle tables shuffling the ballot papers into piles of 50. In this computer age, it is a strangely heart-warming sight. No worries here about pregnant chads or whatever held up the Florida poll. For some reason, the papers were wheeled around the hall in supermarket trolleys. Democracy: brought to you by Sainsbury's.

Meanwhile, Socialist Alliance candidate Frank Ormston was reflecting on his first campaign. "It's been very new and exciting for everybody in our campaign and certainly for me," he said.

Despite the low turnout, he found little evidence of apathy. "People are angry, not apathetic," he said. "People told me they were not going to vote and then gave me 30 reasons why not."

The highlight of Frank's campaign? Running down the platform of York railway station with a 15ft banner calling for rail re-nationalisation. "We were politely asked to leave because we hadn't considered the safety implications."

His greatest disappointment was being confined to his bed by illness for two weeks of the campaign. Mind you, that may not have been an entirely bad thing: nine of his canvassers were bitten by dogs.

The result was due. The tension didn't mount. Could there ever be a venue more redolent of York's history than the Barbican? Those ancient breeze blocks, that floor made shiny by countless badminton plimsolls.

As the candidates waited for the Lord Mayor to crown Hugh the victor, I slipped away. There was more meaty political fare up the road.

A FULL moon lit the way up the A19 to Northallerton. I arrived at another nondescript civic leisure centre, this one belonging to Hambleton Council, but a very different scene confronted me.

Camera crews were crammed into every nook and cranny. There were staff from at least half a dozen BBC outlets alone. Huw Edwards, star of the Six O'Clock News, was there, flattening his hair and talking into a very dinky mobile phone.

It would have been nice for Vale of York Tory candidate Anne McIntosh to imagine that the crowd had come to see her victory. But the press was gathered to corner a loser, not hail a winner. And a great kerfuffle among the TV crews announced the arrival of Tory leader William Hague.

He strode in grinning, his wife Ffion by his shoulder, the position she has wordlessly occupied for the past four weeks.

As they entered the main hall, hordes of cameramen scrambled over a ledge, flouting a sign saying: "Do not attempt to stand or sit on this ledge."

Under the glare of the TV lights, Mr Hague looked pale and tired; his assistant Seb Coe looked rough and unready.

Then the Tory leader was sidelined, not for the first time today, as he watched the declaration of the Vale of York result.

Little did we know he would resign as Tory leader only hours later.

Anne, looking demure in a little black dress, took the microphone in front of a backdrop advertising Herriot Country to thank voters for her increased majority.

"Normal service has been resumed," she said. That's right: Labour triumphant and the Tories nowhere.

She said her Labour opponent had described her in campaign literature as "Vitriolic and aggressive". Looking towards her leader, she added: "So William, I have a lot to live up to in the House of Commons." He smiled a strained smile.

All the candidates wanted their say, and the UK Independence party candidate wanted to say the most, despite polling the fewest votes. A friend, he told no one in particular, said he should be Prime Minister. The expected laugh never came.

Turning to the Tory leader, he said: "I wish it were you, William, who was Prime Minister, I really do."

Did I imagine it, or did Mr Hague's jaw clench?

Finally it was his turn on the podium. His speech was typically concise and gracious. It was a great honour to be Richmond MP he said: "It means a great deal to Ffion and me". Great attention needed to be paid to the deepening problems in rural Britain, he added.

"There's no doubt that the results across the country are deeply disappointing for my party," he acknowledged, before wishing the new New Labour Government well.

The fact that millions of people "have been reluctant, or have refused to participate in this election" was worrying.

"Our party must review, redouble and intensify our efforts to provide an alternative government in the future. I will set out my views later this morning on how that process will begin."

Ffion was beginning to look distinctly tearful as her husband stepped back to applause. Outside a new day had dawned. William Hague had hoped it would be the dawn of his premiership, a thought that had to go through his mind as he disappeared into a scrum of well-wishers.

Updated: 10:11 Friday, June 08, 2001