PMQs review: Miliband's fiercest attack yet on the welfare cuts

Labour leader says the government is hitting people "they don't meet and whose lives they will never understand".

Rarely has Ed Miliband sounded as outraged at the government as he did at today's PMQs. Challenging David Cameron on the coalition's welfare cuts, he declared: "They look after their friends, the people on their Christmas card list and, meanwhile, they hit people they don't meet and whose lives they will never understand." He turned George Osborne's rhetoric on its head by declaring that the Chancellor's cleaner would lose out "while his curtains are still drawn and he's still in bed." Despite the political risks (the majority of voters support the benefit cuts), this is a battle that Miliband has decided he must fight.

Cameron didn't deny that the 1 per cent cap on benefit increases would fall most heavily on working households ("everyone who is on tax credits will be affected by those changes," he said), rather he argued that the cap was necessary to reduce the welfare bill and pointed out that families would benefit from the large increase in the personal allowance. "This is the party for people who work, his is the party for unlimited welfare," he declared. In response, Miliband highlighted research by the Institute for Fiscal Studies showing that the average one earner couple will be £534 a year worse off by 2015, a point Cameron was unable to rebut.

But it was the personal, not the policy clashes, that were most memorable. After Cameron described Ed Balls as a bully who can "dish it out but can't take it", Miliband replied: "I've heard it all when the boy from the Bullingdon Club lectures people on bullying. Have you wrecked a restaurant recently?"

The Tories remain confident that voters will support their tough stance on the deficit and welfare, rather than Labour's. Conversely, Labour believes that the government has badly miscalculated by hitting the very "strivers" it claims to support. The outcome of the next election will likely rest on which is right. 

Labour leader Ed Miliband addresses a Trade Union Congress (TUC) rally in Hyde Park earlier this year. 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