How women have deserted the Tories at the polls

The party once attracted far more female than male support but since 2005 the reverse has been true.

David Cameron may have insisted that his party does not have a "problem with women" at today's PMQs (as he stood in front of an entirely male frontbench) but the polls tell a different story. The latest YouGov survey gives Labour a three-point lead among men (36-33) but a nine-point lead among women (42-33). 

The female vote was once one of the Tories' greatest electoral assets, with the party consistently attracting more support from women than men, but since 2005 the reverse has been true. In 1992, the female-male gender gap [% Female Con Vote - % Female Lab Vote] minus [% Male Con Vote -% Male Lab Vote] stood at six points in the Tories' favour but it fell to two points in 1997, to one point in 2001 and to minus six in 2005 (among men, the Tories and Labour were tied on 34 per cent). At the last election, the gender gap stood at minus five and, as I've noted, it currently stands at minus six. Here are the numbers in full. 

How men and women voted

1979

Men

Conservative 43

Labour 40

Women

Conservative 47

Labour 35

Female-male gender gap: +9

1983

Men 

Conservative 42

Labour 30

Women

Conservative 46

Labour 26

Female-male gender gap: +8

1987

Men 

Conservative 43

Labour 32

Women

Conservative 43

Labour 32

Female-male gender gap: 0

1992

Men 

Conservative 41

Labour 37

Women

Conservative 44

Labour 34

Female-male gender gap: +6

1997

Men 

Conservative 31

Labour 45

Women

Conservative 32

Labour 44

Female-male gender gap: +2

2001

Men 

Conservative 32

Labour 42

Women

Conservative 33

Labour 42

Female-male gender gap: +1

2005

Men 

Conservative 34

Labour 34

Women

Conservative 32

Labour 38

Female-male gender gap: -6

2010 

Men 

Conservative 38

Labour 28

Women

Conservative 36

Labour 31

Female-male gender gap: -5

David Cameron walks along Downing Street on February 4, 2014. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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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