Cameron and Boris have sent Britain hurtling towards the EU exit

In a dramatic shift, both the PM and the Mayor now speak of EU withdrawal as a reasonable option.

When Michael Gove declared earlier this year that Britain should be prepared to leave the EU if Brussels refuses to return major powers to Westminster, his comments were viewed as extraordinary. But his words have now been all but echoed by the country's two most senior Conservatives: Boris Johnson and David Cameron.

Asked on Sunday on The Andrew Marr Show whether Britain should be prepared to walk away from the EU if it can't secure the concessions it wants, Johnson replied: "That is correct,  that's absolutely correct ... I mean I don't think it would be the end of the world. Don’t forget that 15 years ago the entire CBI, British Industry, the City, everybody was prophesying that there’d be gigantic mutant rats with two or three eyes swarming out of the gutters, the sewers, to gnaw the faces of the remaining British bankers because we didn’t go into the euro."

Yesterday in the Commons, mindful of the evolving threat from UKIP, David Cameron said that withdrawal from the EU was "imaginable".

"We are in charge of own destiny, we can make our own choices."

There we have it. EU withdrawal is not something that no sensible person should countenance but one of a menu of plausible policy options. In November, Angela Merkel declared: "I cannot imagine Britain not being part of Europe." Cameron has made it clear that he can. Having conceded as much, it will now be significantly harder for him to persuade his MPs and the public that they should not vote in favour of withdrawal if and when a referendum is held.

When he finally makes his speech on Europe in mid-January, Cameron will announce that a Conservative government would hold a referendum offering voters a choice between a looser relationship and none at all, an effective in/out plebiscite. The Prime Minister's hope is that the concessions he will extract from Brussels in areas such as social policy and justice, will convince his party that the benefits of membership outweigh the costs. But it is doubtful whether Barrasso and co. will play ball. As Nick Clegg declared in his recent speech on Europe, "It is wishful thinking to suggest we could effectively give ourselves a free pass to undercut the Single Market, only to then renegotiate our way back in to the laws that suit us." 

He rightly added: "And let’s be honest: many of the people who advocate repatriation are the same people who want us out of Europe – full stop." If Cameron wants to prevent them winning the debate, he needs to make an unambiguous and positive case for EU membership. So long as he is either unwilling or unable to do so, Britain will continue to hurtle towards the exit.

David Cameron said that UK withdrawal from the EU was "imaginable". Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war