Tories squabble over gay marriage

No tax break for married couples in next month's Budget.

It has emerged that the government is not going to introduce tax breaks for married couples in next month's Budget, and the news has reignited Tory anger over Cameron's support for gay marriage.

The two issues are connected in the minds of Tory backbenchers, as they see it as a matter of Cameron's priorities on gay vs heterosexual marriage. There had been speculation that Cameron would bring in married tax breaks in order to appease party members who are anti-gay marriage. 

The government is to vote on gay marriage next week. 

This comes as a ComRes poll for the Daily Telegraph suggests that one in five Conservatives would "definitely not" vote for the party in 2013 if the Government continues with plans for same sex marriage, and The Times reports that members are leaving the party "in droves" over the issue. According to The Times, those quiting number up to 100 in some seats. It quotes Tory MP David Burrowes saying: "There's serious unrest in the grassroots. You cannot avoid the fact that the troops are unhappy. People are drifting away."

According to the FT, at least half the party's backbenchers will "revolt" against the move - although, as my colleague George Eaton wrote

Should Conservative cabinet ministers vote against equal marriage, it will not qualify as a rebellion because David Cameron has offered a free vote to his MPs.

However, the split within the party over the vote will heighten speculation over a 2015 leadership change for the Tory party. As George Osborne said, gay marriage acts as a litmus test for how well efforts to modernise the party are working, and the widening gulf between members suggests a good portion of the party is a long way behind.

Tory anger over gay marriage. Photograph: Getty Images
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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood