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Greens and blues

Whatever the outcome at Copenhagen, the real work will be done in Europe, where the Tories look incr

If the UN summit on climate change in Copenhagen ends with an agreement on legally binding targets (which it almost certainly won't), the hard work of implementation would still need to be done. Targets have value - they focus political, business and media attention - but they don't automatically lead to delivery.

Look at Kyoto. The fairest overall assessment of it is that the developed countries which ratified the protocol have allowed their emissions to increase by 9.1 per cent, while the US allowed its emissions to increase by 14.4 per cent. Kyoto can plausibly be said to have reduced non-US, developed-country emissions by about 5 per cent from what they would have been without the deal, which is better than nothing. But it's not nearly enough.

The EU's target of a 20 per cent reduction in greenhouse-gas emissions by 2020, though still not enough, is at least enforceable. And the EU has significant policy levers - regulatory powers and money to invest in clean energy. So, even though Copenhagen is important, the EU Council of Ministers is the crucial forum for UK pol­iticians wanting to control climate change.

The EU has led international negotiations on climate. Its commitment to reduce emissions is not dependent on what anyone else does. Its target to get 20 per cent of all energy from renewables by 2020 is achievable and it has the money to help construct the more extensive and efficient infrastructure needed, including grids across the North Sea and the Mediterranean. It has also said that it will have up to 12 large-scale carbon capture and storage (CCS) plants operational by 2015. Although this is just a target and the words "up to" are classic fudge, the Commission has already allocated more than €1bn (£910m) to CCS projects under the European Economic Recovery Plan and has selected the projects to receive the money, which national governments seem to find hard to do.

There is no significant disagreement between the UK's main political parties about climate change, but there certainly is disagreement over the EU. New Labour has generally been pro-EU; the Liberal Democrats are very pro, but the Conservatives remain divided (though David Cameron's sensible decision not to hold a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty failed to produce the ructions that some expected, or hoped for). Cameron and the shadow energy secretary, Greg Clark, are serious about controlling climate change. But the damage done to relations with other centre-right parties by the Tories leaving the European People's Party (EPP) may be a significant obstacle.

Trouble on the right

The Conservatives have good policies on the low-carbon transition. Yet I know from my own experience that it is considerably less difficult to adopt good policies in opposition than it is to achieve good outcomes in government.

From 1992-94, I was adviser to the then shadow environment secretary, Chris Smith, and secretary of the Labour policy commission on the environment. This produced In Trust for Tomorrow, which proposed targets to reduce carbon dioxide emissions by 20 per cent by 2010 and to generate 10 per cent of electricity from renewables in 2010. Smith negotiated the considerable internal discussion about this with skill and determination.

Then, from 1997-99, I was adviser to the environment minister, Michael Meacher. He and John Prescott played an important role in the Kyoto negotiations and tried hard to make our economy less climate-damaging. The changes in performance since 1997, however, have been very disappointing. The UK will meet its Kyoto target, due largely to the "dash for gas" that Labour inherited from the Tories. In office, ministers have had to deal not only with Labour Party politics, but also with interdepartmental Whitehall politics. Too often, these have proved insuperable barriers. The 2010 targets for carbon dioxide and renewables will both be missed. The UK gets a lower proportion of its energy from renewables than any EU country except Luxembourg and Malta.

I am no longer a member of a political party, and so do not have inside knowledge of politics today. But it is worrying that Tory ministers trying to implement their climate plans would have to deal not only with internal party and Whitehall politics, but also with difficult relations with other centre-right parties. Cameron, William Hague and George Osborne have all said that the EU should focus on global issues such as climate change. Yet, by leaving the EPP, the Tories have made it more difficult for the party to achieve this. For instance, a central part of developing clean energy sources is to get the EU emissions trading scheme working better. The scheme has had little impact so far because the price of carbon is unpredictable and too low; the best way to improve it would be to set a floor price. This could be done formally through the EU, but that would take many years. It could be created instead through a bilateral deal between the UK and German governments, which have enough allowances in effect to guarantee a floor price. But the Tories have reduced their influence with Angela Merkel's Christian Democratic Union.

The Conservatives accept that climate protection cannot be left to the market. They have called for an Emissions Performance Standard (EPS) to set a maximum pollution level from any power plant. This was an excellent proposal, as Ed Miliband, the Climate Change Secretary, recognised when he said that an EPS could act as a "safety net" in case CCS is not as effective as hoped. The UK could introduce an EPS on its own, but it would be much more effective if introduced across the EU.

Let us not lose faith

The EU's target to improve energy efficiency by 20 per cent by 2020 is merely an aspiration at present. The Commission is now saying that the target should be made binding, with predictable hostility from national governments. Allowing decisions to be made by the right tier of government is important, but not as important as taking the right decisions.

However, one way to get one tier to do certain things is to get another tier firmly committed. If Copenhagen and the follow-up negotiations in 2010 can secure legally binding commitments, it will concentrate minds. Several EU governments have been more willing to accept EU directives because they have a legally binding Kyoto target. The EU itself has said that if there were a strong international agreement, its reduction target would be 30 per cent, not 20.

So let us not lose faith entirely in Copenhagen. It is good that Gordon Brown and other world leaders are going to the summit (although, for Brown to be credible, he must put serious money into the low-carbon transition in the pre-Budget report). The real challenge, however, will come after Copenhagen. For it to be met, whoever forms the next UK government must engage extensively, seriously and constructively with Europe.

Stephen Tindale is a climate and energy consultant and co-founder of Climate Answers

 

Take a walk on the dark side

In June, David Cameron pulled his party out of the centre-right European People's Party (EPP). He has argued that leaving the EPP will be good for European democracy, but the Tories' departure has distanced them from old conservative allies in Europe. In 2006, Cameron signed a joint declaration to form a new partnership, the European Conservatives and Reformists Group (ECR), chaired by Michal Kaminski.

The Conservative leader has pointed to the ECR's anti-federalist stance in attempting to justify his party's new alliance in the European Parliament, but among the politicians in the group are some who hold sexist, homophobic and racist views. Kaminski has come under scrutiny in recent months for his previous membership of the National Revival of Poland party, which has been accused of neo-Nazism.

The Tories may now lose influence in Europe in important settings such as the environment, public health and food safety committee (vice-chaired by Boguslaw Sonik, a member of the EPP), the committee on industry, research and energy, chaired by an EPP member, and the economic and monetary affairs committee, which has two EPP vice-chairmen.

The Conservatives are the largest party in the new parliamentary grouping, making up 25 of the ECR's 54 members. Its two other main partners are Poland's Law and Justice party and the Czech Republic's Civic Democratic Party.

James Burgess

 

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This article first appeared in the 07 December 2009 issue of the New Statesman, Boy George

Martin O’Neill for New Statesman
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1966 and all that

A year of World Cup glory, meeting Paul McCartney and eating placenta.

Fifty years ago this Saturday, on 30 July 1966, I was at Wembley. I have my ticket and my programme to prove it. I also have my 1966 ­diary, which I am looking at now. I was 30, weighed ten stone and eight pounds, and my waist was 32 inches – about as hard to believe now as England winning another World Cup final.

I am still in the same house, all these decades later, but my telephone number then was GUL 4685. GUL was short for Gulliver, I can’t remember why. In my list of contacts at the end of my diary is Melvyn Bragg, who was another recent arrival in London from Cumbria, like myself and my wife, on PRO 0790. PRO stood for Prospect, I think, which was the exchange name for somewhere over the river, possibly Kew.

My office number was TER 1234. I always thought that was a great and memorable number. It’s only now, thinking about it, that I realise that TER – meaning Terminus –
probably related to King’s Cross, which the Sunday Times was near in those days.

At the top of the charts in July 1966 were the Kinks with “Sunny Afternoon”, which I can well remember, as it was so ironically chirpy, and Georgie Fame with “Getaway”. I liked Georgie Fame – low-key, cool – but I can’t remember that tune. Both were replaced in August by the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine”/“Eleanor Rigby”.

My day job in July 1966, on the Sunday Times staff, was writing the Atticus column. It still exists, but in a smaller, more skittery format. Previous incumbents included Ian Fleming, John Buchan and Sacheverell Sitwell, who was reputed to have got free Mateus rosé for life after giving the wine its first mention in an English newspaper.

I had been on the paper since 1960, after spending two years as a so-called graduate trainee journalist, mainly in Manchester, which was a laugh. There was no training and there were no lessons in law. You had a mentor for a few weeks and then you got on with it.

In my first few years as the boy on Atticus, I never had my name in the paper. I had to write dreary paragraphs about who might be our next man in Washington, or the bishop of London, or the master of Balliol, as if I cared. I wanted to write about footballers, gritty northern novelists, pop stars.

When I started at the Sunday Times, I felt for a while that people were prejudiced against me, because I was northern and working class and had gone to grammar school and a provincial university (Durham). Everyone else seemed to have been at Oxbridge and gone to public school.

But this prejudice was all in my head, imagined, just as it had been when I used to go from Durham to visit my girlfriend, Margaret – whom I married in 1960 – at Oxford. I was convinced that some of her posh friends were being condescending ­towards me. Total nonsense, but I had a chip on my shoulder for some years. Gone, all gone, just like my 32-inch waist. (I am now 12 stone and the new shorts I bought last week have a 38-inch waist. Oh, the horror.) If anything, these past 50 years, any prejudice has been in my favour.

Harold Wilson was the prime minister in 1966. His northern accent was even stronger than mine. I still have a letter from him, dated 21 March 1963, after I interviewed him for Atticus. In the letter, he ­describes the 1938 FA Cup final in which Preston beat Huddersfield Town 1-0, scoring in the last minute of extra time. At the bottom of the page, in handwriting, he’d added: “after hitting the crossbar”.

What I remember most about the interview was George Brown, who was deputy to
Wilson as Labour leader at the time, hanging around outside his office, drunk. Marcia Williams, Wilson’s secretary, was going around tut-tutting, making faces, complaining about George. I thought she shouldn’t have done, not in front of me, as I was a total stranger and a hack. (I don’t think we called ourselves hacks in those days, which is the normal, half-ironic self-description today.)

Harold was a football man and also a real know-all, forever boasting about his memory for facts and figures. The contents of this letter illustrate both aspects of his character. It led me later to collect a letter or autograph from every prime minister, going back to Robert Walpole. Only took me ten years.

There is a myth that England’s 1966 win helped Labour stay in power – which does not quite stand up. The general election was in March – four months before the final. But Wilson did milk England’s victory, identifying himself and the nation with our English champions.

It is possible that the reverse effect happened in 1970, when Wilson was chucked out and Edward Heath came in. England’s defeat at the 1970 World Cup by West Germany was just four days before the June general election.

***

I got my ticket for the 1966 World Cup final – for one of the best seats, priced at £5 – from my friend James Bredin, now dead, who was the boss of Border Television. Based in Carlisle, Border covered the Scottish Borders and the Isle of Man. It was a thriving, thrusting regional ITV station, now also deceased.

James’s chauffeur came to pick me up and waited for us after the match, a sign of the importance and affluence of even minor ITV stations. Border contributed quite a bit to the network, such as Mr and Mrs, starring Derek Batey, who presented 450 editions of this very popular national show. Batey was a local lad who started his show business life as an amateur ventriloquist in the little market town of Brampton, Cumbria, before becoming Carlisle’s Mr Show Business. He was so polished – lush hair, shiny suits, so starry, so glittery – that I always wondered why he was not in London, in the West End.

Border TV also produced some excellent documentaries that were networked across the ITV region, two of which I presented. One was about walking along Hadrian’s Wall and the other was about George Stephenson. For a while in the 1970s, I began to think I was going to become a TV presenter, despite being not much good. I was lousy at acting, which you need for television, and disliked asking questions to which I already knew the answers. And it took so much time. For each programme, we spent eight weeks on location with a crew of eight, just to make a one-hour documentary. Now they
do docs in a week with just two people.

For half an hour, I also imagined that I was going to become a playwright. In 1967, I had a play in the BBC’s Wednesday Play slot, awfully prestigious at the time, called The Playground. It was one of those shows that were filmed live and then wiped, so I have never seen it since, nor has anybody else. I blamed that for blighting my playwriting career, though till I was looking in my 1966 diary and saw that I was working on that play, I’d forgotten about its existence. As we go through life, we forget all the paths not trodden.

I’ve boasted endlessly about being at the 1966 Wembley final, and it was so exciting, but I can’t remember many of the details. I must have been aware of Geoff Hurst’s second goal being a bit dodgy, as there were loud complaints from the German fans, but as Sir Geoff, as he then wasn’t, went on to score a third goal, it didn’t really matter. At the time, I considered that the England-Portugal semi-final had been a better game, with our Bobby Charlton scoring two goals against one from Eusebio, but of course winning a final is winning a final and the excitement and the patriotic pride continued for weeks and months. We felt as if it had been our right to win – after all, did we not give the game to the world, lay down the first rules, show all those foreigners how to play our game?

The result was that we usually ignored all the new ideas and developments that were emerging from Europe and South America, carrying on with our old ways, stuffing our faces with steak before a game and knocking back six pints afterwards, a bit like Alf Tupper in the Rover comic. He lived on fish and chips, but on the race track he could beat anyone.

Those funny Continental players started playing in funny lightweight boots, more like slippers or ballet shoes, which seemed barmy to us. How we scoffed. How can you play properly, far less kick someone properly, unless your ankles are encased in hard leather as tough as steel? Who cared if they weighed a ton, especially in wet weather? We Brits were tough.

The top First Division stars of 1966 earned about £200 a week, including bonuses, and lived in £20,000 houses, semi-detached, on new estates with Tudor overtones. The top players drove Jaguars. But most were lucky to afford a Ford Cortina. I had one myself for a while. Awfully smart, or so I thought at the time.

Their basic wages were little more than double that of the best-paid working men, such as a foreman bricklayer or a successful plumber. Their neighbours on their estates were bank mangers or salesmen, a higher scale socially than their own background, but still fairly modest. Not like today. Footballers don’t even have neighbours any more. They are cocooned in their own gated mansions, with personal staff, gardeners, nannies, accountants, lawyers, agents.

Yet despite their modest lifestyles in those days, there were celebrity players, such as Bobby Moore, Bobby Charlton and, before them, Billy Wright, all household names, loved and admired, recognised everywhere.

None of them had an agent in 1966. The nearest thing to it was the system that operated if a team got to the FA Cup final. They would then agree to divvy up the peripheral proceeds, such as money from giving newspaper interviews, posing for staged corny photographs, opening shops, or selling their spare tickets to touts (which they were not supposed to do). They’d appoint some dodgy friend of one of the senior players to arrange the deals and collect the monies for them. Times, they always change. Otherwise, what’s the point, eh?

***

In 1966, two big events occurred in my personal life. In May that year, my son, Jake, was born – at home, in what is now our kitchen. He arrived so quickly that the midwife hadn’t turned up yet and he emerged with the cord twisted around his neck. I managed to untie it, which I have maintained since kept him alive (a trick I had learned at fathers’ classes).

Fathers’ classes – wow, what a novelty that was in the 1960s. Who says we were all chauvinist pigs back then? (Today’s young, female star writers at the New Statesman, probably.) I attended my first ones, at the Royal Free Hospital in 1964, when our firstborn, Caitlin, was about to arrive. I remember immediately thinking when the invite came that I would get 1,000 words out of this – which I did, for the Sunday Times women’s pages.

Also at those first-ever fathers’ classes at the Royal Free was a young BBC producer whose wife was also about to give birth: Wilfred De’Ath. He, too, was desperate to get a piece out of it. (He now writes occasionally for the Oldie, and he appears to be down and out and living in France.)

After Jake’s birth, I got the midwife to give me the placenta and I ate it, fried with onions. Tasted like liver. Another 1,000 words.

The other event of note in my ever-so-exciting life in 1966 was meeting Paul McCartney. When “Eleanor Rigby” came out, I thought the words – not just the tune – were so wonderful. Possibly the best poetry of the year, I said, as if I knew anything about poetry. I went to see him for Atticus in his new house in St John’s Wood, which he still has, being a very conservative feller. I talked to him about the background to the lyrics, as opposed to his hair, which interviewers were still asking him about.

A few months later, at the end of 1966, I went to see him again, wearing a different cap, as a screenwriter. I’d had a novel published the previous year, Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush, which was being made into a film, with Clive Donner directing. We went to see Paul at his house and discussed with him if he would do the theme tune. He turned us down in the end but it was while I was with him that I suggested that there should be a proper biography of the Beatles. He said Brian (Epstein, the band’s manager) would have to agree – and there and then sat me down and helped me write a suitable arse-licking letter to him.

I eventually saw Brian, after several cancellations, at his home in Belgravia and he played me the acetate of “Strawberry Fields Forever”. I was astounded. It seemed to break every rule of what was then considered pop music. I wondered if all Beatles fans
would take to it. But I could see that it was amazing and perhaps the Beatles weren’t finished, which was what some people were saying in 1966. At my publisher, Heinemann, which paid me £3,000 for the book, there was one director who maintained the Beatles bubble was about to burst.

Brian agreed to my project and offered a clause in the contract that we had not requested or even thought of. He said he would not give any other writer access to the Beatles for two years after my book came out. This was 1966. The book came out in 1968. Two years later, in 1970, the Beatles were no more. Without realising it at the time, I became the only authorised ­biographer of the Beatles.

***

So, 1966, a big year for me, so glad I kept that diary, and also a big year for the nation. I thought at the time that the Beatles were bound to fade, eventually, while England surely would dominate world football from now on. After their humbling by Iceland at this year’s World Cup, I now realise that England will never win the World Cup again in my life, what’s left of it. And probably not even another game.

The only way to rationalise it is to tell ourselves that we are ahead of the game. We are rubbish, but in turn it will happen to all the other so-called advanced nations.

You could say Brexit is a bit like that. We are ahead of the other leading European nations in going it alone, even though it is depressing and awful and shameful. We are advanced in wilfully turning ourselves into a rubbish nation. We are leading the way, as ever. Inger-land, Inger-land.

Hunter Davies’s memoir of the postwar years, “The Co-op’s Got Bananas!” (Simon & Schuster), was published in April, followed by “Lakeland: a Personal Journal” (Head of Zeus). His final book on the Fab Four, “The Beatles Book” (Ebury), will be published on 1 September

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue