How the coalition is turning the screw on housing benefit claimants

The latest round of welfare cuts will accelerate the rise in homelessness and leave low-income families struggling to find rented accomodation.

Child benefit, tax credits and disability allowance have all been at the heart of the political debate on welfare cuts. Housing benefit hasn’t. Yet people are already feeling the pain of the government’s changes and cuts. The Welfare Benefits Uprating Bill presents the opportunity for another turn of the screw on housing benefit, especially on the people who rent from private landlords.

Local housing allowance (LHA) is the housing benefit for those in private rented accommodation whose low incomes mean they rely on help with housing costs. It is an in-work and an out-of-work benefit paid to over 1.3m people. These are not the Chancellor’s "skivers" lying in all morning behind closed curtains. These are people in low-paid jobs, pensioners, disabled people, single parents, couples with kids and young people estranged from their parents. Almost one in five on housing benefit work, and only around one in eight are on Jobseeker's Allowance.

Housing benefit has always had a link to actual rents due to the huge differences in rates around the country. The government broke this link when it decided to uprate LHA only in line with CPI inflation. Under this new bill, the LHA in each area will only rise by either 1 per cent or the change in the level of the lowest third of rents, whichever is lower. But rents have historically risen faster than inflation, and certainly by more than 1 per cent, so many parts of London and many parts of other UK towns and cities will become no-go, no-live areas for those on the local housing allowance. People will be forced into debt, then out of their homes and out of their local areas.

Crisis, the homelessness charity, found in a recent report that fewer than 1 in 50 properties are now accessible to LHA recipients under 35-years-old because rents are already higher than housing benefit rates and landlords are unwilling to let to those who need it. Shelter have calculated that linking the LHA to CPI inflation will mean one third of the country will become unaffordable for low income families within a decade, and the 1 per cent cap will speed up this social exclusion. It will also accelerate the recent rise in homelessness. Rough sleeping was up 23 per cent last year, the number of people going to their council as homeless is up 22 per cent in the last two years and the end of a private tenancy is now the most common cause for those officially classed as homeless.

The real terms-cut imposed by the 1 per cent cap on local housing allowance from 2014 is just the latest in a long list. In April 2011, the government brought in caps on LHA for each property size, scrapped the rate for a five bedroom house and cut all increases from the median rise in local rents to the lower third. Last year, it froze all LHA rates and raised the age below which LHA support is only available for the costs of shared accommodation from 25 to 35. And this year it is bringing in the "bedroom tax" and capping any rise in LHA at CPI, or 2.2 per cent.

It is hurting but it’s not working. The housing benefit bill is up by £2bn since the general election and the total number of people relying on LHA has risen by 35 per cent. Debate in the Commons yesterday was guillotined by the government, so there was no debate or vote on exempting housing benefit from the 1 per cent cap or on a modest amendment I tabled to require the government to publish an annual report on the relationship between rates of LHA and actual rents, and if these become significantly out of step to reconsider the 1 per cent cap policy.

This is only what the welfare minister, Lord Freud, promised during the debate on CPI-linked uprating in the Welfare Reform Bill in December 2011. He said, “if it then becomes apparent that local allowance rates and rents are out of step, they can be reconsidered" and when pressed by Labour’s Lady Hollis he conceded, "on the basis that the noble Baroness is going to be incredibly helpful to me in all the consequent amendments in the Bill, I will change the word 'can' to 'will'".

It will be for Labour lords to pick up the case again next month. If parliament can’t stop the screw being turned ever-tighter on housing benefit claimants, the least it can do is ensure ministers face the facts about who is hurting most and how badly.

John Healey is the Labour MP for Wentworth and Dearne and the former housing minister

Rough sleeping rose by 23 per cent in 2012. Photograph: Getty Images.

John Healey is the Labour MP for Wentworth and Dearne and was formerly housing minister, local government minister and financial secretary to the Treasury

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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