The unions give Labour the edge in the donations race

Labour received £3m between July and September, 82 per cent of which came from trade unions.

The latest political donation figures are out and they reveal that Labour raised more money than any other party between July and September. Excluding public funds, Ed Miliband's party received £3,011,858, compared to £2,613,496 for the Tories, and £578,087 for the Lib Dems.

Once again, it was the trade unions that gave Labour the edge, accounting for 82 per cent (£2,470,908) of all donations to the party, with the largest union, Unite, responsible for 26 per cent (£791,281). Back in 1994, when Tony Blair became Labour leader, the unions accounted for just a third of Labour's annual income, but the party has become increasingly dependent on them as private donations have fallen.

While there is no comparison between the unions and the big-money donors the Tories rely on, some in Labour are rightly questioning whether it is healthy for the party to be so dependent on a few sources of income. With Labour refusing to pledge to reverse any of the coalition's spending cuts and supporting George Osborne's public sector pay freeze, one also expects that some in the union movement will begin to ask whether they are getting value for money.

The Tories' largest donor was City financier and Tory co-treasurer Michael Farmer, who gave £525,560 to the party, followed by Stanley Fink, the "godfather" of the hedge fund industry and the man who replaced Peter Cruddas as the party's principal treasurer in March, who donated £151,900.

Unite general secretary Len McCluskey, whose union accounted for 26 per cent (£791,281) of all donations to Labour between July and September. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

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