The UK hasn't grown at the same rate as the US

The Treasury's spin is at odds with the facts.

Today's GDP numbers of 0.5 per cent were the best Britain has seen for a year but nowhere near enough to meet the Office for Budget Responsibility's optimistic prediction for 2011 growth of 1.7 per cent. The Treasury tried to put a positive spin on the release by claiming that it puts the UK on a par with the US but the truth is a little more complicated.

Shortly after the figures were released, ITV Business Editor Laura Kuenssberg tweeted, "Treasury sources say UK grown at same rate as US so far in 2011".

For this to be true, it would mean that the Treasury are conveniently ignoring the effects of last winter's snow which chopped 0.5 per cent off GDP. As the Office for National Statistics' own statement says:

The interpretation of the estimate for Q3 is complicated by the special events in Q2 (for example, the additional bank holiday in April for the royal wedding), which are likely to have depressed activity in that quarter. As with 2010 Q4 and 2011 Q1 (affected by the bad weather in Q4) it may be wise to look at 2011 Q2 and 2011 Q3 together, rather than separately. On that basis GDP has grown by 0.6 per cent in the last two quarters and by 0.5 per cent in the last year.

US figures out last week showed that the annualised rate for the third quarter was 2.5 per cent. Comparing like with like, this means that the US economy grew by 1.6 per cent over the last year. The chart below shows that the UK has lagged the US economy at every point in the last two years looking at growth on a year-on-year basis.

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Today's numbers mean that UK growth in 2011 is unlikely to be higher than 1.0 per cent. In their first estimate in June 2010, the OBR predicted that growth would be 2.6 per cent before revising it down twice to 2.3 per cent after the Emergency Budget and to 1.7 per cent this March. They are now almost certain to do the same again on November 29th when the Chancellor delivers his autumn statement. Instead of trying to put a positive spin on these figures, the Treasury should focus on getting the economy moving again by adopting a Plan B that slows the pace of cuts and puts in place a programme for jobs and growth.

Will Straw is Associate Director at IPPR

Will Straw was Director of Britain Stronger In Europe, the cross-party campaign to keep Britain in the European Union. 

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As the strangers approach the bed, I wonder if this could be a moment of great gentleness

I don’t know what to do. In my old T-shirt and M&S pants, I don’t know what to do.

It’s 1.13am on an autumn morning some time towards the end of the 20th century and I’m awake in a vast hotel bed in a small town in the east of England. The mysterious east, with its horizons that seem to stretch further than they should be allowed to stretch by law. I can’t sleep. My asthma is bad and I’m wheezing. The clock I bought for £3 many years earlier ticks my life away with its long, slow music. The street light outside makes the room glow and shimmer.

I can hear footsteps coming down the corridor – some returning drunks, I guess, wrecked on the reef of a night on the town. I gaze at the ceiling, waiting for the footsteps to pass.

They don’t pass. They stop outside my door. I can hear whispering and suppressed laughter. My clock ticks. I hear a key card being presented, then withdrawn. The door opens slowly, creaking like a door on a Radio 4 play might. The whispering susurrates like leaves on a tree.

It’s an odd intrusion, this, as though somebody is clambering into your shirt, taking their time. A hotel room is your space, your personal kingdom. I’ve thrown my socks on the floor and my toothbrush is almost bald in the bathroom even though there’s a new one in my bag because I thought I would be alone in my intimacy.

Two figures enter. A man and a woman make their way towards the bed. In the half-dark, I can recognise the man as the one who checked me in earlier. He says, “It’s all right, there’s nobody in here,” and the woman laughs like he has just told her a joke.

This is a moment. I feel like I’m in a film. It’s not like being burgled because this isn’t my house and I’m sure they don’t mean me any harm. In fact, they mean each other the opposite.

Surely they can hear my clock dripping seconds? Surely they can hear me wheezing?

They approach, closer and closer, towards the bed. The room isn’t huge but it seems to be taking them ages to cross it. I don’t know what to do. In my old T-shirt and M&S pants, I don’t know what to do. I should speak. I should say with authority, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” But I don’t.

I could just lie here, as still as a book, and let them get in. It could be a moment of great gentleness, a moment between strangers. I would be like a chubby, wheezing Yorkshire pillow between them. I could be a metaphor for something timeless and unspoken.

They get closer. The woman reaches her hand across the bed and she touches the man’s hand in a gesture of tenderness so fragile that it almost makes me sob.

I sit up and shout, “Bugger off!” and they turn and run, almost knocking my clock from the bedside table. The door crashes shut shakily and the room seems to reverberate.

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge