Nick Clegg on the Lib Dem role in the Spending Review

Emphasises role of Lib Dem ministers in Spending Review, but denies that cuts aim to create a smalle

Nick Clegg has just sent out an email to Lib Dem members giving some of the rationale behind the Spending Review. It's very light on detail, but does provide a couple of interesting insights into how the Deputy Prime Minister is seeking to position his party politically going into this afternoon's announcement.

The core argument is, naturally, the same as the one offered by Cameron and Osborne – the outcome of the review is about fairness and, above all, cutting "Labour's deficit". But there are also certain phrases that demonstrate once again how tightly Clegg's fortunes are now tied to those of the coalition's leading Tory figures. The following paragraph is particularly interesting:

The spending review is a thoroughly Coalition product. Liberal Democrat ministers have been involved every step of the way. Our values and priorities are written through the review, like the message in a stick of rock.

As my colleagues Mehdi Hasan and James Macintyre pointed out in the run-up to the Lib Dem conference, the spending review is just the first in a series of tests for the Lib Dems as a party of government, perhaps the most significant being the local elections to come next May. But with the polling numbers long suggesting we can expect a big swell of unpopularity for this afternoon's announcement, the Spending Review isn't without its challenges for the Lib Dems. Members, and a fair number of Lib Dem MPs, will be feeling very uncomfortable this afternoon.

However, the key paragraph of the letter comes at the end, where Clegg lays out his version of the motivation behind the cuts:

We are not taking the decisions today because they are easy or because we want to see a smaller state, we are taking them because they are right.

He said something similar in his conference speech – it's clearly a line designed for the membership, many of whom will be feeling uneasy about the Tories' mantra of "smaller state, bigger society". Now that Clegg has positioned his party and his ministers so centrally to the Spending Review, it will be fascinating to see how his backbenchers choose to respond, come the inevitable fallout.

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

Getty
Show Hide image

A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear