Falling in and out of love with the Institute for Fiscal Studies

Shock! Horror! Nick Clegg and George Osborne have changed their tunes since entering government.

Here's our Deputy Prime Minister, Nick Clegg, castigating the Institute for Fiscal Studies in a Guardian interview with Patrick Wintour and Nick Watt:

I think you have to call a spade a spade. We just fundamentally disagree with the IFS. It goes back to a culture of how you measure fairness that took root under Gordon Brown's time, where fairness was seen through one prism and one prism only, which was the tax and benefits system. It is complete nonsense to apply that measure, which is a slightly desiccated Treasury measure. People do not live only on the basis of the benefits they receive. They also depend on public services, such as childcare and social care. All of those things have been airbrushed out of the picture by the IFS.

Clegg has form when it comes to attacking the think tank's regular critiques of the coalition's "progressive" credentials. But in opposition, the Lib Dem leader was a big fan of the economic pointy-heads at the IFS. Here he is, during the election campaign, speaking in the third leaders' debate on 29 April:

I was really delighted at the Institute of Fiscal Studies when they compared the three parties' manifestos this week and said very, very clearly – and very directly – that our proposal to lift the income-tax threshold to £10,000 is the best incentive to work.

So he's "delighted" when the IFS praises his party but "fundamentally disagrees" when it criticises his coalition. Convenient, eh? And this is the man who once championed the "new politics" . . . Oh dear . . .

The Chancellor, George Osborne, also rejected the IFS analysis of his "regressive" Spending Review yesterday in a round of early-morning interviews, in which he said:

I think if you look at all the measures, you can see that everyone in society has got to make a contribution but the richest do make the biggest contribution, not just in cash terms but as a proportion of their income.

Again, in opposition, Boy George sang a different tune. He praised the IFS as a "much-respected independent insitute" and told MPs in the Commons on 22 March 2007:

As often happens, the Institute for Fiscal Studies has looked into the figures and it has confirmed that it is a very substantially tax-raising Budget. Will the minister now confirm that the IFS is right?

But the best line of all from Osborne came in the opening remark of an interview he did about Labour's last Budget on 26 March:

I am waiting for the Institute for Fiscal Studies's analysis.

[Hat-tip: Jason Beattie of the Mirror]

And then our politicians wonder why the media and the public are so cynical and distrusting . . .

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.

Getty
Show Hide image

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