SpAds: what’s the gender split?

The spotlight has been on women in politics -- or the lack of them. How do special advisers measure

The Cabinet Office has released the full list of special advisers to the coalition government and what they are paid.

The big headline from publication of the list was that Andy Coulson, the Prime Minister's director of communications, has agreed to a salary of £140,000, just £2,500 less than David Cameron.

Coulson, who was editor of the News of the World from 2003-2007, resigned as director of communications at Conservative Party headquarters to take the post at No 10. At CCHQ, he was paid £275,000, so his move to Downing Street comes at the price of a £135,000 pay cut.

Overall, the number of special adviser roles has been reduced from 78 to 68, with seven of the positions still vacant. It is thought that this reduction will reduce the annual wage bill for special advisers by up to £2m.

Following the general election and the announcement of the coalition cabinet, the debate about gender equality in politics has become more vociferous, both Alice Miles and Rowenna Davis in the New Statesman articulating dissatisfaction with the number of women in top roles.

Twenty-two per cent of MPs are now women, an increase of 2.5 per cent on 2005, and 4 per cent on 1997.

This imbalance among elected politicians seems to be reflected in the ranks of special advisers, with 22 of the posts held by women, just over half the number held by men.

The inequality is also reflected in the average salaries of male and female special advisers, with men earning £62,298 on average, while the average salary for female advisers is just under £3,750 less, at £58,552.

But it isn't all bad news. Of the ten highest-paid special advisers, four are women. Kate Fall, Cameron's deputy chief of staff, is the third-highest-paid special adviser, with a salary of £100,000. Other women in the top ten include the Tory press secretary Gabby Bertin, the former chief of staff to Nick Clegg Polly MacKenzie, and the Tories' head of operations, Liz Sugg.

Philippa Stroud, the Conservative candidate who sparked controversy over her membership of the New Frontiers Church and allegations in the Observer that she founded a project to "cure" homosexuals, is to be paid £69,250 in her new role as special adviser at the Department for Work and Pensions.

Despite being widely tipped as a Tory high-flyer, Stroud was beaten in Sutton and Cheam by the Liberal Democrat Paul Burstow, who won the seat with a majority of 1,608 votes.

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Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman. She writes a weekly podcast column.

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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