Waving goodbye to two decades

Nice or nasty, either way the economic future doesn't look great.

Another week, another terrible set of GDP figures, an IMF downgrade of the UK's growth prospects, and a new report showing the squeeze on living standards is set to run and run. The public, along with our politicians, is probably starting to grow immune to some of the shocking headlines about how long it will be before their incomes recover. All attempts at peering into our economic future do, of course, need to be taken with a handful of salt. And if long range economic forecasting is a mug's game, then seeking false precision about the resulting political consequences is truly the pursuit of fools.

Yet for all the uncertainty we can discern the broad contours of different possible paths for living standards over the rest of the decade. None are attractive -- though some are uglier than others. All are likely to challenge the standard assumptions upon which recent politics have been based.

Let's start by tracing the immediate prospects for low to middle income households (broadly those in work in the bottom half of the income distribution). To do this we can adjust the OBR projections for average earnings (reflecting the historic relationship between average and lower earnings), and take account of the coalition's planned cuts to tax credits. The depressing result is that typical disposable household income for this large swathe of Britain is set to fall 8 per cent by 2015 (from just under £22,000 in 2007-08 to just over £20,000).

To get any sense of the range of possibilities for the next parliament the best we can do is draw on different periods from our recent past as alternative guides to the future. So let's consider a "nice growth" and "nasty growth" scenario from 2016 up until 2020. The nice scenario replicates the growth in household income experienced during the first half of Labour's period in office (until 2003) when wages were climbing and the creation of tax credits further boosted low to middle income households. Given the miserable times we are currently living through, referring to this as merely "nice" is something of an understatement. Yet even under this cheery scenario low to middle income households would only regain the position they reached in 2007-08 by 2020. They would have lost more than a decade, but at least they'll be headed in the right direction.

Nice and nasty scenarios for low household income of low to middle income Britain

 

So much for the supposed good news. Under the "nasty growth" scenario low to middle income households don't share in rising prosperity; their living standards stagnate as they did between 2003 and 2008 -- a period of steady economic growth. Household income limps along at around £20,000 to 2020, around the same as it was in 2001. We've waved goodbye to two decades. And just to repeat: both these scenarios are premised upon the OBR's assumptions for GDP growth until 2016 being realised (and many think that will be a stretch). We haven't dared contemplate a nightmare scenario in which the Eurozone implodes and there is no or very low growth for an extended period.

What might all this mean for how politics shapes up as we approach the next election? The conventional wisdom would hold that the defining question for a living standards election, which 2015 should surely be, is Ronald Reagan's "are you better off" than you were five years ago?

I'm not so sure. As things stand it's not clear in whose interests it will be to make this the issue hovering over the ballot paper. Unless Labour somehow manages to secure a seismic shift in the public's assessment of where blame lies for the crisis and its aftermath it may not like the answer it gets if this becomes the election question. As for the Conservatives, "things could have been even worse" is not exactly a rousing campaign tune for David Cameron to be humming. All of which raises the unlikely possibility that the largest decline in household incomes in living memory might be the dog that no one -- or at least no party leader -- wants to bark come 2015.

Nor is it clear what the electorate's frame of reference will be: their living standards when David Cameron first entered Downing Street or the change in the months immediately prior to the election? A lot could hang on this. For every economic commentator who thinks the scale of our personal debt overhang will mean growth staying miserably low all the way to 2015, there are others who believe that at some point in this parliament, probably late on, things will -- finally -- tick upwards. Eventually, so this argument runs, forecasts that have been too rosy will give way to those that are too gloomy, with strong pre-election growth and sharp falls in unemployment. Veterans of election campaigns will tell you that changes in economic sentiment in the months running in to a campaign are absolutely vital: it's all about finding your mojo for the final sprint. Even the faintest glimmers of economic hope provide the basis for a traditional incumbent campaign theme along the lines of "don't let Labour ruin the hard won recovery".

Yet there is another, counter-intuitive, and altogether more troubling scenario for the coalition: it's just possible that the emergence of a year or so of strong growth prior to the election could even become a source of vulnerability. A stoical public, after years of swallowing the harsh medicine of austerity, may finally refuse to take another spoonful if the long promised return to strong growth fails to lift their own economic prospects.

Only a fool would claim to know which of these scenarios will come good. What's more clear is that for all the endless talk about the new times we are living through, today's politicians are still operating under the old assumption that nice growth is bound to prevail. They still haven't reckoned with the possibility that the world really may have turned nasty.

Gavin Kelly is the chief executive of the Resolution Foundation.

Gavin Kelly is a former adviser to Downing Street and the Treasury. He tweets @GavinJKelly1.

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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