Former Liberal Democrat MP Mike Hancock appearing on BBC News.
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The Mike Hancock saga shows that politicians can't be judged by the law alone

Natural justice, not merely the law, must be seen to be applied in cases of wrongdoing.

There’s a great Rumpole of the Bailey story, where our eponymous hero, as ever defending not prosecuting, calls on the jury to administer, not the law, but justice for the accused, who is clearly guilty of the crime for which he is charged – but for entirely understandable reasons. I am often reminded of this, and ponder whether the same shouldn’t apply to elected politicians, only in reverse?

There’s nothing very positive to say about the Mike Hancock saga from anyone’s point of view and no one, save the complainant, comes out of this with any sort of credit. But the whole saga raises one interesting point: should our public representatives sit, not above the law, but in fact below it?

The major difficulty for the Lib Dems in the Hancock case, as with many of the recent cases of inappropriate behavior (on a wildly ranging scale it should be said) is the fact that often not only were the charges not legally proven, but the authorities felt that there was insufficient evidence to even start the full legal process. And therefore, as the accused are (rightly) innocent until proven guilty, they feel no need to resign nor often face any penalty under party disciplinary procedures, however much many folk feel they should. And indeed, when calls are made for elected officials to do the decent thing, their supporters more often than not revert to the clarion call that this wouldn’t be justice. But of course, what they mean is, this wouldn’t be the law.

Now, I’m not advocating that there should be some sort of built-in lower level of proof required for politicians than the rest of us; that would hardly be liberal. But I do wonder if everyone connected with politics should accept that not only does the law need to be applied to every case, but natural justice needs to be not just applied – but to be seen to be applied. And falling on your sword for the greater good, not of the party you are a member of, but of the electorate you are there to represent, might be the best service you can do.

Sure, it’s a pipe dream. Certainly it opens up the door to wrongful accusations becoming just another political weapon. Of course, on many occasions, the innocent will suffer – we all know that in politics, you can get smoke without fire. But it might just be a price worth paying.

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