The Tories think they can flush out Ed's inner red

Part of the strategy behind the land-grab on the "moral economy" is to nudge the Labour leader into

The fair capitalism debate that has rumbled on throughout this week looks likely to continue into the next one.

Business Secretary Vince Cable is delivering a speech on Tuesday on the subject of executive pay. (The coalition thinks some of it is too high, or rather, it isn't adequately indexed to commercial success.) Cable is speaking at an event hosted by the Social Market Foundation think tank, although Chuka Umunna, shadow Business Secretary, is trying to force Vince to announce his plans in parliament first. Umunna raised a point of order with the Speaker on Wednesday on the grounds that it is - as John Bercow has himself made clear in the past - bad form for ministers to bypass the House when presenting new policy.

It's a small point, but then parliamentary point-scoring is one of the few ways the opposition can have any impact at all. Trying to make Cable give an account of himself in parliament is a sensible tactical gambit since the Commons chamber is always a less forgiving environment than, well, anywhere really. Especially for Lib Dems.

Cable is quite a threat to Labour on this topic. His speech to the Lib Dem party conference last year covered a lot of the themes that are now established in the cannon of "responsible capitalism" rhetoric. And that was a week before Ed Miliband made his famous (at least to political obsessives) predators v producers speech at the Labour conference in Liverpool. Committed students of Vincology will know that his book - The Storm - concluded with a call for conscientious liberal reforms to capitalism in order to head off a populist attack from the far left and far right in the aftermath of the banking crisis.

Cable is also the only politician who can out-boast Ed Miliband when it comes to standing up to Rupert Murdoch - it is a badge of honour they both sport ostentatiously as evidence of their willingness to take on "vested interests".

As I wrote in my column this week, the Lib Dems badly need to be associated with something popular that the coalition is doing. Bashing bankers - a topic on which Vince has form - very much fits that bill.

The Tories, meanwhile, are playing a slightly different game. They are motivated chiefly by the need to close the "fair capitalism" subject down as a political playground for Ed Miliband. As I wrote in the column, Downing Street thinks it has enough material on responsibility and fairness in the Cameroon archive (going back to the brand decontamination "modernising" days) to persuade people that the prime minister has been into this stuff for years and that, by extension, it is not the exclusive property of the Labour leader.

But I now gather there is more to the strategy than a simple policy wardrobe raid. People close to Cameron are persuaded that Miliband's instincts are substantially to the left of his public pronouncements. The thinking in Number 10 is that, with a bit of pressure for ownership of this new centre ground, where it is fashionable to decry the ugly side of capitalism, Miliband can be nudged into a more fundamentalist stance. Part of the thinking behind Cameron's "moral markets" speech yesterday was to draw a dividing line between those who want capitalism to work better and those who think it is really a scam from top to bottom, with Labour on the wrong side. Cameron and Osborne want to maneouvre the Labour leader into a position where he sounds not pro-reform but anti-market. The Tories don't just want to expropriate Miliband, they want to drive him off into a tent by St Paul's.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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For the Ukip press officer I slept with, the European Union was Daddy

My Ukip lover just wanted to kick against authority. I do not know how he would have coped with the reality of Brexit.

I was a journalist for a progressive newspaper.

He was the press officer for the UK Independence Party.

He was smoking a cigarette on the pavement outside the Ukip conference in Bristol.

I sat beside him. It was a scene from a terrible film. 

He wore a tweed Sherlock Holmes coat. The general impression was of a seedy-posh bat who had learned to talk like Shere Khan. He was a construct: a press officer so ridiculous that, by comparison, Ukip supporters seemed almost normal. He could have impersonated the Queen Mother, or a morris dancer, or a British bulldog. It was all bravado and I loved him for that.

He slept in my hotel room, and the next day we held hands in the public gallery while people wearing Union Jack badges ranted about the pound. This was before I learned not to choose men with my neurosis alone. If I was literally embedded in Ukip, I was oblivious, and I was no kinder to the party in print than I would have been had I not slept with its bat-like press officer. How could I be? On the last day of the conference, a young, black, female supporter was introduced to the audience with the words – after a white male had rubbed the skin on her hand – “It doesn’t come off.” Another announcement was: “The Ukip Mondeo is about to be towed away.” I didn’t take these people seriously. He laughed at me for that.

After conference, I moved into his seedy-posh 18th-century house in Totnes, which is the counterculture capital of Devon. It was filled with crystal healers and water diviners. I suspect now that his dedication to Ukip was part of his desire to thwart authority, although this may be my denial about lusting after a Brexiteer who dressed like Sherlock Holmes. But I prefer to believe that, for him, the European Union was Daddy, and this compulsion leaked into his work for Ukip – the nearest form of authority and the smaller Daddy.

He used to telephone someone called Roger from in front of a computer with a screen saver of two naked women kissing, lying about what he had done to promote Ukip. He also told me, a journalist, disgusting stories about Nigel Farage that I cannot publish because they are libellous.

When I complained about the pornographic screen saver and said it was damaging to his small son, he apologised with damp eyes and replaced it with a photo of a topless woman with her hand down her pants.

It was sex, not politics, that broke us. I arrived on Christmas Eve to find a photograph of a woman lying on our bed, on sheets I had bought for him. That was my Christmas present. He died last year and I do not know how he would have coped with the reality of Brexit, of Daddy dying, too – for what would be left to desire?

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era