Nick Clegg prior to giving a television interview during a visit to Hughes Safety Showers on May 21, 2014 in Stockport, England. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Clegg should tell the rebels to "put up or shut up"

The Lib Dem leader should seek a renewed mandate from his party.

"I intend to march my troops towards the sound of gunfire" is a famous quote much loved by all Lib Dems from one of our most revered leaders, Jo Grimond. Right now, the gunfire is not coming from the right or left or ahead of the party leader. It’s small, but it’s none the less significant. And it’s coming from behind him. And so the question is, what should Nick do about it?

Can I suggest Nick considers whether the best course of action is to march towards the sound of gunfire, and if he should be saying "put up or shut up". The received wisdom is that this is naïve politics at best, a suicide mission at worst (and folk in Great George Street are already yelling, "you’re an idiot", as they read this no doubt).Why on earth would a party leader do this when he doesn't "need" to?  Certainly, it seems unlikely that any of the party’s constitutional triggers for an election are going to be met. But never the less, that drip drip drip of poison is going to keep seeping away at Nick’s leadership.

But, if he called for an election - what then? We’re a one member one vote party, with the election decided by STV. So there’s no possibility of a stalking horse candidate coming forward, eliminating Nick in some first round before bowing out gracefully. No – there’s just one round of voting, so it really is put up or shut up. And I don’t think anyone will put up.

And then it’s done. There’ll either be no other candidate – and Nick goes forward with clear mandate. Or there is – and there’s a contest over the summer and we come back with a leader who the whole party has had a chance to (re)elect – which I suspect will still be Nick Clegg. And the boil is lanced.

There are many in the party who say that latter scenario is the nightmare one, where the party spends several months fighting itself. That’s probably true. So, a bit like...well, right now really. But I don’t think the summer of infighing will take place. Because I don’t think anyone will stand against Nick. So Nick – may I recommend another military quote to you: "My centre is giving way, my right is retreating, situation excellent, I am attacking."

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