MRS DOLLEY held back slightly checking the register, imparting, the names of the occupants and prospective voters. Who's in Number 15, asked James, in his grand manner. A nice guy, he's obviously popular, a member of that increasingly exclusive club of surviving Conservative councillors. But the booming voice suggests more London's Cavalry Club than this sprawling 1960s housing estate in Birmingham.
"That's Mr and Mrs Sullivan," comes the reply. "Mr and Mrs declares James: "Good heavens. We don't get many of those round here." Everybody laughs. "So you're not playing the family as an issue then," I venture. More laughter.
They're a jolly lot, these Edgbaston Tories which itself is cause for surprise. The opinion polls say Tony Blair is on his way to 10 Downing Street. And this marginal Tory seat is vulnerable to a swing of just under 5 per cent. Moreover it's early Wednesday morning. But they must have read the Telegraph or the Mail. Neil Hamilton has been reselected: "sleaze" is back in the headlines.
Opinion is divided. Kerry, taking time off from her GCSEs to help save Tory Britain, thinks he should have stood down. Others on the team agree. But officials in Edgbaston stick to the official line. In Mrs Dolley's case it isn't just a matter of loyalty to Central Office. She's heartily sick of "trial by media". And anyway, the cash for questions affair isn't an issue here.
The instructive thing about escape from London is the instant reminder that local politics can be doggedly local, that local issues can make a crucial difference. I ask candidate Andrew Marshall about the issues as we enter a grim looking tower block. The notice warning about urinating in the lift gives me a fair idea. "Are we brave coming here?" asks Kerry, only half smiling. More to the point, why are we here at all? Why isn't Mr Marshall out in the leafy suburbs assuaging all that middle class angst?
He will be, of course. Edgbaston boasts the tenth highest proportion of professional workers in the country. But the Tories think to do well in the council estates, on the back of hostility to the Labour controlled council, and a hefty hike in the council tax.
Most doors remain closed. It seems many of the residents simply don't like answering unannounced callers. But one black voter cheerily assures the candidate: "Labour can't handle it. Britain is good now."
Gary (24) tells me he'll stick with Mr Major: "I've got my own home, a car, everything I want. I think on the day people will be frightened to throw it away."
The pervasive whiff of disinfectant is beginning to get to me. A young mother, child crying in the background, confirms she'll do her duty, as her mother did before her. But Mrs Whitefoot says she'll "need to give it a bit more thought".
Mr Marshall tells me of the large Irish community here, and the careful targeting on the abortion issue. He's pro life and - surprise, surprise - more pro Europe than his predecessor, the retiring Dame Jill Knight. As we descend, the only mention of sleaze concerns prostitutes who've been using the landings.
Round the corner, Joe Taylor tells me he thought about not buying the Sun after it came out for Mr Blair. He thinks Mr Major can still win, doesn't believe the polls, and isn't worried about sleazy. Jim Baker says: "I relate the national government to the local council, and they're rubbish." He thinks a Tory victory "a long shot". But, again, "the polls were wrong last time".
At a nearby sheltered dwelling it's not all sweetness and light. Bill, tending the garden, thinks "Mr Blair is a fine man and he'll be a fine prime minister". From his wheelchair, Mr Monkford gives Mr Marshall short shrift: "You'll do nothing for me. The first thing you'll do is vote yourself a rise." Mr Durose next door is direct: "I don't vote, no.
However Mr Lloyd thinks the Tories deserve to win. Asked about sleaze, he declares: "What they do in their private lives is their own affair."
Mrs Dolley is encouraged: "It's mixed, isn't it? I'm not hearing, that Labour lead of 21 per cent. Indeed we weren't. However, hanging back, I found an interesting distinction between the declared allegiance of some Tory voters and their perception of what will happen on May 1st. Alan Pierce thought it would be "touch and go" in Edgbaston, and that Mr Blair would probably make it to Downing Street, though not with a runaway majority.
On another doorstep two ladies smiled approvingly as Mr Marshall introduced himself as "the man who hopes to be the next Dame Jill". They were marked down as firmly committed. But when I asked them if they believed the Tories would win, they cast a nervous eye to ensure the candidate was out of earshot, before confiding "it will be Mr Blair's chance this time".
Over in Wolverhampton South West, defending Tory Nick Budgen is hoping that, if that it is the case, he can at least retain his seat on the Opposition benches. A swing of just under 5 per cent would blow him out, and put Mr Blair around a 20 to 30 majority.
A portrait of Winston Churchill, bedecked in red white and blue, presides over the Wolverhampton war room. In the hallway hangs a photograph of Enoch Powell, MP here until his famous resignation in 1974. Mr Budgen is a big fan of Enoch. And there is an echo of the Powellite gospel as Mr Budgen makes immigration control an election issue. Not for the first time the maverick MP and arch Euro sceptic has defied Mr Major. There is the lingering scent of local party hostility to Mr Budgen's line.
The differences have been shelved in the greater cause of saving the seat. But as in Edgbaston, informed opinion is that the result will be right on the wire". It emerges quickly that there is a local issue here, too. In fact, Mr Budgen is the issue. A cerebral, House of Commons man, the complaint (centrepiece of Labour's campaign literature) is that the constituency needs a good "local" Member. And the sitting member for the past 23 years is facing the fight of his life.
His canvass convinces him Labour is not running away with the election. But in the Penn area, where the recently built detached homes command prices to the tune of sterling £150,000, there is a marked reluctance. Mr Smith, self employed ("you have to be at my age") is signed up: "I've thrown the Labour leaflet away."
But several Asian households give a firm `No'. One door is firmly shut with the message: "Not a chance, too much corruption." And another voter refuses to shake the candidate's hand. A first time voter, set for Cardiff University to study civil engineering, invites the candidate to persuade him. Never having known a Labour government, he ended up still fancying a change.
At the spanking new fund holding Health Centre, Bill assures Mr Budgen he has no worries: "Skilled working men over 40 won't forget what they (Labour) were like last time." But back on the doorsteps a lot of punters want some persuasion.
John Turton says: "I think Labour have a good chance this time, I've never met my MP." As he duly appears up the driveway, Mr Turton greets him with a less than friendly: "I don't know you." As the candidate engages, one of his team assures me he'd fare better "with a row of semis". Again that old Tory love/hate relationship with the wealthy middle class surfaces. And then a new discovery: a shy Tory voter, who not only wouldn't declare herself to the pollsters, but declined to do so even to Mr Budgen. This was the one time in five years when the MP needed her, and she was determined to make him work for it.
Stephanie complained about having to wait two weeks for an appointment at that Health Centre. A teacher, she was also worried about class sizes and the threat of redundancy: "Every year I, worry if I'm still going to be in a job." Mr Budgen seemed somewhat ill prepared for this. "But you're quite well paid, aren't you?" he inquired. "Yes," came the reply, "unless I lose my job." `Well, he said, "that's true of all of us." Mr Budgen can only hope his words don't prove prophetic - and that a lot more like Stephanie will come out of hiding before polling day.