Grant Shapps should give Obama his campaign line back

The Conservative chairman borrows Obama's "don't give them the keys back" line. But it's his party that crashed the car again.

It's well known that most Conservative cabinet ministers supported Barack Obama's re-election and in an interview in today's Independent, Tory chairman Grant Shapps borrows one of the US president's favourite campaign lines.

Shapps tells the paper: "We are in a global race. Britain is on the right track, don't go back. Don't give the keys to the guys who crashed the car in the first place. Do you want to go through all this pain again?"

Obama told a Democratic fundraiser in May 2010: "So after they drove the car into the ditch, made it as difficult as possible for us to pull it back, now they want the keys back.  No! You can’t drive! We don't want to have to go back into the ditch! We just got the car out! We just got the car out!" He used the analogy again at a labour day rally in Milwaukee in September of that year.

It's a good line, but unfortunately for Shapps it's not one the Conservatives have any right to use. While the US economy enjoyed a sustained recovery under Obama (with 13 consecutive quarters of growth), the UK fell into a double-dip recession (and is at risk of a triple-dip). To adapt Obama's analogy, the Tories didn't drive the car out of the ditch; they drove it back in (you could call it a double-ditch recession).

When Labour left office, the economy was recovering, with growth of 0.4 per cent in Q3 of 2009, 0.4 per cent in Q4, 0.6 per cent in Q1 of 2010 and 0.7 per cent in Q2 (see this table for the full data). Since then, it has stagnated. Over the last year, the US economy has grown by 2.3 per cent, while the UK hasn't grown at all. As a result, while the US economy is now 2.3 per cent above its pre-recession peak, the UK remains 3.1 per cent below.

If and when Shapps's party boasts a comparable record, he might be entitled to borrow Obama's line. But until then, he should gracefully return it to its original owner.

Conservative chairman Grant Shapps speaks at the party's conference in Birmingham last year. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism