Paddy Ashdown and Ming Campbell take pre-conference swipes at Cable

Campbell tells Cable "don't be quite so gloomy" and Ashdown says that Clegg's enemy Lord Oakeshott is "Vince’s problem".

Nick Clegg and his allies have often privately expressed their frustration at how Vince Cable has sought (with some success) to avoid taking full responsibility for policies such as the tuition fees rise and the austerity programme by regularly positioning himself to the left of the coalition. But what is striking today is that two former Lib Dem leaders have gone public with their criticisms of the Business Secretary. In an article for the Guardian, ahead of the opening of the party's conference in Glasgow tomorrow, Ming Campbell writes: "And by the way Dr Cable, don't be quite so gloomy!" 

While recognising the importance of differentiating themselves from the Tories on the economy, the Lib Dems also want to take their share of the credit for the recovery. Cable's consciously downbeat assessment this week was widely viewed as unhelpful. 

In addition, following Lord Oakeshott's hackneyed call for the party to consider removing Clegg, Paddy Ashdown, the Lib Dem leader's political godfather, remarked: "I think Matthew’s self-appointed position as a sort of vicar on Earth for Vince does neither of them any good ... but that’s Vince’s problem". 

With these interventions, Campbell and Ashdown are rather kicking a kick at a man when's he down. A year ago, when Clegg's position still seemed at risk, Cable was viewed as the party's leader-in-waiting. He memorably signalled his interest in the position ("I don’t exclude it – who knows what might happen in the future...The worship of youth has diminished – perhaps generally – in recent years.") and was aided by a poll showing that the Lib Dems would gain four points with him as leader. But the Eastleigh by-election (which proved that the party could win in its strongholds) and the return of growth (which deflated Cable's call in the New Statesman for a plan B) mean that his star has waned. As I suggest in this week's NS, Tim Farron is now the man to watch. 

Vince Cable at the Liberal Democrat spring conference in Brighton earlier this year. 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