Playing the eurozone blame game shows the extent of Osborne's failure

The longer the coalition remains in denial, the longer it will take for Britain to recover from its economic depression.

One of the first lessons a new government learns is how to blame their predecessors. Labour spent years blaming the ills of the country on "18 years of Conservative misrule". Two years after taking office the coalition has not missed a trick in turning the blame game into an art form. The promised deep public spending cuts were all Gordon Brown's fault and lower than expected economic growth was blamed on everything from the weather to the Royal Wedding.

The current chief culprit for the coalition's failings is the eurozone. I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt a distinct feeling of déja vu when the government responded to this week's dreadful Q2 figures by blaming the euro.

Of course, given that the eurozone is our main trading partner its problems, to put it mildly, do not help British exports. More than two years into the crisis it is still unclear whether Europe's leaders have the political will and nous to break the link between heavily indebted banks and sovereigns and restore calm to the markets.

But the reality is that even while the eurozone faces an existential crisis, with a handful of its 17 countries needing emergency support because they can't access the bond market, Britain is still faring worse. A chart by ABD Investment shows that, since the financial crisis began at the end of 2007, Britain has been comfortably outperformed by the US, Japan, Germany and France.

This year Britain's output is estimated to be 93.5 compared to the baseline figure of 100 in 2008. To put this in context, Germany is one of the few countries where output has now overtaken pre-crisis levels at 104.2 compared to a eurozone average at 97.5. The Spanish economy, which is serious danger of needing a €300 billion bail-out as it struggles to cope with crippling borrowing rates of over 7 per cent and scarily high unemployment, is only fractionally lower than Britain's at 91.9, with Italy at 90.9. France, which lost its triple-A credit rating at the start of the year, is at 97.7.

After three quarters in a row reporting a decline in output, the bald truth is that economic output is now lower than it was when the Coalition took office. There can certainly be little doubt that were Britain a member of the eurozone, we would have needed a massive bail-out, possibly larger than Spain, Greece, Ireland, Portugal and Cyprus put together. Our triple-A credit rating would have gone months ago, perhaps even last year.

By any yardstick, George Osborne and Danny Alexander have failed on an impressive scale and should be waiting for their P45s.

But, whisper it, Britain should actually be profiting from the eurozone crisis. As investors in the European bond market panic, sending borrowing rates sky-high for Spain, Italy and others, the UK is one of the main beneficiaries from the flight of capital. Despite the weaknesses in the British economy, like the US, traders are so desperate to buy our bonds that they will pay for the privilege. Earlier this week interest rates on 10 year gilts fell to 1.4 per cent, well below the 2.4 per cent inflation level, and fully 6 per cent lower than Spain. It is frightening to imagine the extra debt we would have had without the eurozone crisis.

The Coalition should be using the massive advantage of such historically low borrowing costs to fund targeted stimulus measures. The best place to start would be to bring forward badly needed public infrastructure projects. The National Infrastructure plan states that Britain needs to invest £400 billion in infrastructure between now and 2020 if we are to remain competitive, and there is no better time to start. While penal borrowing costs, particularly for the southern Mediterranean nations, are effectively forcing eurozone countries to drastically scale back public spending, Britain is in an almost unique position to launch a series of supply-side measures to boost demand and generate growth.

At some point, people will tire of the coalition's protestations that the double dip recession is all the fault of Gordon Brown and those incompetent foreigners in the eurozone. Labour, too, have to be honest enough to admit that Britain's comatose economy is of our own making and, regardless of what does or doesn't happen in the eurozone, requires resolution at home.

The longer Cameron and Osborne et al remain in denial, absolving themselves of responsibility while persisting with the idea that Britain can operate like a north European version of the Cayman Islands, the longer it will take for Britain to recover from its economic depression. The stark reality is that even with a solid Olympics-driven bump, 2012 will be a year of recession. Of more concern to ministers is that barring a heroic recovery over the next three years, the Tories and Lib Dems will go to the country on the basis of economic output that is comfortably lower than it was in 2007. Barring an implosion by the Labour Party, that would probably cost them their jobs.

 

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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