"We screwed this up" The Lib Dems flail after Clegg's admission

Party president Tim Farron admits the Lib Dems "screwed up" as Clegg insists there is "nothing to hide".

"We screwed this up," Tim Farron bluntly told the Today programme this morning and, as today's front pages suggest, the Lib Dem president isn't wrong about that. For days, the party gave the impression that Nick Clegg knew nothing about the allegations of sexual misconduct against Chris Rennard only for Clegg to return from holiday last night and admit that he was aware of "indirect and non-specific concerns". 

In his own interview on BBC Radio Solent, Clegg, unlike Farron, suggested that the Lib Dems had behaved entirely appropriately. "The problem, as I explained yesterday, is that until last week no specific allegations were put to me, we acted on general concerns, now those general concerns have evolved into specific allegations we can act and we will," said the Deputy PM. Both he and the party had "nothing to hide". 

But the question remains why more wasn't done at the time to investigate the "general concerns" that Clegg now admits he was aware of. When Danny Alexander, Clegg's then chief of staff, confronted Rennard (who denied and still denies any misconduct) in 2008 did he simply take his denials at face value? In addition, those in the party, such as Jo Swinson and Paul Burstow, who were made aware of specific allegations by the women concerned urgently need to account for their actions. 

A further issue is whether Rennard's resignation in 2009 was made on health grounds alone, as Clegg and Alexander insisted in their statements, or whether the "general concerns" about his behaviour also played a role. Simon Hughes notably told Sky News this morning that "If there were other reasons for that [the resignation] they may emerge". Clegg is known to have held a two hour meeting with Rennard on the morning he resigned. Were the rumours of misconduct discussed then?

Danny Alexander and Nick Clegg at last year's Liberal Democrat conference in Brighton. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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