How Cameron disguised the true level of cuts

The Prime Minister attempted to hide extra cuts by the coalition in his speech on public service ref

In his speech on public-service reform yesterday, David Cameron attempted to assuage fears over the coalition's spending cuts. He said:

[When] we're done with these cuts, spending on public services will actually still be at the same level as it was in 2006. We will still be spending 41 per cent of our GDP on the public sector.

The Prime Minister's words were deceptive on two levels. First, he omitted to mention that this represents a reduction of more than 6 per cent of GDP (see table B2). Under Margaret Thatcher, spending fell by an equivalent amount (from 45.1 per cent of GDP to 39.2 per cent) but over 11 years, not five. Even then, the fall was largely due to economic growth, not spending cuts.

As I've pointed out before, during the Iron Lady's time in office, spending rose by 1.1 per cent a year on average - the reason why it was so absurd for Nick Clegg to vow that there would be no return to the "savage cuts" of the 1980s.

Cameron was also wrong to claim that spending will be 41 per cent of GDP "when we're done with these cuts". True, spending will be 41.8 per cent in 2013-2014 but, as the graph below shows, it will fall again to 40.4 per cent in 2014-2015 and to 39.3 per cent in 2015-2016. Thus, the Prime Minister hid additional spending reductions of nearly 2 per cent of GDP. After the coalition's programme of cuts is complete, spending will actually be at the same level as it was in 2004, not 2006.

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Another significant detail is that the government's spending cuts are permanent, not temporary. When asked by a Fire Brigade worker last summer if funding would be restored once the deficit has been addressed, Cameron replied:

The direct answer to your question, should we cut things now and go back later and try and restore them later, [is] I think we should be trying to avoid that approach.

The Prime Minister's insistence that we should try to "avoid that approach" reveals an ideological attachment to the small state and to low levels of spending. The result will be permanently shrunken public services. Cameron is free to argue for this position, but next time he should do so on the basis of fact, not myth.

UPDATE: I should have pointed out that spending under Thatcher reached a peak of 48.1 per cent in 1982-83 before falling to 38.9 per cent in 1988-89, a reduction of 9.2 per cent, larger than the 8.1 per cent reduction planned by the coalition. But my substantive point stands: Cameron is hiding the true extent of the cuts.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war