Why the Lib Dems will struggle to win any credit for the recovery

This recovery runs to a traditional Conservative narrative - harsh medicine applied by a single-minded Chancellor.

" 'Without the Liberal Democrats, there wouldn't be a recovery.' That's Clegg's election line there", tweeted the very astute editor of this blog during Nick’s stint at Prime Minister's Questions this week and there’s every indication that he’s right to say that’s what we’ll be hanging our hat on in 2015. The same line was tweeted moments later by the Lib Dem Press Office and Danny Alexander has written to members with a similar message after the Autumn Statement

“This recovery would not have been possible without us, and neither would the vast majority of the positive measures in today’s Autumn Statement. In fact, setting the Tory Marriage Tax break to one side, the Autumn Statement is packed full of Liberal Democrat ideas.”

And of course, it also happens to be true (though I don’t suppose that fact will feature much in the comments section of The Staggers), not least because by going into coalition in the first place we provided a more stable government than any other option allowed at a time of great economic uncertainty.

And yet it’s hard to escape the notion that this will be painted as anything other than a Tory victory. This recovery runs to a traditional Conservative narrative -  harsh medicine applied to a patient suffering from a potentially fatal illness, ignoring the cries and the pleas for mercy, because they know what’s good for you. Of course, it’s not precisely true – as Stephen Tall has pointed out, Plan A got abandoned (or at least diluted) some time ago. But that’s how the story is playing out.  And it suits the Tories that it does so, because it means they can own it.

Hence the willingness to dump the "green crap", the huskies, and any notions of hugging a hoodie. Because it’s the nasty party that owns the economic narrative. And let’s not forget, after three years of austerity, recession and economic malaise, that nasty party is only 3 or 4% worse off in the polls than when it was running against the most unpopular Labour government for a generation or more (this morning’s YouGov poll notwithstanding).

I fear the Tories think the nasty party narrative suddenly has traction and electoral credibility. And it’s that single-mindedness that will make it so hard for the Lib Dems to claim any credit for the economic recovery. Not helped by the fact that the 'differentiation strategy' dictates that, for the second half of the parliament, we are meant to distance ourselves from the Tories at every turn.

Sure, Lib Dems will be awarded the odd battle in the court of public opinion – raising the tax threshold, free school meals, pension reform. But the narrative of the Autumn Statement is triumph for Osborne, disaster for Balls. The battle for the Lib Dems will be to get nary a mention at all.

Nick Clegg speaks at the Liberal Democrat conference in Glasgow earlier this year. Photograph: Getty Images.

Richard Morris blogs at A View From Ham Common, which was named Best New Blog at the 2011 Lib Dem Conference

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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

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 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage