"If the Queen’s Speech is amended, the Prime Minister must resign"

Were the EU referendum amendment passed, Cameron would either have to resign or abandon centuries of parliamentary convention.

If the prospect of government MPs tabling an amendment to the Queen's Speech wasn't unusual enough (it hasn't happened since 1946), it now appears that David Cameron may be prepared to take the extraordinary step of supporting them. The Sun reports that Cameron is ready to vote in favour of the Conservative amendment, which "Respectfully regrets that an EU referendum bill was not included in the gracious speech". A No. 10 source tells the paper: "The PM is determined to make as many people as possible aware how keen he is to hold this referendum.

"This amendment backs up his policy, which is a Conservative Party policy, so why shouldn’t he vote for it too?"

In other words, the Prime Minister may be about to rebel against his own government. That really would put us in uncharted territory. As the Parliament website states, by convention, "If the Queen’s Speech is amended, the Prime Minister must resign." The last time an amendment was successful was in 1924 when Labour tabled a motion of no confidence in Stanley Baldwin's Conservative government. After the motion was passed by 328 votes to 251, Baldwin resigned as prime minister and Ramsay MacDonald formed the first Labour government. 

With Labour and the Liberal Democrats set to vote against the amendment (they have 314 MPs to the Tories' 305), there's almost no chance of it passing (although at least two Labour MPs, John Cryer and Kelvin Hopkins, have signed the amendment and there's always the option of abstaining...). But were the Tory rebels successful, it is clear that Cameron would either have to resign or abandon centuries of parliamentary convention. 

Update: It look as if there may be an escape route for Cameron. I've just spoken to the Commons Information Office which has informed me that as a result of the Fixed-term Parliaments Act, a successful amendment to the Queen's Speech is no longer regarded as a vote of no confidence in the government. This is because, for the first time, the bill offered a legal definition of a no confidence vote - a motion stating that "That this House has no confidence in Her Majesty’s Government." - meaning that defeats on matters such as the Queen's Speech or the Budget are no longer regarded as votes of no confidence in the government. Prior to the act, as the Information Office put it, "it was a motion of no confidence if everyone agreed that it was a motion of no confidence." 

A 2010 briefing note from the House of Commons Library had suggested that some ambiguity remained. It stated that it was "not clear whether a defeat on a motion or issue of confidence would count as a vote of no confidence for the purposes of the legislation.  For example, it is not clear whether a defeat on the Government’s budget would be considered as a vote of no confidence." It went on to suggest that "One possibility would be for the Government to make it clear before such a division that they considered it to be a matter of confidence; then the Speaker would certify it as such. This would effectively allow the Government to table a constructive vote of no confidence." 

But the Commons Information Office confirmed to me that this was not an option legally available to the government. 

I asked earlier whether, rather than resigning, Cameron would abandon centuries of parliamentary convention. It turns out he already has. 

David Cameron addresses the Global Investment Conference in London on May 9, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Byron burgers and bacon sandwiches: can any politician get away with eating on camera?

Memo to aspirant world leaders: eating in public is a political minefield.

Miliband’s sandwich. Cameron’s hot dog. Osborne’s burger. The other Miliband’s banana. As well as excellent names for up-and-coming indie bands, these are just a few examples of now infamous food faux pas committed by British politicians.

During his entire mayoral campaign, Sadiq Khan refused to eat anything in public. When journalist Simon Hattenstone met him in his local curry house for the Guardian, the now-mayor didn’t eat a single bite despite “dish after dish” arriving at the table. Who can blame him? Though Ed Miliband had been pictured blunderingly eating a bacon sandwich an entire year earlier, the national furore around the incident had not yet died down. “He can make me look Clooneyesque or make me look like Ed eating a bacon sandwich,” Khan said of the photographer at the time.

Miliband’s bacon sandwich is now so infamous that I need offer no explanation for the event other than those words. There is an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to the photograph of Ed, lips curled and eyes rolling, as he tucks into that fateful sarnie. Yet politicians frequently bite off more than they can chew – why did Ed’s mishap inspire multiple headlines and an entire front page of The Sun?

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“The momentum got behind the bacon sandwich story because he was awkward, it showed him in a light which was true - he was an awkward candidate in that election,” says Paul Baines, a professor of political marketing at Cranfield University. “He didn’t come across right.”

The photograph of Miliband fit neatly within a pre-existing image of the politician – that he was bumbling, incompetent, and unable to take control. Similarly, when David Cameron was pictured eating a hot dog with a knife and fork months later, the story reinforced popular notions of him as a posh, out-of-touch, champagne-swilling old Etonian. Though Oxford-educated, two-kitchen Miliband is nearly as privileged as Cameron, and Brexit-inducing Dave equally as incompetent as Ed, the pictures would not gain the same popularity in reverse. There are many, many less-than-flattering pictures of Cameron eating, but they didn’t fit into a workable narrative.

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No one, for example, focused on the price of Ed’s sandwich. Purchased at New Covenant Garden Market, it was undoubtedly more expensive than Greggs’ £1.75 bacon roll – but no one cared. When George Osborne was pictured eating an £8 Byron burger whilst cutting £11.5 million from the British budget, however, the picture spoke to many. The then-chancellor was forced to explain that “McDonalds doesn't deliver”, although, as it turned out, Byron didn’t either.

“The idea was to try and display him in a good light – here's a guy eating a burger just like everyone else. The only problem was it was a posh burger and of course he didn't look like everyone else because he was spending ten quid on a burger,” explains Baines.

But Dave, Ed, and George are just the latest in a long, long line of politicians who have been mocked for their eating habits. Across the ocean, Donald Trump has been lambasted for liking his steak well done, while in 1976, Gerald Ford was mocked after biting into the inedible corn husk of a tamale. Why then, do politicians not copy Khan, and avoid being pictured around food altogether?

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“Food connects everybody, food is essentially a connection to culture and the 'every person',” explains Baines. “[Nigel] Farage's appearance in the pub has definitely had a positive impact on how he's perceived by a big chunk of the working class electorate which is an important, sizeable group.” Though Cameron, too, has been pictured with pints, his undeniably weird grasp on the glass make the pictures seem inauthentic, compared to Farage whose pints are clearly at home in his hands. In America, Joe Biden managed to capture the same authenticity with an ice-cream cone.

“I think when it comes across badly is when it comes across as inauthentic,” says Baines. “If I were advising, I certainly wouldn't advise Theresa May to be seen in the pub having a pint, that would not shine with her particular character or style. But could Tim Farron come across better in that way? Possibly but it does have to be authentic.”

Food, then, can instantly make a politician seem in or out of touch. This is especially true when food connects to national identity. Tony Blair, for example, publicly claimed his favourite dish was fish and chips despite earlier saying it was fettuccine with olive oil, sundried tomatoes and capers. In the 1980s, Lord Mandelson allegedly mistook mushy peas for guacamole, insulting us all. In the States, you’d be hard pressed to find a politician who hasn’t been pictured with a hot dog, and there are entire articles dedicated to US politicians who eat pizza with a knife and fork. Again, the food fits a narrative – politicians out of touch with the common person.  

Then again, sometimes, just sometimes, no narrative is needed. We’d advise any candidate who seriously wants a shot in the 2017 General Election to not, under any circumstances, be pictured casually feeding a Solero to an unidentified young woman. 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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