The UK economy hasn't grown more than the US

The US has grown by 2.3 per cent in the last year, while the UK has remained flat.

The final set of US growth figures before the presidential election were released today, showing that the economy grew at an annual rate of 2 per cent in the third quarter or a quarterly rate of 0.5 per cent. The Tories, unsurprisingly, are keen to point out that that's a worse performance than the UK, which, as we learned yesterday, grew at a quarterly rate of 1 per cent in Q3.  But they would be wise not to invite too much comparison of the UK and US economies.

First, while the US has grown by 2.3 per cent over the last year, the UK economy has failed to grow at all. As the Office for National Statistics reported yesterday: "GDP in volume terms was estimated to have been flat in Q3 2012, when compared with Q3 2011".

Second, while the US economy is now 2.3 per cent above its pre-recession peak, the UK remains 3.1 per cent below. The US has grown for 13 consecutive quarters, but we've only just recovered the output lost in the double-dip recession (a fate that the US, partly thanks to a policy of stimulus, rather than austerity, avoided). As a result, while they've grown by 3.9 per cent over the last two years, we've grown by just 0.6 per cent.

Finally, since the UK Q3 figure was artificially inflated by the bounce-back from the extra bank holiday in June (responsible for around half of the 1 per cent growth) and the inclusion of the Olympic ticket sales (responsible for 0.2 per cent), it's foolish of the Treasury to cite it as proof that we're "on the right track". Indeed, as I wrote yesterday, a significant number of forecasters believe it's possible or even probable that the economy will shrink in quarter four. Rather than complacently boasting about a one-off surge in growth, the Tories should be acting to prevent a triple-dip recession.

The US economy is now 2.3 per cent above its pre-recession peak, while the UK remains 3.1 per cent below. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Wrists, knees, terrible rages – I felt overwhelmed when Barry came to see me

I teach my registrars to be aware how a consultation is making them feel: that can give valuable clues to the patient’s own emotional state.

To begin with, it seemed that Barry’s wrists were the problem. He told me about the pain he was experiencing, the pins and needles that came and went in his hands. I started to examine him. His palms were calloused, his fingers thick and stubby, veterans of the heavy work he’d undertaken throughout his 57 years. Even as I assessed this first problem, he mentioned his knees. I moved on to look at those. Then it was his back. I couldn’t get to grips with one thing before he veered to the next.

I teach my registrars to be aware how a consultation is making them feel: that can give valuable clues to the patient’s own emotional state. Barry was making me feel overwhelmed, the more so as I learned that he’d been experiencing all these problems for years.

“Why are you coming to see me about them now,” I asked, “rather than six months ago – or in six months’ time?”

“I need some time off, doc.”

There was something about the way he wouldn’t meet my gaze. And again, that feeling of being overwhelmed.

“What’s going on at work?” I asked him.

His tone hardened as he told me how he’d lost his temper a couple of days earlier. How one of the others had been winding him up, and something inside him had snapped, and he’d taken a swing at his workmate and landed a punch.

Barry had walked out and hadn’t been back. I tried to find out if he’d heard from his boss about the incident, if he knew what was likely to happen next.

He told me he didn’t care.

We talked some more. I learned that he’d been uncharacteristically short-tempered for months; his partner was fed up with being shouted at. Sleep had gone to pot, and Barry had taken to drinking heavily to knock himself out at night. He was smoking twice his usual amount. Men like Barry often don’t experience depression as classic low mood and tearfulness; they become filled with rage and turn in on themselves, repelling those closest to them in the process.

Depression is a complex condition, with roots that can frequently be traced right back to childhood experiences, but bouts are often precipitated by problems with relationships, work, money, or health. In Barry’s case, the main factor turned out to be his job. He’d been an HGV driver but at the start of the year his company had lost its operator’s licence. To keep the business afloat, his boss had diversified. Barry hated what he now had to do. He was now a “catcher”.

I didn’t know what that meant. Getting up at the crack of dawn, he told me, driving to some factory farm somewhere, entering huge sheds and spending hours catching chickens, thousands upon thousands of them, shoving them into crates, stashing the crates on a lorry, working under relentless pressure to get the sheds cleared and the birds off to the next stage of the food production chain.

“It’s a young man’s game,” he told me. “It’s crippling me, all that bending and catching.”

It wasn’t really his joints, though. Men like Barry can find it hard to talk about difficult emotion, but it was there in his eyes. I had a sudden understanding: Barry, capturing bird after panicking bird, stuffing them into the transport containers, the air full of alarmed clucking and dislodged feathers. Hour after hour of it. It was traumatising him, but he couldn’t admit anything so poncey.

“I just want to get back to driving.”

That would mean landing a new job, and he doubted he would be able to do so, not at his age. He couldn’t take just any old work, either: he had to earn a decent wage to keep up with a still sizeable mortgage.

We talked about how antidepressants might improve his symptoms, and made a plan to tackle the alcohol. I signed him off to give him some respite and a chance to look for new work – the one thing that was going to resolve his depression. But in the meantime, he felt as trapped as the chickens that he cornered, day after soul-destroying day.

Phil Whitaker’s novel “Sister Sebastian’s Library” will be published by Salt in September

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt