Will Tory MPs defect to Ukip?

Tim Montgomerie reports that two Tory MPs are "seriously considering" defecting.

Tim Montgomerie's column in today's Times (£) contains the revelation that two Conservative MPs are "seriously considering" defecting to Ukip. The well-connected Montgomerie, who I recently profiled for the New Statesman, writes:

I know of two Conservative MPs seriously considering following the path already trodden by Roger Helmer, MEP, and other Tory activists.

David Cameron's failure to deliver on his promise to "repatriate powers" from Brussels and Ukip's recent surge in the polls [YouGov has had them as high as eight per cent] has made Nigel Farage's party more attractive to Tory rebels. It's a worrying development for Conservative strategists who haven't forgotten that Ukip cost the Tories up to 21 seats at the last election [there were 21 constituencies in which the Ukip vote exceeded the Labour majority]. The party also has the potential to win support for its opposition to gay marriage [which Cameron is committed to introducing], the sort of issue that might prompt some Tory members to tear up their party cards.

The first, and so far only, Conservative MP to defect to Ukip was Bob Spink, who joined the party in March 2008 [although he was redesignated as an independent in November 2008]. The danger for Cameron is that another defection would see Ukip emerge as a credible voice of right-wing discontent.


UK Independence Party leader Nigel Farage. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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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