Whither George Osborne?

Tory MP calls for the chancellor to be replaced.

Yesterday, it was the future of Conservative co-chairman Sayeeda Warsi that was being questioned by influential members of her own party. Today, it's the Chancellor George Osborne's turn to have his competence impugned by a colleague. In an article in the Mail on Sunday, Tory MP Brian Binley offers a fairly withering assessment of Osborne's record in government thus far. Binley writes:

The economy is in dire straits – even George Osborne must acknowledge that. It is now clear that the Chancellor will not fulfil his Election promise of eliminating the deficit by 2015. His much-trumpeted public spending cutbacks are illusory.
Binley goes on to make the kind of arguments for supply-side reforms that one hears alot both on the Tory backbenches and in the right-wing commentariat. He also says, baldly, that he doesn't think Osborne is up to the job of implementing such reforms.
I believe that George Osborne should be moved from the Treasury to the party chairmanship, to allow him to concentrate exclusively on winning the  next General Election. It would allow a Chancellor to  be appointed who has a deep command of economics, as well as political instincts that chime with the bulk of the party. Top of the list should be Defence Secretary Philip Hammond, who has the analytical strengths and broad commercial experience to become a fine Chancellor.
In an interview on the BBC's Andrew Marr Show this morning, Osborne had a chance to respond to criticisms like this. He gave a blustering, needled performance that compared unfavourably with the preternatural self-assurance and fluency of Shadow Business Secretary Chuka Umunna, who appeared on the programme before him. Asked about critics inside his own party, Osborne invited them to "get behind the government", and he swatted away a question about the wisdom of his continuing to combine occupancy of Number 11 Downing Street with a role as the Conservatives' chief election strategist. "I'm 110 per cent focused on the economy," he said.
 
What that focus will yield when Parliament returns, it appears, is legislation to reform the planning process which Osborne identified as one of the principal obstacles to the kinds of infrastructure projects that would provide a significant stimulus to the economy (which, incidentally, the Chancellor insists, all empirical evidence to the contrary, is "healing"). Marr wondered if that was part of the fabled "Plan B" that the Chancellor's critics have long been urging on him. Osborne demurred. "It's a hard road to recovery," he said. "And there is no alternative [to the government's deficit reduction strategy]."
 
As for a possible reshuffle, the Chancellor suggested that Marr ask David Cameron. One suspects we haven't heard the last of it.

 

On his way? George Osborne outside Number 11 Downing Street (Photograph: Getty Images)

Jonathan Derbyshire is Managing Editor of Prospect. He was formerly Culture Editor of the New Statesman.

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

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 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times