Pro-Cameron Times changes headline to suit the Tories

Headline declaring: “Cameron risks backlash with early talk of victory” is scrapped.

After endorsing the Conservatives at the weekend, one would expect the Times to be keen to minimise damaging stories about David Cameron. So imagine the media's surprise when, at 10.20 last night, the next day's front page was sent to them with the headline "Cameron risks backlash with early talk of victory".

The story appeared to encourage the idea that the Tory leader, a man used to getting his own way, is already measuring the curtains for No 10. With the polls still pointing to a hung parliament, surely the Tories could expect a little more support from the Murdoch-owned paper?

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Well, clearly someone at Wapping thought better of it, because just 45 minutes later a new version was emailed out with the rather bland, neutral-sounding headline: "Cameron outlines plans for first days in power".

That striking claim, "Cameron risks backlash with early talk of victory", was still there but it had been relegated to the standfirst.

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This isn't the first time that the Times has been caught out by its indecision. After the second leaders' debate on TV, the paper featured a picture of Cameron and Nick Clegg with the headline "Neck and neck". But, after a revised version of the paper's Populus poll put Cameron just a point ahead, the headline had metamorphosed into "Cameron nicks it".

Some will no doubt imagine that James Murdoch or Rebekah Brooks (old Rupe is occupied with the Wall Street Journal these days) put in a call to the paper to demand the revision. But here's the point: they probably didn't need to. Successful Murdoch editors usually internalise the prejudices of their proprietor to the degree that no intervention is required.

As the thoughtful former Sun editor David Yelland remarked in a recent interview:

[Y]ou don't admit to yourself that you're being influenced. Most Murdoch editors wake up in the morning, switch on the radio, hear that something has happened and think, 'What would Rupert think about this?' It's like a mantra inside your head. It's like a prism. You look at the world through Rupert's eyes.

Either way, the second favourable headline change for the Tories in less than a month begins to raise natural suspicions.

Hat-tip: PoliticsHome.

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George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

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 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times