Eastleigh by-election sketch: Politicians scrap in the street but voters don't care Walls painted a sickly hospital-green, the bleary glare of strip lights, posters advertising body waxes and children's gymnastic classes ... When aspiring statesmen dream, this probably isn't the sort of setting they visualise for their first great electoral triumph. But politics - for all its promise of media billionaires' yachts and taxpayer-funded moat-cleaning - is not a glamorous business. And so it came to pass that the most frenziedly publicised by-election for 30 years, this historic clash of Coalition partners and Eurosceptic upstarts, was set to reach its climax in the small hours on a squash court in a suburban leisure centre. At a quarter past 10 the count began. Party aides passed the time by casually talking down their respective candidates' chances. No, we're not going to win. God, no. I suppose from their point of view that sort of talk must have felt strangely therapeutic, after weeks of trying to convince voters, journalists and themselves that their candidate was a dead cert to win. Only the Lib Dems remained confident. Meanwhile, journalists and photographers hung around nervously wondering whether, if the result threw up a shock, there would be a repeat of the bizarre scenes of the night before. Lined up outside the Lib Dems' campaign HQ, waiting for Nick Clegg to emerge, the press had suddenly been rushed by a hollering mob of Lib Dem activists waving placards. By the time the photographers recovered, Mr Clegg had gone. Still, there was one thing everyone could be grateful for: at last the Eastleigh by-election was staggering to an end. Polling day offered no relief from the postal bombardment. Activists from each of the main parties rose at 4.30am to carry out what they called "the dawn raid": delivering leaflets to supporters' houses reminding them it was polling day. As if one reminder weren't enough, activists returned later in the day to knock on doors. This mission is known as "getting out the vote," or, as activists airily abbreviate it, "GOTV." "Quick coffee, then let's GOTV." But, in the end, it was hard to avoid the impression that the by-election had caused rather more excitement among activists and the visiting media than among voters. Some locals had barely known who the main candidates were. Outside a polling station I asked a man in a flat cap for his prediction. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I reckon that Ukip feller might win it." The Ukip feller was Diane James.