Osborne at the royal mint. Photo: Matthew Horwood - WPA Pool/Getty Images
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What the budget will not reveal: Osborne has been more pragmatic than his image suggests

This looks set to be a minimalist budget - but not all is as it seems, and opposition Ed Balls would do well to veer away from it sooner rather than later.

Most voters are oblivious to the day-to-day combat at Westminster; their preferences are shaped by longer-term trends. The Budget is an exception. In this parliament, George Osborne’s 2012 “omnishambles” Budget, which entrenched the impression of the Conservatives as the party of the rich, is the most salient example.

It initially appeared likely that this year’s Budget (on 18 March) would be a minimalist affair. The Liberal Democrats briefed that they would strike no significant deals with the Tories on account of their desire to distance themselves from their coalition partners in advance of the general election. Mr Osborne, it seemed, would be denied the chance to unleash any fiscal fireworks. But more recent briefings suggest there will at least be a few sparklers. The government is reported to be considering raising the personal income-tax allowance to nearly £11,000, rather than the scheduled £10,600, after lower-than-expected inflation (which has reduced the cost of debt interest payments) gifted the Chancellor a £5bn windfall.

A cut in this very visible tax would be politically adroit but more progressive options exist. A further increase in the personal allowance will not benefit the 4.6 million workers who earn too little to pay tax; the biggest winners would be households in the top half of the income distribution. A better course would be to raise the National Insurance threshold (now at £7,956) or to cut VAT, which hits the poorest hardest.

Having failed to meet his original deficit reduction targets (borrowing this year is forecast to exceed £80bn), Mr Osborne has scheduled several more years of austerity. As a result of his plan to achieve a £23bn surplus by 2019-20, while cutting taxes by £7.2bn and avoiding further tax rises, the UK faces even greater cuts than those imposed since 2010. As Ed Balls noted in a speech on 9 March, public spending as a share of GDP, based on current trends, would fall to its lowest since the 1930s, the army would be reduced to its smallest size since Cromwell and three departments – the Foreign Office, the Department for Work and Pensions and the Department for Transport – would have no day-to-day budgets left at all. If this seems incredible, it is because it is. Rather than implementing his programme, Mr Osborne is likely to raise VAT again or to extend his deficit reduction timetable.

Yet the Chancellor, as Mr Balls says in his interview with George Eaton on page 34, has been more pragmatic than his axe-wielding image suggests. Rather than chasing his original targets when growth stalled, he allowed borrowing to rise by £219bn more than planned. This fiscal loosening partly explains the UK’s robust if much-delayed recovery. The trouble, Mr Balls says, is: “He’s learned the wrong lessons and he thinks now, at the beginning of the next parliament, you should go back to the plan at the beginning of the last one.” There is no economic need for Britain to run an absolute surplus in five years’ time. The most sensible course, as Labour and the Liberal Democrats propose, is to eliminate the current Budget deficit while leaving room to borrow to invest in housing, transport and other infrastructure projects.

Unlike some in his party, Mr Osborne is not a simple-minded libertarian. He recognises the necessity of active government to support growth, recently comparing himself to that champion of interventionism, Michael Heseltine. However, if he is truly intent on regenerating the Conservatives, he should change course now rather than after 7 May. 

It's just not cricket

The England cricket team will return from the World Cup defeated and humiliated. Having been thrashed by Australia, New Zealand and Sri Lanka, England were put out of their misery by plucky Bangladesh, a performance Mike Selvey at the Guardian described as among the worst he had seen in 30 years reporting on our summer game. English cricket is the author of its own misfortune. The England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) is greedy and complacent. The relentless schedule to which it has committed the national team has wearied and bored the players. The hapless coach, Peter Moores, seems to speak entirely in management gobbledegook. The one-day team does not even have an English captain: Eoin Morgan is an Irishman, who understandably refuses to sing the national anthem and, less understandably, keeps getting out for nought. The one saving grace for the ECB is that the public does not seem much to care. Could it be that cricket in England is a dying game? 

This article first appeared in the 13 March 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Israel's Next War

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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