The real reason the right is baying for Denis MacShane's blood

The former Labour MP has been targeted because he's the EU's greatest defender, not because of his expenses.

What’s really going on with this new police investigation into Denis MacShane’s expenses? Months ago, the police said there would be no charges, and there’s no new information. There’s a reason why they have suddenly reopened it, now of all times, and it’s got nothing at all to do with Denis’s expenses, and everything to do with David Cameron’s speech about Europe.

I’m not excusing MacShane (who, incidentally, is an old chum – but I’d be writing this if I’d never met him.) He had £7,000 of public money which – or some of which - he wasn’t entitled to, and claimed the money in a way which made it look dishonest even if it wasn’t. The money didn’t go into his own pocket. In a desperate attempt to save his career, he has paid back much more than £7,000 and spent another £40,000 on lawyers.

Liberal Democrat MP David Laws was recently restored to the cabinet, having, apparently, suffered enough for incorrectly claiming more than £40,000 – almost six times as much as MacShane’s £7,000. Laws, like MacShane, did not do it for gain. He didn’t need the money, for Laws, unlike MacShane, is a very rich man. He wouldn’t cross the road for £7,000.

So how come Laws sits demurely on the government benches, and MacShane risks sitting in a prison cell? The clue lies in the identities of the people who have been screaming for MacShane’s blood, and whose pressure has forced the police to reopen their investigations.

They are led by right-wing blogger Guido Fawkes, whose delight that he may be able to get the hated MacShane locked up is revolting in its slavering vindictiveness. Hearing the news, Fawkes asked: "Is it too early to open the champagne on a Monday morning?"

He and several right-wing Tories are desperate to see MacShane locked up. Why? The answer lies in a piece by the relatively civilised europhobe Daniel Hannan (who, to his credit, hasn’t joined the lynch mob.) He wrote after MacShane resigned from Parliament: "Who will the BBC find to defend Brussels on air? Seriously – who?" Right now that’s a question that matters rather a lot.

Vengeful right-wing bigots like Guido Fawkes hate him, not because of his expenses, but because he is – or was - easily the most fluent and authoritative advocate for the EU.

Former Europe minister Denis MacShane, who resigned as Labour MP for Rotherham last year. Photograph: Getty Images.
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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