Moira Crawford is faced with a gap in her knowledge of policy. �What�s your stance on legalising cannabis?� asks a potential voter.
Moira Crawford is faced with a gap in her knowledge of policy.
"What's your stance on legalising cannabis?" asks a potential voter. "I don't know actually", she replies before directing him to her party's candidate, Dr Eileen Duke.
Another chap accepts some campaign literature from her and proclaims his intentions.
"The name's Mick and I'm a Celtic supporter. I'm voting Green. Now gimme three of yer wee windmills for the weans, hen."
At the Shandwick Shopping Centre in Easterhouse one lady wants to know if the Greens can ensure her hedges are cut, while an elderly gentleman declares he is Labour till he dies.
"They moan about Labour and Gordon Brown, but still say they'll vote for them", said Moira, a 59-year-old retired teacher from near Bearsden.
For Moira and hundreds of other activists pounding the streets on Glasgow's east end over the past fortnight persuading the partisan, the floaters and the apathetic to see the light and herald a new dawn by voting for their party's candidate is the task.
Moira is fairly new to electioneering, but 20 years teaching at an east end secondary has equipped her with the all important local knowledge.
But does she persuade former pupils, their parents or Shandwick shoppers of the relevance of the Greens?
Moira said: "I tell them our policies on energy would drive down heating costs, banning nuclear would free up money for social spending and our citizen's income would be very attractive in Easterhouse. People may also see us as a protest vote."
And her realistic expectations? "It would be nice to keep the deposit. Oh, and raise awareness."
In Sandyhills, 21-year-old Stuart McIntyre is selling the virtues of Conservatism to a floater.
She has nothing against the Tories. In fact she really liked Isle of Wight MP Andrew Turner when living on the south coast and would definitely have voted for him. But even the graduate's boy band looks and easy manner cannot win the day over a likely sympathy vote.
"I just feel sorry for Gordon Brown", says Mrs Floater after 10 minutes on the doorstep.
It was not so long ago that the Tory party's offices in Glasgow were set on fire, while the spectre of Thatcher still loomed large when the Tories were banished from Scotland in 1997.
Now even veteran party workers are taken aback by the change of attitudes.
One said: "It's a combination of disillusionment with Brown, no appetite for independence, David Cameron and of course the Annabel (Goldie) effect. Even dyed-in-the-wool Labour voters or Nationalists have a huge affection for Annabel."
On Labour's beat the mood is a tad more frenetic, party apparatchiks bussed in from England running from door to door with reminders that Thursday's the day.
Such was the pace, or dearth of Scottish political knowledge, that none recognised the lone nationalist campaigner on the same street as transport minister Stewart Stevenson.
And having been stung by leaks about their campaign, they are also a damn sight more guarded, in contrast to Labour's Margaret Curran who was busy playing the part as the genial eastender. How have the electorate in Glasgow East welcomed them? Are they taking any flack for the credit crunch? Is the seat as safe as they hoped?
"I'd prefer not to comment, no offence", said one.
After a bit of reassurance another offered his opinion: "We've just come up to help out. I've friends who've come from London. We've come because this matters."
His name? "I really must catch up with my friends."
