300 EU officials earn more than the Prime Minister

Latest revelation about the EU gravy train shows that some of our officials earn £142,500+.

At least 300 of the UK's appointed staff to the EU earn more than the Prime Minister's salary of £142,500, the Foreign Office has confirmed.

In a response to a parliamentary question on the subject, Lord Howell of Guildford, the Foreign Office minister in the Lords, stated that while the FO did not hold details of individual salaries, 300 of the UK's officials are on salary scales for which the minimum pay is greater than €170,000 -- the equivalent of the Prime Minister's wage at current exchange rates.

All 27 members of the EU's College of Commissioners earn more than this, including the UK's member, Cathy Ashton, the EU's High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, who is the world's highest-paid female politician, taking home £328,000 a year.

As well as providing the facts, Howell also expressed guarded regret at the wage bill for these appointed officials, saying it was "only right" that, at a time when EU governments were cutting spending, institutions should "think carefully" and "ensure that they get the most for their money".

He went on to say that the Foreign Office is pushing for a "freeze" in the 2011 Budget, and "expects salary levels to reflect the current economic conditions".

Lord Stoddart, the independent Labour peer who tabled the question, condemned the existence of "an unelected governing elite in Brussels" and said: "It would appear that, by comparison to this pampered and overpaid elite, our Prime Minister is a somewhat underpaid office junior!"

He also pointed out that the information from the Foreign Office concerns salaries only, and does not cover the expenses and other allowances available to these officials, which have long been the subject of controversy.

Back in 2007, it was revealed that MEPs were reimbursed for travel on the basis of first-class fares plus 20 per cent, with no obligation to provide receipts. Baroness Ashton, for instance, in addition to her salary, has a private staff of 20 and a chauffeured car. The MEP Nigel Farage last year infamously boasted that he had taken "pushing £2m" of taxpayers' money to promote Ukip's message of withdrawal from the EU in Europe.

The list goes on. The revelation about the salaries for the UK's unelected EU officials is only a small part of the picture. And as Howell has hinted, with vicious spending cuts at home, this vast expenditure of public funds on EU staffers is utterly outrageous.

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Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood