From striver alert to future cuts: five things to expect from the Autumn Statement

A few insights from Gavin Kelly to help you navigate Osborne's fiscal arithmetic.

In the Autumn Statement there will be a blizzard of facts, figures, assertions and counter-assertions. There have been a few helpful pointers on what lto ook out for (try this and this), and I’ve already given my tuppence worth on what may happen to the faltering fiscal rules. But here are a few further insights to bear in mind.

First, be on striver alert. Expect plenty of warm words about "do-ers and grafters" who get up and work hard on modest means. In a different part of the Chancellor’s speech there will be tough messages and measures for those working age families who receive tax credits and benefits. Not for the first or last time the impression will be given that these are two distinct groups inhabiting different moral and economic worlds. They aren’t. Three quarters of tax credits go to working households. If reports about capping tax credit increases at 1 per cent are correct then so-called strivers are about to be squeezed too. 

Second, there will be new news on wages – and the longevity of the squeeze. Buried in the OBR report there will new estimates for what is expected to happen to wages and inflation until 2018. In terms of the economics, and politics, of living standards from now until the election this is key data. Given that the OBR’s forecast for growth in 2013 is very likely to be marked down (from rosy 2 per cent figure it set in March) the assumption for earnings may well also fall. Also, for those who want to get inside the numbers, be warned that the figures the OBR uses tend to be a bit optimistic as they are based on the mean rather than typical (ie median) wage.

Third, watch out for childcare. Given the size of the cuts that are coming down the path you might not expect any new areas of spending. But if there is to be any (outside of new capital investment – or more accurately a slowing down of the rate of infrastructure cuts) then childcare may be a beneficiary. Measures to help with childcare costs would support employment, speak to concerns over the cost of living, and be a nod to the Coalition’s woes with some women voters. In terms of what might actually get announced there is likely to have been a lively internal debate. On the one hand, there are those who favour introducing tax-relief – a slightly saloon bar approach - which will inevitably favour the better off (and which has been skewered by my colleague James Plunkett). Against this are those who would like to build on the 15 hours of free guaranteed pre-school childcare. This latter approach would be a step in the right direction and do something to reduce the shocking disincentives to work that many second earners face in low and middle income families. That said, the government may want to hold any such announcement back to the New Year when its Childcare Commission reports.

Fourth, there is the widely anticipated raid on pension tax relief for the affluent. The briefings are that around £1-1.5bn might be raised by lowering the annual limit on pension contributions from £50k to £30k. If so, be ready for a bit of a storm from the well-organised pensions lobby. But bear in mind that tax-relief is highly regressive and very expensive. It is indeed remarkable that the support for higher rate tax payers has been so protected given some of the cuts being made – some of the claims about these measure hammering "middle-earners" are very overdone.

Even so, there are better ways of cutting tax-relief for the affluent than restricting the annual limit: the lifetime allowance for tax privileged pension contributions should be cut instead. Bringing it down from £1.5m to £1m would raise up to £1.5bn (to put this perspective note that the typical size of annuity purchased is £25k). It’s also the case that those who say that this salami slicing of pension tax relief is destabilising for savers have a point: the government should work out once and for all how much it wants to raise from pension tax relief in this Parliament and then draw a line. And when it does this, it should bear in mind that it still needs to find the billions to pay for the final increase in the personal tax allowance to £10k before 2015.

Finally, care needs to be taken in adding up the scale of the future cuts. The briefing by the IFS on Thursday lunchtime will provide the definitive view on this. But if a figure is revealed for new cuts that need to be made in 2017/18 (because the structural deficit gets pushed back by another year) then bear in mind that this will be on top of a pile of other cuts – roughly £23bn - that have already been pencilled in for 2015/16 and 2016/2017 but are yet to be allocated. Osborne is accumulating an ever larger mountain of fiscal misery to be dished out between departments and welfare spending. For a guide to this unpleasant fiscal arithmetic you won’t do better than reading this from the IPPR and this from the SMF.

But also bear in mind, that if the OBR decided at some future date to change its assumptions about the amount of spare capacity in the economy, and therefore the size of the structural deficit, then all of these numbers would be greatly affected. In which case there would be probably be a need for another Autumn Statement.

 

George Osborne. Photograph: Getty Images

Gavin Kelly is a former adviser to Downing Street and the Treasury. He tweets @GavinJKelly1.

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad