The Chancellor should admit in his statement that his rules were misconceived from the start

Autumn Statement wishlist.

Unless he can find some dodge to circumvent them, George Osborne’s fiscal rules are likely to require him to tighten policy in the autumn statement through some combination of spending cuts (such as freezing welfare payments) and tax increases. At a time when the economic recovery is so weak and economists are speculating about the possibility of a ‘triple-dip’ recession this would be folly.

The Chancellor should admit in his statement that his rules were misconceived from the start. The first is, in theory, no constraint at all because it only requires him to forecast that the deficit will be eliminated in five years time, not to ever actually eliminate it. But in practice, he interprets the rule as forcing him to take action now in order to demonstrate he is still on track to achieve his five-year target. The second rule – that debt should be falling by 2015-16 – is a bigger problem; it can only be achieved by more tax increases or spending cuts.

George Osborne should adopt a new rule specifying that the scale of spending cuts will vary according to the strength of the economy. When growth is weak, spending cuts should be scaled back; when it is strong, they should be speeded up. This would increase the credibility of fiscal policy and allow the Chancellor to relax policy in the autumn statement. This should be done through what is clearly a one-off boost to spending, and the best way to do that is by providing additional resources for infrastructure spending in 2013-14.

Tony Dolphin is from the Institute of Public Policy Research

When growth is weak, spending cuts should be scaled back. Photograph: Getty Images

Tony Dolphin is chief economist at IPPR

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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