Proudly trumpeting a tax cut for the rich. (Photo: Peter Macdiarmid)
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Budget 2015: The great tax giveaway to the rich masquerading as help for the poor

Raising the personal allowance does not help who it is supposed to.

There is no policy that George Osborne will trumpet more proudly than the increase in the personal allowance: evidence of a Conservative Party simultaneously helping the poorest and rewarding work.

Of course, the policy is a Liberal Democrat one. When Nick Clegg advocated the increase in the personal allowance during a TV debate five years ago, David Cameron said: “I would love to take everyone out of their first £10,000 of income tax, Nick...We cannot afford it.” The coalition has not just lifted the tax-free personal allowance to the Lib Dems’ target, but also exceeded it. Next month, the personal allowance will rise to £10,600 – and there are heavy hints that George Chancellor will today announced a further increase in the allowance in £11,000. In an era when voters are used to broken promises, the policy is a welcome antidote: an example of politicians under-promising and over-delivering.

The only problem, of course, is it does almost nothing to help those who the policy was designed for: those struggling on low incomes. "The UK’s five million lowest-paid employees will gain nothing at all," says Adam Corlett of the Resolution Foundation. Raising the personal allowance is useless for those earning less than £10,600, but much appreciated by the highest earners. Increasing the personal allowance to £12,500 would be worth £28 a year to the poorest 20 per cent of households, but £445 a year to the richest 20 per cent. It is a massive tax cut for the rich masquerading as substantive help for the poorest in society. And increasing tax on the poor is funding it. After today’s Budget, the total cost of increasing the personal allowance this Parliament will be about £14 billion – or about the same as the cost of the hike in VAT from 17.5 to 20 per cent, a tax that is as regressive as they come.

In a saner political climate, the coalition partners would be fighting to blame the increase on the personal allowance on each other, not to claim the credit. A policy that is superficially appealing when explained on the back of a cigarette packet is best left there.

Not that other parties have learned the lesson. Labour’s policy to cut tuition fees to £6,000 amounts to an annual £2.5 billion tax cut for City high-flyers, while doing nothing to improve access to universities. The problems with University policy are not £9,000 fees that you don’t pay back if you are not successful, but the derisory provision of maintenance grants and egregious fall in part-time and mature students. But these issues, critically important as they are, did not lead to effigies of Nick Clegg being burned, so Labour have calculated that there is less political gain to be had addressing them.

Even Ukip, those supposed purveyors of home truths, are as guilty of prioritising gimmickry over good policy. While their income tax proposals are couched in the language of helping the lowest earners, they would give an extra £1,143 a year to the richest 10 per cent – and just £35 to the poorest 10 per cent.

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear