Robert Jenrick, the Conservative candidate for Newark, addresses the audience in Kelham Hall. Photograph: Getty Images.
Show Hide image

Tories comfortably defeat Ukip in Newark by-election

The party holds the seat with a majority of more than 7,000 as the Lib Dems are pushed into sixth place.

Ukip's forward march has been halted. As polls predicted, the Tories comfortably won the Newark by-election with a reduced majority of 7,403. The party will be relieved at the size of its victory over Ukip, which had hoped to use the momentum from its first-place finish in the European elections to run them close (Nigel Farage last night predicted a Conservative majority of 2,500 at most). Instead, David Cameron enjoys the distinction of being the first Conservative leader since 1989 (when William Hague took Richmond). to win a by-election while in government.

But while Ukip failed to deliver the shock it hoped, its performance shouldn't be dismissed. The party still finished a comfortable second, winning a swing of 15.5 per cent and 25.9 per cent of the vote in a seat that is only the 248th most "Ukip friendly". That this is viewed as a "failure" is a sign of how far it has come. After pouring resources into the constituency, with every Conservative MP ordered to visit three times and David Cameron making four appearances, it would have been remarkable if the Tories had not held the seat. As Chris Bryant, who ran Labour's campaign, said: "They threw the kitchen sink, they threw the butler's sink, they threw the crockery, all the silverware, the Aga, the butler, the home help – everything at it."

Had the party run an alternative candidate to Roger Helmer, whose past comments include describing rape victims as sharing "the blame" and homosexuals as "abnormal and undesirable", it would almost certainly have performed better. One Labour source told me that some voters cast a tactical vote for the Tories to stop Ukip, with one comparing it to voting for Jacques Chirac over Jean-Marie Le Pen in the 2002 French presidential election. "Helmer is Hitler," one said. 

Some in Labour will be disappointed to have finished third with just 17.7 per cent of the vote, down from 22.3 per cent in 2010, but after calculating that it could not win, the party consciously choose to fight a modest campaign. For the Lib Dems, it was another dismal night. The party finished sixth, behind the Greens and an independent candidate, with just 2.6 per cent of the vote - one of its worst ever by-election performances - and lost its deposit for the ninth time in this parliament.

It would be wrong to say that Ukip's bubble has burst. The party is still polling at near-record levels in national surveys and will be a force at the general election. But it will be more aware than ever that to shed its status as a party of protest it needs to gain a foothold in Westminster.

Here's the result in full:

Conservative 17,431 45.0% (-8.9%)

Ukip 10,028 25.9% (+22.1%)

Labour 6,842 17.7% (-4.6%)

Paul Baggaley (Independent) 1,891 4.9% (N/A)

Green 1,057 2.7% (N/A)

Liberal Democrat 1,004 2.6% (-17.4%)

Monster Raving Loony Party 168 0.4% (N/A)

Andy Hayes (Independent) 117 0.3% (N/A)

Bus-Pass Elvis Party 87 0.2% (N/A)

Common Good  64 0.2% (N/A)

Patriotic Socialist Party 18 0.1% (N/A)

Majority: 7,403 (19.1%)

Turnout: 38,707 (52.79%)

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Kevin Doncaster/Creative Commons
Show Hide image

For 19 minutes, I thought I had won the lottery

The agonising minutes spent figuring out my mistake paired beautifully with hard, low wisdom tooth throbs.

Nineteen minutes ago, I was a millionaire. In my head, I’d bought a house and grillz that say “I’m fine now thanks”, in diamonds. I’d had my wisdom tooth (which I’ve been waiting months for the NHS to pull the hell out of my skull) removed privately. Drunk on sudden wealth, I’d considered emailing everyone who’s ever wronged me a picture of my arse. There I was, a rich woman wondering how to take a butt selfie. Life was magnificent.

Now I’m lying face-down on my bed. I’m wearing a grease-stained t-shirt and my room smells of cheese. I hear a “grrrrk” as my cat jumps onto the bed. He walks around on my back for a bit, then settles down, reinstating my place in the food chain: sub-cat. My phone rings. I fumble around for it with all the zeal of a slug with ME. Limply, I hold it to my ear.

“Hi,” I say.

“You haven’t won anything, have you” says my dad. It isn’t a question.

“I have not.”

“Ah. Never mind then eh?”

I make a sound that’s just pained vowels. It isn’t a groan. A groan is too human. This is pure animal.

“What? Stop mumbling, I can’t hear you.”

“I’m lying on my face,” I mumble.

“Well sit up then.”

“Can’t. The cat’s on my back.”

In my defence, the National Lottery website is confusing. Plus, I play the lottery once a year max. The chain of events which led me to believe, for nineteen otherworldly minutes, that I’d won £1 million in the EuroMillions can only be described as a Kafkaesque loop of ineptitude. It is both difficult and boring to explain. I bought a EuroMillions ticket, online, on a whim. Yeah, I suffer from whims. While checking the results, I took a couple of wrong turns that led me to a page that said, “you have winning matches in one draw”. Apparently something called a “millionaire maker code” had just won me a million quid.

A

Million

Quid.

I stared at the words and numbers for a solid minute. The lingering odour of the cheese omelette I’d just eaten was, all of a sudden, so much less tragic. I once slammed a finger in a door, and the pain was so intense that I nearly passed out. This, right now, was a fun version of that finger-in-door light-headedness. It was like being punched by good. Sure, there was a level on which I knew I’d made a mistake; that this could not be. People don’t just win £1 million. Well they do, but I don’t. It’s the sort of thing that happens to people called Pauline, from Wrexham. I am not Pauline from Wrexham. God I wish I was Pauline from Wrexham.

Even so, I started spending money in my head. Suddenly, London property was affordable. It’s incredible how quickly you can shrug off everyone else’s housing crisis woe, when you think you have £1m. No wonder rich people vote Conservative. I was imaginary rich for nineteen minutes (I know it was nineteen minutes because the National Lottery website kindly times how much of your life you’ve wasted on it) and turned at least 40 per cent evil.

But, in need of a second opinion on whether or not I was – evil or not - rich, I phoned my dad.

“This is going to sound weird,” I said, “but I think I’ve won £1 million.”

“You haven’t won £1 million,” he said. There was a decided lack of anything resembling excitement in his voice. It was like speaking to an accountant tired of explaining pyramid schemes to financial Don Quixotes.

“No!” I said, “I entered the EuroMillions and I checked my results and this thing has come up saying I’ve won something but it’s really confusing and…”

Saying it out loud (and my how articulately) clinched it: my enemies were not going to be looking at butt selfies any time soon. The agonising minutes spent figuring out my mistake paired beautifully with hard, low wisdom tooth throbs.

“Call me back in a few minutes,” I told my dad, halfway though the world’s saddest equation.

Now here I am, below a cat, trying to explain my stupidity and failing, due to stupidity.  

 

“If it’s any consolation,” my dad says, “I thought about it, and I’m pretty sure winning the lottery would’ve ruined your life.”

“No,” I say, cheese omelette-scented breath warming my face, “it would’ve made my life insanely good.”

I feel the cat purr. I can relate. For nineteen minutes, I was happy too. 

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.