Not feeling so courageous, eh, minister?

William Hague is not the first MP to put loyalty to a local hospital before government policy, and h

The Sun reports today that William Hague is lined up to speak at a rally in opposition to the downgrading of a maternity unit at a small hospital in his Yorkshire constituency. A spokesman for the Foreign Secretary is quoted as saying this has nothing to do with the health reforms contained in besieged legislation currently causing tumult in parliament.

In technical terms, that might just about be true. The Health and Social Care Bill isn't on the statute books so it cannot directly have led to changes on the ground to which Hague is opposed. But politically the two cannot be separated. Partly, it just looks ridiculous. People conflate 'reform' and 'cuts' (the Sun's copy certainly does) and generally blame the government for everything bad that happens in the NHS so will wonder whose side the Foreign Secretary thinks he's on.

But the Hague conundrum also points to a more subtle, long-term problem. There is something approaching consensus in health policy circles that, eventually, for the sake of cost efficiency and coordination of care, specialist services need to be concentrated in centres of excellence, while routine procedures can be done more locally. What this means in practice is that the medium-sized district general hospital is an endangered species. There will be clinics, often based around GP practices, for the small stuff, and then fancy regional centres for the high-tech, complicated stuff. This dynamic appears to be what is behind the removal of certain services from Hague's constituency. Routine baby deliveries will stay; inpatient paediatric care is moving off 22 miles away to Middlesborough.

The problem with this trajectory - although it might make commercial and clinical sense on paper - is that it makes for atrocious politics. It always means stories of sick patients being forced to travel miles by taxi or ambulance when what they really want is just to stay local. Every constituency has an old-fashioned general hospital and every MP feels obliged to stand by it on the barricades. (Remember Hazel Blears getting into much the same pickle?)

Lansley's reforms are going to replicate this situation in constituencies up and down the country. The new GP-led commissioning structures and enhanced competition to provide care will, it is guaranteed, accelerate the process of 'rationalisation' away from general hospitals. That is partly the point of the reforms, albeit not one the government boasts about. Local surgeries will pick off the work that doesn't need in-patient beds, while specialist hospitals will be the obvious suppliers of more complex procedures. Plenty of Tory and Lib Dem MPs are worried about the dilemma this will create for them. It is a courageous politician indeed who turns up at a local town hall meeting to say 'actually,in the interests of overall NHS efficiency and in support of government policy, I'm here to defend the closure of our casualty/maternity ward.'

Hague isn't planning on doing it. The rest will follow his lead. This is just one of many reasons why Andrew Lansley's reforms are a political disaster. He can't seem to sell them to the public and no one else with a seat to defend containing a cherished local hospital is going to dare do it for him.

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

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.