Tory non-doms ditch the Lords but keep their titles. Shame on them

Good riddance, I say, to all slackers and tax avoiders.

The deadline by which members of the House of Lords had to become fully UK-resident for tax purposes passed last night.

Guess how many peers chose to quit the Lords rather than sacrifice their cherished non-domiciled tax status? Five. Lords Foster, Bagri, Laidlaw and McAlpine and Baroness Dunn. Most of them spend very little time in the UK, and even less time turning up to vote or speak in the upper chamber.

Three things worth noting:

1) Despite the fuss that the Tories tried to kick up over the multimillionaire Labour peer (and former deputy speaker of the Lords) Lord Paul, none of the five leaving the Lords is a Labour (or Lib Dem) peer. (Lord Paul also confirmed to me in an interview four months ago that he would be ending his non-dom status this year.) Three out of five (Bagri, Laidlaw and McAlpine) are Tories (the other two are cross-benchers); Laidlaw was one of the most important Tory donors, contributing £4m to the party's coffers.

2) Lord Ashcroft, the Tories' biggest donor and former deputy party chairman, whose "target seats" strategy failed to secure David Cameron a Commons majority, has confirmed that he is giving up his controversial non-dom status in order to stay on in the Lords.

3) It is "absurd", as Sir Alistair Graham, former chairman of the Committee on Standards in Public Life, observes, that these five scampering peers are able to retain their titles (as lords and baroness). For once, I agree with the Daily Mail headline: "Why in the name of justice are peers who quit the Lords to avoid paying tax not stripped of their titles?"

But let's be honest: the debate over non-doms in the Lords is a distraction from the real issue, which is the upper chamber itself.

While I acknowledge that some life peers do hard work and make good contributions to legislative debates, the House of Lords is, in and of itself, an undemocratic, antediluvian, elitist anachronism.

If Nick Clegg and his Con-Dem coalition allies can, once and for all, rid this country of unelected peers and introduce a wholly elected second chamber, I for one will be eternally grateful to them.

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear