Osborne's minimum wage move is a huge political opportunity for Labour

By conceding that a large rise would not cost jobs or damage the public finances, Osborne has made it harder for the Tories to credibly oppose a more radical offer from Miliband.

Margaret Thatcher memorably described New Labour as her "greatest achievement". In the same spirit, Labour can greet George Osborne's announcement that he favours "above-inflation increases" in the minimum wage as a remarkable act of political flattery. When Tony Blair and Gordon Brown introduced the policy in 1999, the Tories rejected it as a jobs killer; they are now competing with Labour to promise the biggest rise. There is no better example of how Miliband's party has shifted the centre ground to the left. 

But in both its content and its timing (the day before Miliband's long-trailed speech on the economy this morning), Osborne's gambit is uncomfortable for Labour. It is a reminder of the biggest advantage that a government has over the opposition: while the latter can only talk, it can act. But Osborne's move also opens up new political opportunities for Labour. If the Tories want to enter a bidding war with the opposition on living standards, Labour should be confident that it is one it can win.

Having shifted from denying the living standards crisis to seeking solutions to it (while attempting to blame the last government), it will become harder for the Tories to fend off reminders of how much ground has been lost since 2010 (with the average family, as Labour never lets us forget, £1,600 a year worse off). After the biggest fall in real wages under any government in recorded history and the retoxification of the Conservative brand through the abolition of the 50p tax rate , the danger for the Tories is that a rise in the minimum wage just looks like crumbs from the table. While the Conservatives enjoy a convincing poll lead on the economy, they have long trailed Labour as the party that would do most to improve family incomes. Osborne's announcement might have left the Tories in a better position than before, but they will still struggle to win an election defined by living standards. A tactical victory could become a strategic defeat. 

By conceding that a rise in the minimum wage (which has fallen back to its 2004 level) would not cost jobs and would have a neutral effect on the public finances (with the anticipated fall in corporate tax receipts offset by higher income tax receipts and lower benefits), Osborne has also made it harder for the Tories to oppose a more radical offer from Labour. Many on the left would like Miliband to respond by pledging to introduce a universal living wage, which would see the minimum wage rise from £6.31 to £7.65 in the UK and £8.80 in London. But with respected forecasters such as NIESR estimating that such a move would reduce labour demand by 160,000 jobs, the equivalent of a 0.5% rise in unemployment, this remains unlikely (although a poll last year found that 60% support a universal living wage even if it costs jobs).

It's worth remembering, however, that Labour has already gone further than any of the other main parties by suggesting that it should become compulsory for all public sector contractors and government departments to pay the living wage and by promising tax incentives for private sector employers to do so. When Miliband announced his plan last November, the Tories responded by claiming, with no accompanying evidence, that the policy was "unworkable" and would have "a substantial extra cost to the Exchequer". But after Osborne's embrace of higher wages, such stock lines will be less convincing than ever. If Labour outlines a plan that is both credible and radical, and that the Tories, for ideological reasons, are unable to support, the Chancellor may well regret playing on Miliband's pitch. 

George Osborne delivering his speech on EU reform in London on Wednesday. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I dined behind the Houses of Parliament in my sexually connected foursome

My wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple. We did not always check the significance of the date. 

I am self-employed and find that working from home, setting your own schedule, the days generally blur into each other, with weekends holding no significance, and public holidays, when those who are employed in factories, offices or shops get time off, meaning nothing. I am often surprised to go out and find the streets empty of traffic because it is some national day of observance, such as Christmas, that I wasn’t aware of. I find myself puzzled as to why the shops are suddenly full of Easter eggs or pancake batter.

Growing up in a Communist household, we had a distinct dislike for this kind of manufactured marketing opportunity anyway. I remember the time my mother tried to make me feel guilty because I’d done nothing for her on Mother’s Day and I pointed out that it was she who had told me that Mother’s Day was a cynical creation of the greetings card monopolies and the floral industrial complex.

Valentine’s Day is one of those I never see coming. It’s the one day of the year when even the worst restaurants are completely booked out by couples attempting to enjoy a romantic evening. Even those old-fashioned cafés you’ll find still lurking behind railway stations and serving spaghetti with bread and butter will tell you there’s a waiting list if you leave it late to reserve a table.

In the late 1980s my wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple, he a writer and she a TV producer. One particular place we liked was a restaurant attached to a 1930s block of flats, near the Houses of Parliament, where the endless corridors were lined with blank doors, behind which you sensed awful things happened. The steel dining room dotted with potted palm trees overlooked a swimming pool, and this seemed terribly sophisticated to us even if it meant all your overpriced food had a vague taste of chlorine.

The four of us booked to eat there on 14 February, not realising the significance of the date. We found at every other table there was a single couple, either staring adoringly into each other’s eyes or squabbling.

As we sat down I noticed we were getting strange looks from our fellow diners. Some were sort of knowing, prompting smiles and winks; others seemed more outraged. The staff, too, were either simpering or frosty. After a while we realised what was going on: it was Valentine’s Day! All the other customers had assumed that we were a sexually connected foursome who had decided to celebrate our innovative relationship by having dinner together on this special date.

For the four of us, the smirking attention set up a strange dynamic: after that night it always felt like we were saying something seedy to each other. “Do you want to get together on Sunday?” I’d say to one of them on the phone, and then find myself blushing. “I’ll see if we can fit it in,” they’d reply, and we would both giggle nervously.

Things became increasingly awkward between us, until in the end we stopped seeing them completely. 

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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