Cameron suffers the biggest Tory rebellion yet

91 Tory MPs vote against House of Lords reform in the biggest revolt of this parliament.

With all three of the main parties whipping their MPs in favour of Lords reform, the result of tonight's vote (the programme motion having been withdrawn) was never in doubt. MPs voted overwhelmingly by 462-124 to give the bill a second reading.

But the real story is the size of the Conservative revolt. With 91 Tory MPs voting against the bill, it was the largest rebellion since the formation of the coalition, beating the previous record of 82 set by the EU rebels last year. The rebels were just four short of matching the largest Conservative rebellion of the post-war era over the Major government's post-Dunblane firearms legislation. Conor Burns, PPS to Northern Ireland Secretary Owen Paterson, resigned from the government in protest earlier today, and Angie Bray, PPS to Cabinet Office minister Francis Maude, was sacked immediately after the vote. As ConservativeHome notes, if one takes into account the number of Tory abstentions, more than half of all the party's backbenchers defied the whip and refused to vote for the bill.

By withdrawing the programme motion at the eleventh hour, Cameron avoided the ignominy of an outright Commons defeat. But his authority has been badly dented by tonight's vote. As in the case of the EU referendum vote, the PM was forced to rely on Labour votes to carry the day.

As I wrote earlier, the fate of Lords reform now lies in Labour's hands. If Ed Miliband agrees to the use of closure motions to prevent filibustering by the rebels, the bill could yet make it through the Commons. The key question is what the coalition will have to offer Labour in return for its backing. One possibility, as I suggested in my last post, is that Cameron and Clegg will agree to a referendum, a proposal that Labour endorsed in its 2010 manifesto and that a number of Tory rebels also support.

David Cameron relied on Labour votes to avoid defeat over House of Lords reform. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Show Hide image

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