Why McCluskey's statement of support is bad for Miliband

By choosing to answer the question "who runs Labour?" the Unite general secretary has suggested the answer was in doubt.

After David Cameron devoted most of PMQs to attacking Unite, Len McCluskey has returned fire, rightly criticising Cameron for cheapening "the office of prime minister" by responding to a question on food banks with a diatribe against the union. He said: 

David Cameron showed today that he has nothing to say to the people of this country who are suffering because of his government's shambolic handling of the economy. 

He dismissed questions on food banks in order to point score and cheapened the office of prime minister by signalling loudly and clearly that he does not care about people's real worries. 

He may have an obsession with me and Unite the union, but I can assure him it’s one that is not shared by the one million young people stuck on the dole, or at the food banks turning people away or among the patients being treated in hospital corridors. 

He also reminded the millions of trade unionists in this country that they are not welcome in the Conservative party, and indeed that they hold trade union members in contempt. 

McCluskey has also declared that "There can be absolutely no question about who runs the Labour party: it is Ed Miliband and he has my full support". But while this might appear to be a supportive statement, it is not one Miliband is likely to welcome. By choosing to answer the question posed by the Tories - who runs Labour? - ("it is Ed Miliband"), McCluskey has suggested that the answer was somehow in doubt. And that, to borrow Cameron's word of choice, certainly makes Miliband look "weak". 

Unite general secretary Len McCluskey. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt