Cameron's UKIP headache is self-inflicted

The fringe party of Eurosceptics could become big enough to prevent a Tory majority in 2015.

If the normally reliable Tim Montgomerie is right then several Tory MPs are on the verge of defecting to Nigel Farage's UKIP. Although UKIP has never come close to winning a Westminster seat, and boasts just one MP defector - Bob Spink - since its formation in the late 1990s, it's not a surprise that a handful of euro-obsessed Tory MPs are thinking about defection. More serious for the Tories is UKIP's emergence as a viable challenger to the Lib Dems in national elections. The party has been consistently polling between 7-10 per cent in the last few months which, while almost certainly not enough to win a seat in the Commons, is more than enough to deny the Tories a handful of marginal constituencies and, potentially, a Commons majority.

Just as George Galloway’s upset victory in Bradford should shake any complacency in Labour that they will be the automatic beneficiaries of rising public anger against government and the political class, the Tories cannot afford to dismiss of UKIP out of hand. It’s actually not hard to see why UKIP carries appeal. Nigel Farage is a witty and fluent speaker and he speaks to an old-fashioned breed of reactionary nationalism combined with social and fiscal conservatism which can still be found in conservative clubs and associations up and down the country.

Meanwhile, with the EU facing an almost existential crisis over the future of the single currency and most countries either in recession or on the brink, it is a great time to be a Eurosceptic. Indeed, the performances of Marine Le Pen and Jean-Luc Melanchon in France have shown that anti-establishment parties of the extreme-right and hard-left carry plenty of appeal to voters fed up with a political establishment that has landed them with debts, deficits and austerity-driven recession. With the Lib Dems having given up their status as a protest vote party by nailing their colours to the Tory, UKIP has plenty of fertile ground at its disposal.

Outside European elections, where UKIP can campaign on its raison d’etre and pick up eurosceptic votes from all of the three main parties, its vote share poses a lot more threat to the Tories than Labour or the Lib Dems. Indeed, around 60 per cent of UKIP voters are disaffected Tories. In 1997 a number of Tory MPs fell to small majorities where the Referendum Party candidate got more votes than the majority and in 2005, as well, UKIP votes cost the Tories a handful of seats.

Although they are now well-placed to pick up protest votes, the truth is that UKIP is the product of the Conservative party's unhealthy obsession with the EU which, nearly twenty years after Maastricht, is still no closer to being resolved. There is very little difference between Farage and the Tory Maastricht rebels of the early 1990s, or even Jimmy Goldsmith's Referendum Party which took 3 oer cent of the vote at the 1997 election.

David Cameron is also the perfect Tory leader for UKIP. Having won the party leadership in 2005 with the support of many Eurosceptics after having promised to take the Tories out of the European People's Party - the party group for centre-right parties across Europe - he has attempted the impossible task of placating both ardent Eurosceptics and moderates. Hence, Cameron opposed the Lisbon Treaty but ruled out tearing it up and re-negotiating and has made no serious attempt to win any opt-outs or derogations. In coalition with the pro-European Lib Dems his balancing act is even tougher and the bizarre ‘non-veto' at the December EU summit achieved the double whammy of upsetting the Lib Dems and, when they realised that Cameron hadn't actually blocked or won anything, the Tory back-benches.

Cameron’s insoluble problem is that his Eurosceptics will be disappointed by anything less than British withdrawal from the EU or, at the very least, radical re-negotiation of Britain's membership. The chances of EU withdrawal are zero and, having burnt most of his remaining political bridges at the December summit, there is no virtually no chance of other European leaders agreeing to re-negotiation. All of which is manna from heaven to UKIP.

The main problem that UKIP face – and which is the reason why, outside of the European elections, the party has little prospect of a breakthrough - is a lack of money and activists. With around 15,000 members across the UK and no big donors they simply don't have the cash or shoe-leather to contest more than a handful of seats. Moreover, like most fringe parties they are a one-man band, which is just as well because aside from Farage there is very little talent in their ranks.

The other benefit of being small is a lack of scrutiny. With no chance of ever winning seats outside the European Parliament, its party policy and politicians are little known and little discussed. Since two of the 12 UKIP MEPs elected in 2004 have since been jailed for fraud and the party continues to be dogged by allegations of racism, sexism and homophobia, this is no bad thing for UKIP.

But while they may be small, UKIP deserve to be taken seriously. They outpolled Labour and the Lib Dems in the last European elections and, while the euro crisis continues, they have every chance of beating the Tories in 2014. Domestically, they pose a small but deceptively serious problem for the Tories – not big enough to win seats for themselves, but certainly big enough to sink the prospects of a Tory majority. Frustratingly for the Tories, the rise of UKIP is almost entirely self-inflicted.

Benjamin Fox is political adviser to the Socialist and Democrat group in the European Parliament

UKIP leader and MEP Nigel Farage. Photograph: Getty Images
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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad