Apparently, tales of fluffy squirrels are turning kids against badger shooting and fox hunting. Image: Dan Murrell/NS
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Commons Confidential: Cons against cuddly toys

Plus: the latest from the party conferences.

Glass of wine in hand and tieless, David Cameron moved across a room full of hacks at the Hyatt hotel in Birmingham with the smoothness of a ballroom dancer. His wingman was his chum-cum-Chief Whip, Michael Gove; the former Times scribbler was the sole minister invited to the conference soirée. Cameron let slip that his “utterly heartbroken” speech in Aberdeen in the nervy days before Scotland’s referendum had been vetted by Gordon Brown. That the Tory premier bowed to his Labour predecessor reinforces the impression that, for ten days in September, old Irn-Broon was running the country.

The ConDems are disintegrating as coalition rivals battle for votes. In Taunton Deane, Jeremy Browne, the Lib Dems’ answer to Leslie Phillips (see page 23), defends a majority of 4,000 against the PR Rebecca Pow, a Tory wannabe granted a podium speaking spot at the Con conference. My mole recalled Browne’s private assessment of Pow. “I don’t feel particularly threatened,” said the Limp Dem, “but I imagine she organises a very good garden party.” Talk about damning with faint praise.

The Beast of Bolsover, Dennis Skinner, skipped his last meeting of Labour’s National Executive Committee to avoid being patronised by Ed Miliband. The veteran lost his committee seat as collateral damage in what looked like an inept plot by the leader’s office to oust the Scouse critic Steve Rotheram. Miliband praising his unintentional victim would have tested the patience of a beast with a hatred of hypocrisy.

The Tories want a cull of cuddly animal toys and tales of Mr Tod. Brian Williams, a Shropshire councillor, warned a Countryside Alliance gathering that fluffy squirrels and the like were turning kids against badger shooting and fox hunting. And there I was, thinking it was because sending hounds to tear animals apart for fun is repellent and scientific evidence doesn’t support blasting badgers.

Hope Not Hate’s Nick Lowles joins the honourable order of high achievers who’ve rejected a gong. The head of the anti-extremist group, I understand, declined a peerage offered by Miliband. Unsurprisingly, I found no mention of this refusal in Hope, the modest Lowles’s book about the campaign that defeated the BNP.

In the Manchester boozer Briton’s Protection, a pub serving fine ales and 300 whiskies, a young Labour researcher ordered a cup of Earl Grey. The landlady had to pop out to buy a box.

In Birmingham, the boxes of Sunday Telegraphs placed all over conference weren’t so clever when the headline screamed “Tory crisis” after Brooks Newmark quit and Mark Reckless defected.

Kevin Maguire is the associate editor (politics) of the Daily Mirror

Kevin Maguire is Associate Editor (Politics) on the Daily Mirror and author of our Commons Confidential column on the high politics and low life in Westminster. An award-winning journalist, he is in frequent demand on television and radio and co-authored a book on great parliamentary scandals. He was formerly Chief Reporter on the Guardian and Labour Correspondent on the Daily Telegraph.

This article first appeared in the 30 September 2014 issue of the New Statesman, ISIS vs The World

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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