Nick Clegg speaks at the Liberal Democrat spring conference in York last month. Photograph: Getty Images.
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The progressive Lib Dem policies that no one knows about

How many know that the party still aspires to abolish tuition fees and plans to review the bedroom tax? 

When I wrote last week that Lib Dem MPs who had supported party policy by voting against an increase in university tuition fees were likely to receive some sort of credit for this from the electorate in 2015, a senior political journalist asked me if I hadn’t got that the wrong way round – that surely the rebels had voted against party policy?

But in fact this wasn’t the case. Lib Dems who trooped through the lobby supporting the government were in fact the actual rebels, whereas those who voted against the government were - in party terms – bowing to the will of conference and towing the line. Indeed, party policy is to review the system after next year's election with a view to abolishing tuition fees altogether. A fact that I suspect eludes most people.

And there lies the biggest issue for the Lib Dems at present. If senior political correspondents get confused about the minutiae of party policy, what chance for an electorate where nine in 10 voters fail to recognise a photograph of the Secretary of State for Defence, and the Foreign Secretary frequently gets confused with Ross Kemp?

We saw another example of this type of contradiction the other day on the bedroom tax. You might imagine that the bedroom tax enjoys the support of the Lib Dems, but in fact party policy is to review it, Nick Clegg has ordered said review and when you know that, suddenly Tim Farron's intervention against the tax last week all makes sense. Or at least, it makes sense until 24 hours later the majority of Lib Dem peers end up supporting it.

It’s almost like we want to confuse people.

It is into this vacuum that well-written and provocative contributions like Jeremy Browne's new book get confused with party policy and a set of proposals, approved by conference, ready to present to the electorate as a programme for government. And before you know it, you’re being asked whether it's true that the Lib Dems will cut the top rate of tax for the rich on the day that we take thousands more at that the other end of the scale out of income tax altogether. Which doesn’t help. And that’s not Jeremy’s fault – it’s his job to say what he thinks.

The next month will see Lib Dems campaigning hard on one policy that we are both clear about and well known for – our support for the UK’s membership of the European Union. But after that, we need to start filling in the void on every other policy area – because we’ll have just 12 months to tell people what it is we actually believe. 

At the moment – EU and the Mansion Tax aside – I’m not sure many people actually know. 

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

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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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

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 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war