The EU referendum leaflet that embarrassed Clegg

Lib Dem leader struggles to explain away election leaflet that called for a "real referendum" on EU membership.

Nick Clegg had a rough ride on the Today programme this morning after presenter Justin Webb reminded him of a Liberal Democrat election leaflet calling for an in/out referendum on the EU. Clegg is now oppposed to a vote on EU membership but not long ago he was calling for a "real referendum" and attacking Labour and the Tories for not doing the same.

The leaflet in question declared:

It's been over thirty years since the British people last had a vote on Britain's membership of the European Union.

That's why the Liberal Democrats want a real referendum on Europe. Only a real referendum on Britain's membership of the EU will let the people decide our country's future.

But Labour don't want the people to have their say.

The Conservatives only support a limited referendum on the Lisbon Treaty. Why won't they give the people a say in a real referendum?

Asked why he no longer supported an early referendum, a tetchy Clegg pointed out that his party's election manifesto stated that an in/out referendum should only be held "the next time a British government signs up for fundamental change in the relationship between the UK and the EU."

But as you'll have seen, the leaflet was less specific, simply calling for a "real referendum" and not tying this pledge to a treaty change. Indeed, it criticised the Tories for only supporting "a limited referendum on the Lisbon Treaty."

As in the case of tuition fees, it's another example of a populist campaign promise that Clegg couldn't live up to. Whether eurosceptic or europhile, British voters are likely to agree on one thing: you can't trust the Lib Dems.

The leaflet row aside, most of the interview was devoted to Clegg denouncing those who argue that Britain should seek to repatriate powers from the EU. "I don't agree with the premise that we can on our own, unilaterally, simply rewrite the terms of the membership of this European club," he said. He went on to warn that the uncertainty created by a referendum pledge could have a "chilling effect on growth and jobs". Rather than vowing to bring back powers from Brussels, Clegg suggested that the government should wait to see whether a new treaty emerges and whether it impacts on Britain (something that would trigger a public vote under the coalition's "referendum lock").

Intriguingly, however, he suggested that the distance between himself and David Cameron was smaller than thought because Cameron's plan to renegotiate British membership was linked to a future treaty change. Thus, if there is no treaty change (as may well prove to be the case), there will be no renegotiation and no repatriation of powers. This is a point that Tory MPs will want reassurance on when Cameron delivers his speech on Friday.

Nick Clegg at the EU headquarters in Brussels. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Qusai Al Shidi/Flickr
Show Hide image

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