Balls and Miliband respond

Shadow chancellor rejects claims that he "plotted" to oust Blair.

Keynes's rottweiler has come out fighting. In response to today's Telegraph splash, Ed Balls has rejected claims that the documents unearthed by the paper prove that he was "plotting" to oust Tony Blair.

He said:

The idea that these documents show there was a plot or an attempt to remove Tony Blair is just not true. It's not justified either by the documents themselves or by what was actually happening at the time. The fact is, after 2004, and then on, there was a discussion between Tony Blair, Gordon Brown and others, including myself, about how we managed that stable and orderly transition ... There is nothing here to justify the claim of a plot and, therefore, for me, that's obviously a bit frustrating today.

But there's a wider point here, I think Labour Party members and people in the country will look at this and say: why was it the case that there were these formal talks, why were there these discussions? The reality was Gordon Brown and Tony Blair had achieved great things together but by this period it was hard, the relationship was under stress, there was a lot of pressure, there were difficulties, there were arguments. I think people will look back and say that it could have been done better. I agree with that and there's a lesson here for us a party because we've got to make sure that at a time when jobs are under pressure, when the coalition is making mistakes, we as a Labour Party are united. That's what I'm determined to show.

Ed Miliband has also responded. The Labour leader tweeted: "Did round of i'views in my constituency. On Telegraph story, I told them- Blair/Brown era is over. Labour & country looking to future."

So far, the absence of a killer revelation means that the story has failed to excite the public. One wonders if, as in the case of expenses scandal, the Telegraph is saving the best till last.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Would you jump off a cliff if someone told you to? One time, I did

I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain.

Ever heard the phrase, “Would you jump off a cliff if they told you to?” It was the perpetual motif of my young teenage years: my daily escapades, all of which sprang from a need to impress a peer, were distressing and disgusting my parents.

At 13, this tomboyish streak developed further. I wrote urgent, angry poems containing lines like: “Who has desire for something higher than jumping for joy and smashing a light?” I wanted to push everything to its limits, to burst up through the ceiling of the small town I lived in and land in America, or London, or at least Derby. This was coupled with a potent and thumping appetite for attention.

At the height of these feelings, I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain. One of the cool girls started saying that her cousin had jumped off the bridge into the river and had just swum away – and that one of us should do it.

Then someone said that I should do it, because I always did that stuff. More people started saying I should. The group drew to a halt. Someone offered me a pound, which was the clincher. “I’m going to jump!” I yelled, and clambered on to the railing.

There wasn’t a complete hush, which annoyed me. I looked down. It was raining very hard and I couldn’t see the bottom of the riverbed. “It looks really deep because of the rain,” someone said. I told myself it would just be like jumping into a swimming pool. It would be over in a few minutes, and then everyone would know I’d done it. No one could ever take it away from me. Also, somebody would probably buy me some Embassy Filter, and maybe a Chomp.

So, surprising even myself, I jumped.

I was about three seconds in the air. I kept my eyes wide open, and saw the blur of trees, the white sky and my dyed red hair. I landed with my left foot at a 90-degree angle to my left ankle, and all I could see was red. “I’ve gone blind!” I thought, then realised it was my hair, which was plastered on to my eyes with rain.

When I pushed it out of the way and looked around, there was no one to be seen. They must have started running as I jumped. Then I heard a voice from the riverbank – a girl called Erin Condron, who I didn’t know very well. She pushed me home on someone’s skateboard, because my ankle was broken.

When we got to my house, I waited for Mum to say, “Would you jump off another cliff if they told you to?” but she was ashen. I had to lie that Dave McDonald’s brother had pushed me in the duck pond. And that’s when my ankle started to throb. I never got the pound, but I will always be grateful to Erin Condron. 

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser