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Eton rifles: Another attack on posh boys Cameron and Osborne... from a Tory MP

"I hate to say it, but Dorries, Davis and Halfon have a point."

A common tactic for politicians and commentators on the left is to assail coalition ministers for their privileged backgrounds. There has been a plethora of references to the Bullingdon Club, Old Etonians, "cabinet of millionaires", "posh boys" and "Tory toffs" since Messrs Cameron, Clegg and Osborne took office in May 2010. Speaking in the Commons earlier this week, Labour MP Dennis Skinner accused Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt of sacking his "servant" (i.e. special adviser Adam Smith). 

Now, you could dismiss such rhetoric as "class war" or the politics of "envy" - in the way that multimillionaire Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney has, across the pond, when faced with attacks on his "silver spoon" from Barack Obama and the Democrats. 

But, in recent weeks, here in the UK, it is backbench Tories who have queued up to launch assaults on the backgrounds of Cameron et al; attacks which, on the surface, sound very similar to long-standing left-wing complaints about posh, out-of-touch Tories. 

Take Nadine Dorries MP

“There is a very tight, narrow clique of a certain group of people and what they do is act as a barrier and prevent Cameron and Osborne and others from actually really understanding or knowing what is happening in the rest of the country.

“I think that not only are Cameron and Osborne two posh boys who don't know the price of milk, but they are two arrogant posh boys who show no remorse, no contrition, and no passion to want to understand the lives of others - and that is their real crime.”

Earlier this year, Ms Dorries told the Financial Times that Government policy was "being run by two public school boys who don't know what it's like to go to the supermarket and have to put things back on the shelves because they can't afford it for their children's lunch boxes".

"What's worse, they don't care either," she added.

Or former shadow home secretary and one-time Tory leadership candidate David Davis MP:

They think we’re toffs.

The truth is, they look at the front bench, they see them all very well dressed, well turned out, well fed, and perhaps feel that they’re in a different world to them.

The “we’re all in this together” phrase is very important – but at the moment it’s not working.

The latest intervention is from Robert Halfon MP, in today's Independent:

"I'd love more Esther McVeys, people like that who are very clever but sound normal. They are steeped in street-fighting. We need street-fighters who represent the party."

. . ."Millions of union members vote Tory and the language we are giving out is that we hate trade unionism.

. . .He said: "Everything we say should be judged politically on how it helps strivers, how it helps aspiration. The language needs to change, the logos and slogans need to be improved."

Perhaps Cameron and Osborne, who have had the worst few weeks of their political careers, should start paying attention to the criticisms of some of their own backbenchers. I hate to say it, but Dorries, Davis and Halfon have a point. And, of course, it's difficult for the Tory high command to dismiss them as leftie class-warriors.

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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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood