David Laws: Cameron's true-blue wingman

The Lib Dem will say things even David Cameron won’t.

David Cameron has continued his efforts to open up some “clear blue water” between his own party and their Liberal Democrat coalition partners. In an interview with the Mail on Sunday, he trails a plan to scrap housing benefit for under-25s. He says:

A couple will say, “We are engaged, we are both living with our parents, we are trying to save before we get married and have children and be good parents. But how does it make us feel, Mr Cameron, when we see someone who goes ahead, has the child, gets the council home, gets the help that isn’t available to us?”’

‘One is trapped in a welfare system that discourages them from working, the other is doing the right thing and getting no help.
It’s a measure guaranteed to be unpopular with Liberal Democrats, but also seemed tailor-made to discourage anyone under the age of 25 from voting Conservative.

For a glimpse into what this cut could mean for many young people, you can't do better than to read Petra Davis' piece on it from earlier this year.

There are also hints that plans to limit child benefit to a couples first three children are back on the table, although the MoS states that he won’t be doint that “unless he wins public support, and even then it won’t be until after the next election.”

However, David Cameron receives help from an unexpected quarter this morning in his efforts to assert his diehard Tory-ness. David Laws has given an interview to the Sunday Telegraph in which he discusses the need for deeper tax and spending cuts. Only health, education and pension spending should be protected, he argues:

We are going to have to see a shrinking of the state share of the economy until it is back into kilter with the amount of tax people are prepared to be pay… Future UK governments should consider a further substantial rise in the personal tax allowance, along with lower marginal tax rates of tax at all income levels.

Whenever Laws makes an intervention like this (which he has done periodically since leaving the Cabinet in 2010), the likes of Paul Goodman at ConservativeHome call for his return to the top ranks of government, although quite who Laws could practically replace is far from clear.

I’m not so sure Laws is headed back to a ministerial position, though. He seems to be doing an excellent job of being David Cameron’s true-blue wingman, saying the truly Tory things that a Conservative PM fearful of his chances of ever securing a majority shies a way from. Laws blurs the lines between the coalition partners. If he comes back inside the Cabinet room, the differences and disagreements will suddenly look a lot starker.

David Laws during the coalition negotiations in 2010. Photograph: Getty Images

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war