A third runway could be a U-turn too far for Cameron

The PM declared in 2010: "No ifs, no buts, no third runway".

It's the ferocity of Conservative MP Tim Yeo's attack on David Cameron, rather than the subject in question (a third runway at Heathrow) , that is most notable. "[T]he Prime Minister must ask himself whether he is man or mouse," the former environment minister writes, before damning Cameron with the faintest of praise "as the leader who made the Tories (nearly) electable again". He goes on to compare him unfavourably  to Harold Macmillan ("presiding over a dignified slide towards insignificance") and finishes with the requisite reference to Thatcher (a Tory leader who won elections).

The reason Yeo's intervention is damaging for Cameron is that the chair of the energy and climate change select committee, who cannot be dismissed as a rent-a-quote maverick, has vocalised the concerns held about his leadership across the Conservative backbenches. Tory MPs increasingly fear that Cameron, to borrow Thatcher's phrase, is not "one of us". The Prime Minister's heart, writes Yeo, is "an organ that still remains impenetrable to most Britons".

For Cameron's MPs, his willingness (or not) to abandon his opposition to a third runway at Heathrow has become a litmus test of whether he is a true Tory. But even for the PM, a man with a penchant for U-turns, this would surely be one policy reversal too many. Both the Conservative manifesto and the Coalition Agreement explicitly opposed a third runway and the presence of Liberal Democrats in Cameron's cabinet (a political reality many Tory MPs conveniently ignore) means that the PM would struggle to change course even if he wanted to. With Ed Miliband opposed to a third runway on principle (he almost resigned as Climate Change Secretary over Gordon Brown's support for the proposal), Cameron will also face no pressure from Labour to change course.

Yet Justine Greening's faltering performance on this morning's Today programme suggests that the Transport Secretary has little confidence in the PM's word. Repeatedly asked whether she could remain in the cabinet if the government backed a third runway, she initially ignored the question (amusingly, she declared: "Yes, I did do a campaign against a third runway. But really this is not a full length runway") before finally conceding: "It would be difficult for me to do that". At no point did she state that she would not be forced to resign because the policy is not changing. When she declared her interest ("my constituency is under the flightpath"), before swiftly adding, "so is Philip Hammond's, as a matter of fact, my predecessor", she sounded like a woman desperate to avoid being reshuffled.

But it's election leaflets such as the one above, issued by Greening, that mean the odds are still against such a flagrant breach of trust. For the aviation minded, "Boris island" or a new hub airport, as proposed by Lib Dem MP Julian Huppert, still looks a better bet. 

A British Airways aircraft taxis past other parked British Airways aircraft at Terminal 5 of Heathrow Airport. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear