PMQs verdict: Cameron beats Miliband on points

Cameron won this round but he may live to regret his obstinacy about housing benefit.

David Cameron saved the best till last at today's PMQs. He seized on the leaked PMQs memo (£) in today's Times and taunted Ed Miliband with its contents: "It's important to have a cheer line." Having used up all six of his questions, Miliband could only grin as Cameron landed an easy slam dunk.

The Prime Minister finished: "He's got a plan for PMQs but he's got no plan for the economy, no plan for the debt." That alone was enough for him to claim a points victory.

But that flourish followed a fierce exchange on the housing benefit cap in which Cameron offered no hint of compromise – a stance he may live to regret. Miliband's joke that a glum Nick Clegg "was back on the fags" may have fallen flat, but he was right to draw MPs' attention to a glum-looking Simon Hughes.

Hughes, who has warned that ministers will have to "negotiate" to win approval for the "draconian" measures, will be alarmed by Cameron's obstinacy. The Prime Minister's repeated insistence that "we're sticking to our plans" throws into doubt the possibility of transitional arrangements for London, as demanded by Boris Johnson.

It was left to the Lib Dems' serial rebel, Bob Russell, to sound a note of caution when he warned that the subject was "no laughing matter". Should, as charities warn, 82,000 families be forced out of London – the largest population movement since the Second World War – Russell's words will prove prescient.

Regardless of the rights or wrongs of the cap itself, the population churn will overwhelm local councils. Expect calls for compromise to spread to the Tory benches in time.

Miliband's performance had improved noticeably since last week and his urge for Cameron to "think again" about housing benefit will have resonated with Lib Dems. He and Labour will have many more opportunities to exploit divisions on this issue.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

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 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism