Keeping an eye on US elections is a little like closely observing the school bully as he bowls into class in the morning. What kind of mood is he in? Am I going to get beat today? So whilst the jubilant masses, filled with hope and idealism, gathered on the grassy verges of Grant Park, Chicago and under the neon glare of Times Square, a bunch of pissed up Brits and a handful of ex pats went to election parties around England for a night of pseudo political waffling and crappy hot dogs. David Cano was among them. He spent most of his time at Yates’s in Leicester Square, a sleazy little joint tarted up with balloons and shitty plastic flags for the night. Here are the notes David managed to scribble and some more sober post-election elaboration.

10pm

(Notes) Arrive. Obama’s quote about being “cautiously optimistic” ringing in my ears. Drink two pints quickly. Have to find a Republican...

As soon as I walked in I knew I didn’t want to talk an Independent/Guardian reading, Obama loving, liberal douche. I wanted a paranoid, beer swilling southern xenophobe. Unfortunately, everyone I asked had no idea where to find one. They held an almost mythical status among the liberal douches, like some kind of horned beast from the underworld, threatening to slope in, confederate flag flapping and six shooters blazing, ready to ruin everyone’s fun.

10:35pm

Organiser announces that they’ll be showing coverage from Fox at one side of the bar. Everyone boos. They have a cocktail called the Obamarama!

10:45pm

Find someone who might be a Republican - bald head, red shirt. Scared to talk to him, looks like he might be psychotically violent. Need another drink...

11pm

Polls close in Kentucky and Indiana. Obama ahead. Everyone cheers.

At this point, perhaps spurned on by the copious amount of alcohol I was imbibing, I worked up the courage to speak to the bald guy in the red shirt. Turned out he WAS a republican after all. He was from New Jersey originally but in London for work. He thought McCain had more experience and that Obama was hyped up, but added: “Most politicians are shameless cock suckers who should have no business running people’s lives.” Yay! I spent the next hour working hard to drink myself in to a stupor.

12am

Polls close in Florida and Virginia, more cheers.

The sauce was really starting to course through my veins now and, looking around, I wasn’t the only one. I found my second republican of the night - a sweet middle aged Texan called Peggy who was swaying from side to side. “McCain stands for freedom, values; the American dream,” she slurred, her eyes glazing over with what was either patriotism or extreme intoxication. I couldn’t really tell, I was having a hard time focusing on her face. “Obama’s gonna shatter my dream,” she went on. “I don’t wanna a socialist president. Socialism is disgusting; if he wins I’ll move to Mexico.” Oh, Peggy.

1am

BBC cameras here, trying to get in to the shot...

1:05am

Didn’t get into the shot.

1:10am

They have Pussy here!

I was somewhat alarmed when the barman suggested I try a new energy drink called Pussy. I thought I’d misheard him but then he showed me the can and suddenly it was like this heavenly light was shining on me. I spent much of the next hour thrusting the can in people’s faces and asking them to lick my Pussy.

1:20am

That Sikh comedian is here, must ask him to try my pussy.

That Sikh comedian happened to be Hardeep Singh Kohli who was there filming for BBC’s  The One Show. When I saw him standing alone by the bar asking for a glass of water, I knew I had to seize my chance. I marched straight up to him, stumbling only slightly, presented my can to him and asked if he’d like some of my sweet, sweet pussy. Ever the stalwart professional, he glanced at me contemptuously and said: “No thanks, I’m not really into pussy.” Oh the laughs.

1:40am

Pussy jokes still not getting old.

1:58am

People getting annoyed, don’t think they like the Pussy jokes anymore.

2am

(Unintelligible scribbling)... really need a falafel. Everyone’s screaming.

It was around this time that I couldn’t help but notice that people were getting quite excited. In front of one of the screens, some guy in an Obama t-shirt was throwing himself on the floor in ecstasy and doing these weird convulsions like he was having some sort of victory seizure.

2:45am

Meet a drug dealer from Ireland, he supports Obama.

3:00am

Everyone’s leaving. Is it over?

4am

Fox calls it. Obama wins!

As my inebriation reached its glorious apex, I noticed that most people had left, including the spazmodic victory man. I heard a rowdy cheer from some stragglers and made my way to a TV screen. And there it was. All over Fox news. “Obama elected president.” I had to steady myself with one hand on a chair. The screen was flickering in front of me and my wobbly legs threatened to give way. But the words, they stood clear and strong. “Obama,” I mouthed, like I was whispering sweet nothings to a loved one, “elected president.” I could barely contain my elation. I ran around the bar until I found an “Obama/Biden” poster and ripped it off the wall. He did it. He fucking won.