How Is The London Mayor Elected

So, picture this: it’s a drizzly Thursday morning in East London, and my mate Dave is standing in a primary school hall, staring at a ballot paper like it’s written in Klingon. He squints, mutters, “Right, so I pick first and second choice... or is it just one?” and I realize—half of us have no clue how this circus actually works. If you’ve ever felt Dave’s confusion, you’re not alone. Let’s break down how the London Mayor gets elected, without the political jargon that usually makes your eyes glaze over.

The Big Gig: Who Gets to Vote?

First up, not just any random person can rock up and have a say. You need to be registered, 18 or older, and living in Greater London—that’s the 32 boroughs plus the City of London. Oh, and you need to be a British, Irish, Commonwealth, or EU citizen with the right to vote. Side note: If you’re a UK citizen living abroad, sorry, you can’t vote in London elections because you don’t pay our ridiculous tube fares.

You get two votes on the day: one for the Mayor, and one for your local London Assembly Member. This is where Dave’s confusion kicks in—the Mayor vote uses a funky system called the Supplementary Vote, which is not as scary as it sounds. Promise.

The Supplementary Vote: It’s Like Tinder for Politics

Instead of picking just one person, you get to choose a first preference and a second preference. Think of it as swiping right on your top candidate, but keeping a backup in case they get ghosted. If your first choice gets more than 50% of the vote, bam, they win instantly. Easy.

But here’s where it gets juicy: if no one hits that 50% mark—which happens almost every time—the system kicks in. They scrap all candidates except the top two, and then they count everyone’s second preference votes from the eliminated candidates. It’s essentially a political runoff, but you didn’t have to stand in line for a second round. Confession: I once voted for a joke candidate as my first choice, thinking it was harmless. My second preference actually mattered that year. Don’t be like me.

The Candidates: A Rogues’ Gallery

You don’t just need a big ego to run; you need a nomination paper signed by 330 registered voters from across London. Plus, you have to cough up a deposit of £10,000—which you lose if you get less than 5% of the vote. That’s why you’ll never see “Vote for Gary the Plumber” on the ballot. Crying shame, really.

Most serious candidates are from the big parties: Labour, Conservatives, Lib Dems, Greens. But independents and smaller parties do pop up, usually with a manifesto promising free unicorns or to ban rush hour. The key? You have to be really sure you want the job—because the Mayor controls the Metropolitan Police, transport, housing, and the city’s £20 billion budget. No pressure.

The Campaign: Loud, Expensive, and Full of Buses

Campaigning officially starts weeks before election day. You’ll see giant posters of candidates grinning like they’ve just discovered avocados. There will be leaflets shoved through your door, debates where they shout about Ulez (the ultra-low emission zone, basically a tax on your car), and at least one candidate riding a bike to prove they’re “green.” It’s exhausting, but we love the drama.

And let’s not forget the TV debates. These are glorious trainwrecks where the incumbent mayor gets grilled about why the tube still smells like a wet dog. The other candidates circle like sharks, promising to fix everything in 48 hours. Spoiler: They never fix it that fast.

Election Day: The Warm Glow of Democracy (and Long Queues)

You turn up at your local polling station—usually a school, church, or that creepy community hall that smells of floor wax. You get your ballot paper, mark your first choice with a cross (yes, a simple cross, not a love letter), and then your second choice in the same column. Don’t panic if you only have a first choice—you can leave the second blank. Handy tip: Bring a pen, because half the time the pencils are nibbled to stubs by other voters.

Polling stations are open from 7 AM to 10 PM. If you rock up at 9:59 PM, they will let you vote, but the staff will glare at you like you just kicked a puppy. Count the votes happens overnight, and by the next morning, London wakes up to a new (or the same) boss. It’s faster than a Big Mac drive-thru, honestly.

And Then What? The Winner Takes It All?

The winner gets a four-year term, a fancy office at City Hall (shaped like an egg, which feels appropriate), and the power to annoy drivers with new cycle lanes. They also get to stand next to the Prime Minister looking smug. But here’s the funny thing: turnout is usually around 40%. That means six out of ten Londoners just... don’t bother. Imagine giving away your say on tube fares and rent prices because you couldn’t be arsed to walk 200 meters.

So next time you’re stuck in traffic or the Northern Line decides to “pause,” remember: Dave and I (and you, hopefully) have a system. It’s quirky, it’s a bit messy, and it involves second choices, but it’s ours. And honestly, it beats letting Gary the Plumber near the city budget.