There is no practical reason not to hold an election now. Even so, it should be postponed

MATTHEW PARRIS

It is a question not of feasibility but of respect. The reason Tony Blair should even now reconsider his determination to call a general election a year early has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not it would be practical to hold one now.

Of course it would: perfectly practical. Even in the most rural parts of England like my own, the Peak District of Derbyshire, most addresses remain canvassable. Almost everyone lives in towns or villages, and these are not closed. Relative to the whole population, only a handful of people live on farms, and they would hardly notice the minor restriction to their democratic rights involved in not receiving a string of hopeful parliamentary candidates at their door. Nor, anyway, is it true that most candidates have time to canvass most farms at election time.

As for voting, relatively few farmers have barricaded themselves in, or are likely to. There will be some who think it communityminded not to make unnecessary journeys off their land, but such people can easily vote by post.

The argument that teams of activists, ministers and party spokesmen, flying around in helicopters and touring the kingdom in election `battlebuses' with their accompanying media troupes, could add more than a fraction of a fraction of a per cent to the total number of journeys made by the population as a whole is simply fatuous. At any given moment in modern Britain, millions of people and hundreds of millions of tons of goods are hurtling around the country in millions of cars, lorries, trains, buses and planes. I see no likelihood that, however bad this epidemic of foot-and-mouth disease becomes, the government would order a general curfew over the next few weeks.

The argument that in a crisis ministers ought to be at their desks in Whitehall, concentrating on the job of handling it, has more weight, but not as much as at first appears. It is civil servants, not politicians, who do most of the planning; who formulate recommendations to ministers, and arrange for implementation. The task of ministers is mostly to say yea or nay, and those who need the time to study problems hardest can easily be excused normal election duties. Everybody would understand why Nick Brown was not on the doorstep much; and the Prime Minister has already decided that in this campaign he wants to be back in London every night. As for Parliament as a body, in a real crisis backbench MPs can only gawp. From the point of view of the usefulness of the legislature, a war, epidemic or national emergency is rather a good time to hold an election, for there's nothing for our tribunes to do at Westminster.

There is, in short, no good reason why a general election cannot be held in circumstances of a few limited restrictions placed on the movement of a limited number of people and vehicles; nor any overwhelming argument why in troubled times the business of competent public administration cannot be carried on without the presence in London of most politicians for most of the time.

So why am I sure that Tony Blair will be making a serious mistake if, as expected, he calls the election now?

The reason is simple, and, if you suggest it in any pub, kitchen or village hall outside the major conurbations of England and Wales, you will meet warm and immediate support. It is that to hold an election now is insulting.

It would be like stopping off at the supermarket en route to the funeral of a close relation. There's no practical reason at all why one shouldn't; indeed, if one is running short of soup or soap-powder, and Sainsbury's is directly on the way to the Chapel of Rest, a short interruption to the solemn journey makes eminent sense. The checkout lady is unlikely to object to the black tie, and there's easily space for a box of Persil next to the wreaths on the car's back shelf. So why not?

But you just don't. To do so would be, not impractical, but inappropriate. The conjunction of these tasks at this time is disrespectful to the moment. A funeral is not only about the disposing of a body, but also about making a show: a show of sympathy for the bereaved.

In many parts of rural Britain now, as a wet March wind blows across empty fields, there is a sense of bereavement, of anguish, and of anxiety. This has spread in some degree to almost everyone outside the big towns and cities. If the countryside has been closed, and if those who keep it are in despair, and those who visit it have stopped coming, and nobody knows what is going to happen next, then something is required of politicians beyond their best endeavours to remedy the situation. A show of sympathy is required, a raising of the hat.

To delay the general election would be precisely that: an acknowledgment of loss, a courteous gesture by the political class. It wouldn't alter the result, nor would it be of the least practical help to those to whom the politicians had deferred, but in rural England, which is most of England, it would be greatly appreciated. And the corollary is true: a kicking aside of the courtesies by a Prime Minister intent on seizing what he has calculated to be political advantage will not cause rioting outside village pubs, but a small and bitter nod of confirmation, as when another acts as expected but not as hoped for.

I am genuinely uncertain whether New Labour know that. The word 'empathy' has been Californianised almost to the point of uselessness, as has the idea of 'feeling for' people, of 'feeling their pain' — yet it has not quite lost its savour. When David Blunkett, the Education Secretary, lashed out so astonishingly bitterly against farmers last year, it was notable where he chose to root his complaint: in their fathers' lack of sympathy (or so he assumed) for miners and steelworkers whose livelihoods had been crushed in the Thatcher years.

I was an MP during those years. I do not know whether Mrs Thatcher felt deep personal sorrow about those workers' fates, but I know that, if she did, she failed to convey it. That impression of a failure of sympathy on the Tories' part for the victims of our policies did more to damage us than the policies themselves. Now Mr Blair looks like making the same mistake.

It can be remarkably difficult for politicians to make a proper show of sympathy; it looks like crocodile tears. But this week presents Tony Blair with a rare chance to go the extra mile in a way which will be accepted as genuine. This almost formal mark of respect for rural England would not be unnoticed. The Prime Minister should postpone the election not because he needs to, but because he can.

Matthew Parris is parliamentary sketchwriter and a columnist of the Times.