I’ve never felt so wanted.

Everybody needs me. I can, so lots of people believe, really make a difference.

The economy, education, health care, even job creation – apparently I can help make improvements in all of these areas.

At least that’s what my mailbag has been saying. I am being bombarded with letters from people I’ve never met but who suddenly see me as their new best friend.

Yes, this deluge of mail is coming from political parties urging me to put my cross in their box on May 6.

Some of them make me feel as if I’m standing for Parliament myself rather than having to decide who to vote for. They stress that I’m the one who can make things happen. They obviously don’t know me very well. I can’t even get my children to tidy their rooms or wash up, so I’m not exactly going to blaze a trail in sorting out the economy. I’ve never had so much mail – even at Christmas – and if my vote was based on the number of letters and flyers delivered to my home, the Conservatives would be soaraway winners. I’ve almost filled my recycling bin from their stuff alone.

Scarily, I’ve even received a missive from them with my name printed in bold type across the top: ‘Helen Mead, you can make the difference.’ It’s signed by David Cameron and has on it a very nice photograph of him actually writing the letter to me. After getting over the shock, I was most touched.

My husband hasn’t received one, and is a tad peeved as he thinks he’s as likely to make a difference to the future of the country as I am.

I’ve had quite a bit of mail from the Liberal Democrats about who I should and shouldn’t trust. They go a bundle on pictures, with galleries of snaps, showing their beaming candidate hobnobbing with a variety of people.

A handful of letters have arrived from the Independents, but so far I haven’t heard from Labour. I’m guessing that they are desperate to get in touch but don’t have my address. Or maybe their tactics are different – maybe they’ll wait until the day before the election and send me a huge bunch of red roses. I’ve got a vase ready just in case.

I don’t mind the deluge of mail – but the door-to-door canvassing I can do without. On Sunday we woke when four cars pulled up in the street. Doors opened and out spilled at least a dozen men who raced off and began knocking on doors. It was more terrifying than a police raid. We pretended to be out and went back to bed.