Osborne will struggle to debate the IMF head-on

Without being able to turn to now-slain canards, the chancellor's arguments fall apart.

George Osborne is to make one of the most direct responses yet to the IMF's interventions into UK politics this week, according to the Guardian's economics editor Larry Elliot:

The Treasury intends to reject the IMF's call for an easing in the pace of deficit reduction and will insist that any change in the strategy is both unnecessary and counterproductive. Alarmed at the flatlining of the British economy in 2011 and 2012, the IMF said last month it was time for Osborne to do more to boost economic growth and urged that he should rethink plans to cut the government's structural budget deficit by 1% of national income in 2013-14.

The chancellor was stung by the criticism, which was seized upon by shadow chancellor Ed Balls as evidence the government had damaged the economy with an over-aggressive austerity approach.

It's an argument which the chancellor is ill-equipped to take public, since the IMF is pushing the one policy which Osborne has no real response to: apolitically arguing for a modest increase in deficit-funded investment.

Elliot reports that Treasury officials will be relying on the time-worn "credibility with the financial markets" response. That's one which might play well with the public, but has little-to-no relation to the real world. In fact, Britain's Bond yields are depressed, just like the rest of the non-Eurozone developed world's, by the financial climate. Investors, scared of the prospect that they might lose everything in another bank run or stock market collapse, buy up bonds in countries which control their own currency just to have a safe place to store money. The situation has even been called a "reverse sovereign debt crisis", to reflect that fact that, in many cases, yields are so low that governments are being effectively payed to look after money.

(The rush to safe assets is also likely what prompted Apple to issue its own $17bn worth of bonds; multinational companies are safe enough that investors are happy to park their cash there, too.)

The Chancellor and Treasury are more at easy arguing within the British political context, where the mantra "more debt is bad" is so ingrained into the debate that they don't have to try to justify it. That's why the Conservative party feels they can torpedo any of Labour's plans just by pointing out that they are aiming to "borrow more to borrow less" (despite the fact that that's an entirely reasonable suggestion, as anyone who has consolidated debts, installed double glazing, or taken a season ticket loan will tell you): the opposition flounders in the face of such an attack, unsure whether to argue that they aren't really borrowing; that they are borrowing, but it will result in less future debt; or that they are borrowing and that's better than the alternative.

The IMF has no such qualms. It is telling the UK that borrowing more is good, and challenging the government to actually go back to first principles and explain why its debt reduction program must take eight years, compared to the initial plan of five. Why not nine? Or ten? Or 12?

Faced with having to justify his most basic beliefs, the chancellor is forced to retreat to canards long since slain. The "financial markets" are not rewarding the UK for austerity, nor will they punish it for slowing the pace of fiscal consolidation. In the meantime, the UK economy is very definitely feeling the hit of the lack of any coherent plan for growth over the last three years; and it feels like that pain will last a lot longer.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear