Liberal Democrat Treasury Secretary Danny Alexander holds up the Lib Dems "budget box" during the party's spring conference at the ACC on March 14, 2015 in Liverpool, England. Photo: Getty Images
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How can we trust the Lib Dems when they don't know if they're yellow or orange?

Colour confusion.

Labour are red. The Conservatives are blue. Ukip are purple. The Greens are, well, you know. But what colour stands for the Liberal Democrats?

Look to Danny Alexander, for example, and it might appear a simple answer: it's yellow. Above, you can see him holding that yellow briefcase he had specifically made for his awkward damp squib of an "alternative" Lib Dem budget.

It's hard to define what colour something really is from just one photograph - for a host of reasons - but chances are that briefcase adheres to the official Lib Dem internal style guide, which mandates that the primary colour for party materials should be Pantone 1235C:

(Pantone is a company that produces standardised colour reproduction systems, ie, a way to define colours more precisely than "a sort-of goldy-yellow".)

This precise tone of yellow was introduced in 2009 as part of a party-wide branding exercise; but look through any photo archive, and it's clear that the Lib Dems still don't know what colour they are.

Look through the merchandise available on Lib Dem Image ("the official supplier of Lib Dem party branded goods, gifts and campaigning products for over 14 years") and it's a riot of orange and orange-related shades. Badges? Orange. Bags? Black and bright yellow. Car flags? Slightly darker orange. Rosettes? Slightly lighter orange. Stickers? Black and Halloween orange.

Lib Dem conferences seem to change colour from year to year. Compare 2015...

Photo: Getty Images

...to 2014...

Photo: Getty Images

...to 2013...

Photo: Getty Images

...to 2012...

Photo: Getty Images

...and so on and so on.

Go to a Lib Dem rally, too, and it's hard to miss that the big diamond placards that the party has handed out to activists for years come in a range of yellow-to-orange colours:

Photo: Getty Images

This crisis of brand identity is even referenced (subtly) in the design of the party's website:

Maybe this inconsistency is deliberate - maybe it's an unconscious representation of how much success the Orange Bookers are having in internal party discussions. And perhaps it's just because the Lib Dems are good-natured, go-with-the-wind types who know that both the SNP and Labour have their own tones of yellow, and avoiding confusion is sometimes more important than brand integrity.

But the question remains: if a party has no integrity in its brand, how can we trust it to have integrity in government? Hmm? #makeuthink

UPDATE: We have been informed by a party insider - who wishes not to be named - that the logo for Liberal Reform (a group within the party that "promotes four-cornered freedom in the Liberal Democrats – personal, political, social and economic liberalism") contains four shades of yellow-orange:

We're through the looking glass here, people.

Ian Steadman is a staff science and technology writer at the New Statesman. He is on Twitter as @iansteadman.

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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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