Vile Tory propaganda was on my mind as I trudged up Crow Hill in a state of exhaustion. It was three on a Friday afternoon. Would I ever finish my last minute canvass for postal voters or would I collapse first?

The non-stop campaigning was just one reason I felt so tired. The vile propaganda in Tory leaflets was also getting to me.

The night before our core team met for an after-canvas drink in the Market Tavern.

The consensus was that the campaign was going well. @Demsburybess had taken charge of design, producing a clean, modern look to my Focus newsletters. It stood out from the cluttered old-fashioned design used by the Tories. The feedback on the doorsteps has been fantastic. So many people have told me they have read it. They tell me they love its positive messages.

Melissa has recovered from her early resentment of @Demsburybess. She has taken charge of marshalling the deliverers and canvassers. The late arrival of new postal vote data would have caused me to panic, but Melissa was taking it all in her stride.

But the postal canvass is only going half well. We are learning too late that many postal voters are away working or holidaying for long periods. We are struggling to find them at home. At least we have we have delivered individual letters to every postal voter – except for one late registration.

We mulled this over before talking about the way the Tories are canvassing. @Demsburybess rubbished a Tory leaflet that claimed that all the Lib Dems do is tell “wicked lies”. She announced rather too loudly that: “They are aloof on the doorsteps and they can’t write for England.”

“Who’s that then?” a voice said from behind us. We all turned to see Mad Max, my Tory rival grinning from ear to ear. He had crept over and, not for the first time, was eavesdropping!

Before I could say a word – and some rather unpleasant comments had come into my mind – he handed over a leaflet. “It’s the latest from me. You’ll enjoy it Libby” he said with his familiar air of nice nastiness. And with than he marched back to the bar.

The A4 flyer was nothing other than an attack on me – though I was not mentioned by name. It was full of clipped military phrases. Mad Max gloated about how much the Tories have achieved for Libbyshire but was strangely silent about what he had done for Demsbury. His flyer claimed that the other candidates – there is only me and a Green standing – are “ill equipped” to be a councillor. He said that Demsbury needs someone “fighting fit” to defend its interests. It was accompanied by a photo of him crossing the finish line of the Demsbury half marathon.

Mel was outraged. I was very upset. I am always self-conscious about being a bit on the fat side and in much need of regular sessions in the gym. It hurt.

Max kept glancing over from the bar with a barely supressed grin. He was like a cat, waiting for his prey to make a move.

Action had to be taken, whatever the risks.

I walked to the bar. “Thanks for the leaflet Max. I’d like to give you a copy of mine, but we’ve none here at present. They have been in such demand. But there is one on the wall.”

I pointed to the back of bar, where the landlord had been posting up my leaflets.

As I walked back to the table, Max glared at the wall. He flushed red at the sight of my calling card and every Focus pinned to the wall. How had he not noticed this before? He poured his drink down his throat and left. There was much laughter as he hurried through the door. This is my pub when it comes to votes!

But I can’t deny that the constant campaigning and the vile attacks are tiring me out.

As I wheezed up Crow Hill the next day, Max’s jibes about me not being fit began to rankle.

The town bus pulled up alongside me blocking the narrow street.

“Hey Libby,” the driver called. “Want a lift to the top?”

I climbed thankfully onto the platform.

“Vote Libby Local!” the driver shouted to his passengers as I boarded. All the passengers laughed. As the bus crawled painfully up the hill everyone greeted me.

A Spanish lady who has just moved into Miller Street grabbed me by the hand and said: “I’m voting for you. And my husband too. He will do what he is told!”

The bus laughed again. By the time I hobbled off to post the very last postal vote letter, my head was in the clouds, even if blisters reminded me my feet were still on the ground.

I am standing for Libbyshire Council because I want to stand up for the people on the bus. I want to give them a voice against people like Mad Max.

Vote Libby Local!

* Libby Local is based on real events. Details have been changed to protect the innocent and disguise the guilty. Libby’s passion and determination, along with her angst and frustration, are set to be a regular feature of Lib Dem Voice as the May 2013 elections approach. You can catch up with all Libby Local's episodes to date by clicking here.