Lib Dem MPs have a duty to vote against higher fees

Rebellion grows as Michael Gove announces new cap of £9,000 on tuition fees.

Michael Gove's announcement that university tuition fees will be capped at £9,000 – £2,000 higher than originally suggested by Vince Cable – spares us the unlimited market proposed by the Browne review.

But this still represents a significant increase from the current limit of £3,290 and Lib Dem backbenchers, all of whom (including, as shown, Nick Clegg) pledged to vote against any rise in fees, are understandably concerned.

In what looks like a damage-limitation exercise by the coalition, Gove announced the increase on the Today programme this morning and David Willetts will make a Commons statement at 12.30pm. Cable, who is officially responsible for universities policy, is nowhere to be seen.

The coalition agreement allows the Lib Dems to abstain from any vote, but many, particularly those who represent university seats, are determined to honour their pledge.

The latest rebel is Jenny Willott, MP for Cardiff Central and PPS to Chris Huhne. She said: "I will not support an increase in tuition fees and I'm deeply concerned about increasing levels of student debt." Should she stick to her pledge to vote against any increase in fees, she will be required to resign or be sacked as a PPS.

Other rebels include the party grandees Ming Campbell and Charles Kennedy, Greg Mulholland, MP for Leeds North-West, Julian Huppert, MP for Cambridge, Stephen Williams, MP for Bristol West, and (of course) Bob Russell. In total, as many as 20 of the party's 37 backbenchers are expected to vote against the government.

The coalition isn't heading for a Commons defeat – that would require at least a dozen Tory MPs to join the rebellion – but it is facing the biggest rebellion of this parliament.

Lib Dem MPs should not be bought off by talk of the government "widening access". Nor should the argument that the "situation has changed" since May persuade anyone. The Budget deficit was larger, not smaller, at the time of the election. The Lib Dems have a moral duty to vote against higher tuition fees.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt