Clegg is propping up Miliband's EU policy

Both pro-EU, both queasy about a referendum. Who will jump first?

In increments the Liberal Democrat position on an EU referendum is shifting towards full-blown commitment. Nick Clegg has already conceded the point that the big question is "when, not if" the British public is invited to choose how European it wants to be. Today, in the first of what are promised to be monthly press conferences, he clarified the point that a referendum on any future EU treaty would necessarily have to be an in/out vote.

This is an important distinction because, under the 2011 European Union Act (aka the “Sovereignty Act”) a referendum on any substantial new treaty is automatic. Well, actually it is semi-automatic. Ministers can still declare a treaty insubstantial in terms of powers being shared in Brussels and block the plebiscite. Largely for that reason, the Sovereignty Act never satisfied eurosceptic Tory back benchers, although their satisfaction was, of course, David Cameron’s only motive for passing the law in the first place.

Now the Sovereignty Act is serving an entirely different purpose. It is the temporary get out clause for Nick Clegg and Ed Miliband. The Labour leader quietly acquiesced to the measure last year, meaning he too has signed up to a referendum in the event of a major treaty revision. All that remains is for Miliband to clarify, as Clegg has done, that this would effectively be an in/out poll and the two parties’ positions will be indistinguishable.

MPs in both parties think that position is unsustainable. Very senior Lib Dems have told me they recognise the implausibility of going into a general election campaign in 2015 without a referendum pledge in their manifesto when they had one in 2010. In other words, the wheel is being turned slowly but the direction is clear enough. By polling day, Clegg will have stripped away the caveats and signed up to national vote on EU membership. There are plenty on the Labour side, including a good number of shadow cabinet ministers, who think Miliband will ultimately have to make the same calculation.

The Tories are confident that their commitment to a referendum appeals beyond the ranks of militant eurosceptics. It is, they say, a point of principle – consulting the people and accepting their judgement. The fact that the Tories would split down the middle when it came to actually deciding how to vote in this great democratic consultation is a worry for after the election. Before polling day the only point that matters to Cameron is that he can insist that his party trusts the people and that labour doesn’t. As I wrote a few weeks ago there is mounting anxiety in the Labour ranks that such an attack has deadly resonance.

Miliband has good reasons for not promising an EU vote. Referendums are a dreadful policy tool. There are plenty of important decisions affecting national sovereignty, trade and international diplomacy that aren’t put to a vast national show of hands. Besides, why would an incoming Labour government want to spend its first year in office organising a campaign that only exists because Cameron (who by this stage would be the ex-leader of the Conservative party) felt bullied into something by his backbenchers, Ukip and their press cheerleaders?

Labour’s position is not as ridiculous as many Tories insist. Those who are obsessed with Europe naturally overestimate how much it matters to everyone else and how relevant it will be to their voting intentions. There is always the possibility that Tories banging on about Brussels stokes the sense of grievance among people who will always feel betrayed by Cameron, while signalling to moderate voters that the Conservatives are uninterested in their concerns. Cameron tends to treat his party's euroscepticism like an itchy rash. He gives into the temptation to scratch it hard, which feels good for a while but only makes it angrier, nastier-looking and harder to ignore in the long term.

So, in theory at least, Labour could hold a line against a referendum insisting that the nation’s priorities are elsewhere. Let Cameron and Co. swivel their eyes in imitation of Ukip, Miliband might say, while those of a more moderate disposition talk about jobs, growth, the cost of living etc. Except Miliband isn’t yet talking about those things in a way that captures the public imagination. Labour seem marooned between their old position of resisting austerity and their election pitch, which will be some variant of fiscal discipline with a conscience.

This Friday, parliament will vote on a Tory backbench motion affirming Cameron’s earlier pledge of a referendum some time in the next parliament. It cannot be legally binding on a successor parliament so its value is entirely symbolic. Labour MPs will for the most part stay away. Nick Clegg today confirmed that, as far as this particular legislative ruse is concerned, the Lib Dem position is again identical to Labour’s. The junior coalition party would not, he said, "waste any time helping the Conservatives indulge in their own internal feuds on the floor of the House of Commons on Friday."

But all the while Clegg is manoeuvring into a position where he accepts the inevitability of a European referendum. When he does so he will also position the Lib Dems as unequivocal and united campaigners for an "in" vote, drawing a clear contrast with the Tories. This poses a new hazard for Miliband, who is as instinctive a pro-European as you will find in parliament these days. If Clegg jumps first and declares himself the pro-referendum, pro-EU candidate, where does that leave the Labour leader? His allies say he will make a decision about Labour’s European policy based on principle alone; that he will not have his agenda dictated by media pressure or tactical Tory games. But by the time he has made up his mind, he could find that the clear positions – for and against; in and out – are taken. Then Labour once again will be left looking like the party that plays catch-up and whose defining approach to tricky issues is a preference not to talk about them.

Nick Clegg and Ed Miliband attend a ceremony at Buckingham Palace to mark the Duke of Edinburgh's 90th birthday on June 30, 2011 in London. Photograph: Getty Images.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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