Cameron faces "Leveson by the backdoor" after Lords defeat

Surprise defeat over press regulation will force the Tories to overturn Lords amendments in the Commons. But will Labour and the Lib Dems let them?

While everyone's attention was on the equal marriage debate, the Conservatives suffered a significant defeat in the House of Lords over press regulation. Taking ministers by surprise, peers voted by 272 to 141 to introduce a low-cost arbitration system for victims of press defamation, one of the key recommendations of the Leveson report. 

Since those papers that do not join up to the system could be punished by courts awarding greater damages and costs, the proposal represents a form of the state-backed regulation that David Cameron has unambiguously rejected. The rebellion notably included senior Tory peers such as Lord Ashcroft (yes, the billionaire party donor and media mogul), Lord Fowler, Lord Hurd and Lord Astor, Cameron's father-in-law. The economist Robert Skidelsky, a crossbench peer and NS contributor, noted that some peers had described the amendments as "Leveson by the backdoor" and added: "To my mind, that is an important merit of the bill because we are unlikely to get Leveson through the front door". Lord Fowler described the move as a "building block in implementing Leveson - a kind of stalking horse".

If the Conservatives want to avoid "Leveson by the backdoor", they will now need to overturn the amendments in the Commons. With Labour and the Liberal Democats both in favour of state-backed regulation, this could prove a challenge for the government.

For now, the long-stalled cross-party talks on Leveson continue, with the parties next due to meet on Monday. During the debate, Lord McNally, the Liberal Democrat leader in the Lords, promised that the government's proposal of a royal charter to oversee press regulation would finally be published next week. As IPPR's Tim Finch noted on The Staggers on Monday, Labour has not ruled out supporting this compromise. In her speech at the think-tank's recent Oxford Media Convention, Harriet Harman, the shadow media secretary, said she was "unpersuaded" by the idea but actions speak louder than words; Labour failed to follow through on its threat to force a Commons vote on its own draft bill in January if the government failed to bring forward satisfactory proposals by Christmas. Moreover, as Tim wrote, "being unpersuaded is not quite the same as being unpersuadable".

The government is confident that the Lib Dems, and possibly Labour, will unite around the proposal of a royal charter. But last night's Lords defeat means Clegg and Miliband now have a powerful bargaining chip.

A protest group stages a mock burning of the Leveson report outside the Queen Elizabeth II centre in London. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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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