The Lib Dem grass roots deserved better from the leadership

The hundreds of activists stuffing envelopes in Eastleigh have been let down by the party's hopelessly inadequate response to the Rennard allegations five years ago.

As a white, middle class, Oxbridge-educated man, I’m in no position to pontificate about what it’s like to suffer any sort of discrimination, oppression or harassment  - although that doesn’t seem to stop a lot of folk in my Twitter stream diving in with both feet on any development in the Rennard affair.

It goes without saying that the most important people in all this, the ones we should be thinking about most, are the women who are the alleged victims – especially, in my opinion, those who want to stay anonymous and are probably living in trepidation of being ‘named’ at any moment.

But let me throw another group into the mix who I’m thinking about a lot. The grass roots members of the Lib Dems who have been turning up in their hundreds every day in Eastleigh, to canvass, to leaflet, to stuff envelopes, to do whatever they can to further the cause they believe in.

It’s been the most extraordinary effort; folk coming from all over the country to defend the seat, because they believe passionately in a political principle. It’s been clear all through the campaign that if we win, it’s a victory for the grassroots. If we lose, it’s a defeat for the leadership.

And now this happens. When you’re in a fast moving world like politics, I suspect it's always tempting to deal with the urgent, not necessarily the important. I would speculate that’s what happened here. Some anonymous rumours circulate, they reach your ears, but there’s a million other things going on - do you really want to open that can of worms?

The answer should be – yes, you do. Because the problem is – it’s going to get opened some time. At a time not of your choosing. At a time probably of great inconvenience. And when it happens, you’re shown not only to have let the people immediately involved down (on both sides, no one’s proved anything about anyone yet). You also find the whole organisation suffers.

The best thing anyone from the leadership has said about this yet is Tim Farron’s statement that "we screwed up". Yes, we did. Everyone closely involved has been let down by the party’s inadequate response to this five years ago. And so has everyone stuffing envelopes in Eastleigh. They deserved better. 

Richard Morris blogs at A View From Ham Common, which was named Best New Blog at the 2011 Liberal Democrat Conference

Party members listen to a policy motion at the Liberal Democrat conference on September 25, 2012 in Brighton. Photograph: Getty Images.

Richard Morris blogs at A View From Ham Common, which was named Best New Blog at the 2011 Lib Dem Conference

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

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 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war