Tory support rises as Lib Dems fall back in new polls

Conservative lead back up to 10 points in latest ComRes poll.

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Latest poll (ComRes/Independent on Sunday/Sunday Mirror): Conservatives 11 seats short of a majority.

No fewer than four new polls out tonight, all of which show a rise in support for the Conservatives. The most striking is the latest ComRes survey for the Independent on Sunday and the Sunday Mirror, which has the Tory lead up to 10 points, the highest since February.

The poll puts the Conservatives up 2 points to 38 per cent, with the Lib Dems down 1 to 25 per cent and Labour also down 1 to 28 per cent. If repeated at the election on a uniform swing, those figures would leave Cameron 11 seats short of a majority. But in practice, since the Tories are still likely to perform disproportionately well in the marginals, a lead of this size should be just enough for a majority.

Elsewhere, the YouGov daily tracker has the Tories up 1 to 35 per cent, the Lib Dems unchanged on 28 per cent and Labour down 1 to 27 per cent. On a uniform swing, this result would leave the Conservatives 41 seats short of a majority.

It seems safe to conclude that David Cameron's winning performance in the final leaders' debate has given the Tories a slight boost. At the very least, it looks like the Conservatives can expect to emerge as the single largest party on Friday morning, with the Lib Dems providing "confidence and supply" in a hung parliament.

New Statesman Poll of Polls

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Hung parliament: Conservatives 31 seats short of a majority.

The latest ICM/Sunday Telegraph survey provides further evidence of a Conservative bounce. The poll puts the Tories up 3 points to 36 per cent, Labour up 1 to 29 per cent and the Lib Dems down 3 to 27 per cent. Labour will be relieved that ICM, like YouGov, suggests the Lib Dem surge is abating.

But there's also a new Angus Reid survey for the Sunday Express that has the Tories up 2 to 36 per cent, the Lib Dems down 1 to 29 per cent and Labour unchanged on just 23 per cent.

Gordon Brown will have to hope that Mike Smithson's golden rule -- that the survey with Labour in the least favourable position is normally the most accurate -- is mistaken this time. On a uniform swing, those figures would leave the Tories just three seats short of a majority.

UPDATE: The final poll of the night, a BPIX survey for the Mail on Sunday, has the Tories unchanged on 34 per cent, the Lib Dems unchanged on 30 per cent and Labour up 1 to 27 per cent.

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George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

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