Why the Tories are cheering Osborne's public sector job cull

The party believes that a smaller public sector will help it win a majority.

Those on the right who are fond of claiming that George Osborne's cuts are almost non-existent should look closely at the latest employment figures. They show that the coalition has cut 432,000 government jobs since the election (with an additional 196,000 reclassified as private sector posts), reducing the public sector workforce to its smallest level since 2001 (see graph). And Osborne isn't done yet. By 2017, according to the most recent OBR forecast, the government will have cut a further 298,000, bringing the total number lost to 730,000. In the words of the usually restrained Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development, we are witnessing "a tectonic shift in the underlying structure of the labour market".

What explains this dramatic cull? Fiscal considerations, naturally, play their part. Borrowing for 2012-16 will be around £174.9bn higher than originally expected (see the Bank of England's latest summary of independent forecasts) and Osborne wrongly believes that slashing the state is the best way to reduce it. In an inversion of Keynes, he thinks that if you take care of the deficit, unemployment will take care of itself (joblessness has fallen in recent months, but forecasters expect it to rise to 2.7m next year).  But Osborne, who is both Chancellor and the Conservatives’ chief electoral strategist, also has political considerations in mind. While in opposition, the Tories frequently complained that Labour's "client state" made the election of a Conservative government impossible, so, in office, they have reduced it. As one senior Tory told the Spectator’s James Forsyth, "You create a bigger private sector, you create more Tories."

The polls certainly suggest as much. Data published last month by Ipsos MORI (see graph above) showed that while Labour enjoys a 35-point lead among public sector workers, it trails the Tories by a point among their private sector counterparts (Labour leads by 39 to 35 points among the voluntary sector). Logic says that if you reduce the former group and expand the latter (the OBR forecasts an extra 1.7 million private sector workers by 2017), the Tories will benefit. A smaller public sector means fewer people with a vested interest in high levels of state spending.

The Tories aren't naïve enough to think that they'll immediately benefit from putting Labour voters on the dole, rather they believe that, over time, a labour market in which the public sector plays a smaller role will smooth their path to a majority. Osborne may claim that his cuts are born of necessity, rather than ideology, but, as ever with the Chancellor, politics is on his mind too.

George Osborne plans to cut 730,000 public sector jobs by 2017. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

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