The message of the marriage tax: two people good, one person bad

A very odd tax break.

David Cameron believes in marriage. So do I, it would be such a weird thing to make up - so I'm not really sure why it needs a tax break to make it flesh.

The idea of a tax break for married couples has had an on-off relationship with the Conservative party over the years. Right now, Tim Lougton, a rebel Tory MP, has pressured David Cameron into bringing forward proposals to give married people £150 in tax breaks -  the "start of something bigger", says Lougton.

"It’s an important message and it’s also the start of something. £150 is a figure that was plucked out of the air as how it might start; the amendment I’ve been putting forward gives the Chancellor maximum flexibility as to how generous he can be," he told the Today programme.

But Nick Clegg slammed the policy - and I have to say I agree with him. Here's the first thing, whether the start of something bigger or not, £150 really is not very much. Not enough to maintain a loveless marriage over. Probably not even enough to stimulate passionate love where there was none. (My research tells me it took £10,000 a year for Elizabeth Bennet, and that's before inflation). No, the point is, as Cameron said later, it's symbolic. It's an "important message" from the Conservative party, and that message is: two people good, one person bad.

But we know this already. Everyone knows this. Even films know this - it's the key indicator of whether you're watching something arty and highbrow (sad lonely person at end) or something by Richard Curtis (Hugh Grant gets married). This is why people stay in relationships when they're not really sure they're enjoying it any more, or when they're suffering from domestic violence (2 women a week are killed this way).

It's like the Conservative party have become advocates for a 365 day Valentine's day.  Which is great, if you're married, but then it's already great if you're married.

Here's the wider point: we don't need to provide extra motivation for things we are already motivated to do. Policy doesn't always have to be about psychology. Sometimes it should be about support.

The Right often argue that their values are far more in line with our instincts. They're correct - and that's exactly why we need the Left.

David Cameron approves this cake. Photograph: Getty Images

Martha Gill writes the weekly Irrational Animals column. You can follow her on Twitter here: @Martha_Gill.

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism