Recent connections might not know that I spent nearly 25 years in frontline politics – longer, in fact, than the span of my adult life. I stood for election four times, winning twice and losing twice.

Even now, having stepped away from politics two years ago, election day still stirs the blood.

I think it’s because elections are one of the great levellers of democratic life. Everyone gets the same opportunity: to walk down to the polling station, pick up that stubby little pencil, and have their say on how they want to be governed.

For candidates, though, polling day is something else entirely.

My final campaign was for the London Assembly in 2021, after the election had been delayed for a year because of COVID. It was an extraordinarily intense race across a constituency larger than Seattle, stretching across south west London.

Polling day began before 5am and ended long after dark. The day was spent criss-crossing the constituency, checking in with volunteers, visiting polling stations, speaking to campaign teams, solving problems, and trying to squeeze out every last vote. By that point, we had already poured two years of work into the campaign.

Then came the waiting.

The votes for my race were not counted until Saturday. Looking back through my photos, it seems I spent Friday pottering around the garden. I have almost no memory of it at all.

The count itself took place at London’s Olympia conference centre on a vast scale. Assembly votes are counted electronically, with live results displayed on giant updating bar charts. Early in the day the lead changed constantly, but by late afternoon I had edged narrowly ahead.

At 90% counted, the public updates stopped.

I remember staring at the screen trying to calculate whether there was still any plausible path left for the other candidates. I thought we had probably done enough – but I wasn’t certain.

Eventually came the official result: victory, with just 31.9% of the vote in an exceptionally divided constituency.

Then comes one of the stranger rituals in public life: candidates climb onto a stage, pretend to look surprised, and deliver a speech.

I had prepared absolutely nothing.

So I simply spoke from the heart.

Because being elected to public office is – or should be – a moment of humility more than triumph. You are suddenly entrusted with responsibility not only towards the people who voted for you, but towards everyone you represent.

That was certainly how I felt joining the leadership of a city as large and complex as London.

And in many ways, election night is only the beginning. If you are fortunate enough to win, an entire term stretches ahead of you – full of pressure, opportunity, difficult decisions, and moments that test your character.

Politics taught me a great deal about leadership, communication, public speaking, media handling, and how people respond under pressure. Those lessons continue to shape the work I do today.

If you are standing for office – or preparing for any high-pressure public-facing role – and would like support with speaking, communications, presentation, or speechwriting, feel free to get in touch.