Osborne prepares to admit defeat on debt reduction

The Chancellor will abandon his debt rule to prevent even deeper cuts.

In his "emergency Budget" in June 2010, Osborne declared that "unless we deal with our debts there will be no growth". But as all Keynesians know, the reverse is true. Unless you stimulate growth, you can't deal with your debts. According to the latest independent forecasts, Osborne will be forced to borrow £174.9bn more than originally planned from 2012-16, a figure that is only likely to rise as growth remains anaemic or non-existent.

Indeed, so bad is the fiscal situation, that, as today's Times reports (£), Osborne is preparing to announce the abandonment of his golden debt rule in the Autumn Statement on 5 December. The rule, which forms the second part of his "fiscal mandate" (the first relates to the structural deficit, which the Chancellor aims to eliminate over a rolling five-year period), is designed to "ensure that debt is falling as a share of GDP by 2015-16". Based on the most recent set of forecasts from the Office for Budget Responsibility, published at the time of the Budget, debt will decline from 76.3 per cent in 2014-15 before dropping to 76 per cent in 2015-16. But since then, the economy has fallen back into recession, with borrowing already up by more than a quarter on last year. As a result, independent forecasters now say that Osborne will miss his target. The IMF, for instance, has forecast that debt will rise from 78.8 per cent of GDP in 2014-15 to 79.9 per cent in 2015-16.

In response, the Chancellor could, of course, announce billions more in tax rises and spending cuts. But that would only further reduce growth, meaning that he might miss his target anyway, and would hardly endear him to voters already bruised by austerity. Thus, as the Times reports, Osborne, with David Cameron's agreement, "is ready to take a political hit on missing the target rather than face the "nightmare" of further cuts."

For the Chancellor, the consequences could be grim. The abandonment of the debt rule would dismay his party's fiscal conservatives, and could trigger the loss of the UK's AAA credit rating, the metric by which he has set such stock. But it could also offer Osborne one final chance to redeem himself. Once he accepts that debt reduction should not be prioritised over growth, the menu of policy options expands accordingly. Indeed, a  well-sourced leader (£) in yesterday's Times suggested that the Chancellor was even considering a small stimulus. And why not? With the UK able to borrow at the lowest interest rates for 300 years, it is only Osborne's political pride that has prevented a change of course thus far. Even the IMF has said that a reduced pace of deficit reduction would not lead to a rise in UK bond yields. Freed from his fiscal straitjacket, Osborne would finally be liberated to pursue a policy that works.

Chancellor George Osborne leaves 11 Downing Street in London. 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