Why is the Spending Review being held now? So Osborne can try and beat up Ed Balls

The Chancellor's decision to set out plans for 2015-16 nearly two years in advance has everything to do with politics and nothing to do with economics.

One question that has been asked all too rarely in coverage of the Spending Review is "why it is being held now?" There is no constitutional or economic requirement for George Osborne to set out spending plans for 2015-16 this far in advance. The current spending period (2011-15) doesn't end until April 2015 and it would have been prudent to wait until the preceding October (as in the case of the previous two reviews) when more recent forecasts will have been produced. 

Osborne's decision not to do so has everything to do with politics and nothing to do with economics. By announcing spending limits for the first year after the election, the Conservatives’' chief political strategist is seeking to draw the battlelines in his party's favour. He knows that if Labour accepts his plans it will be accused of intellectual surrender and that if it rejects them it will be accused of fiscal recklessness.

As apprentices of Gordon Brown, who similarly used the baseline as a weapon of political war, Ed Miliband and Ed Balls were well prepared for this trap. Their pre-emptive response was to accept Osborne's current spending limits, while leaving open the possibility of greater capital investment. For both political and economic reasons, it was the right decision. While the public remain sceptical of the Keynesian case for higher borrowing, polls show that they recognise the benefits of investing in areas such as housing, which boost output in the short and long run, generate employment and ultimately aid deficit reduction. With its own currency, its own independent monetary policy and its above average debt maturity, Britain can afford to borrow for growth without fear of a dangerous rise in bond yields. The risks of inaction, in the form of permanently lower growth and higher unemployment, far outweigh the risks of action.
 
Nearly two years before the end of the current spending period, Osborne's relentless focus should have been on generating growth (as ConservativeHome's Mark Wallace also argues this morning), not on squeezing £11.5bn of cuts out of ministers who may not even be around to implement them. But ever since he entered office, the Chancellor has rarely been able to resist the temptation to put politics before economics. Forget growth, forget jobs, forget deficit reduction even, Osborne has got an election to win and he thinks beating up Ed Balls will help. Your fate, dear voter, is the last thing on his mind today. 
George Osborne walks along The Strand towards a branch of Lloyds bank. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Getty
Show Hide image

A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear