Paramilitary cults, alcoholism and a superhero. Photo: Getty
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Simulection: What happens when you run the 2015 Lib Dem manifesto through a video game?

We are running the parties' manifestos through Democracy 3, an election simulation video game. Here's what happens if the Liberal Democrats win...

Nick Clegg says: “Me, Prime Minister?! You’ve got to be kidding. Or perhaps it just goes to show people don’t like silver bullets, but tough choices. And the Liberal Democrats, the lithely-muscular, iron-sandaled Liberal Democrats, the Liberal Democrats who aren’t afraid to break promises; we’re the tough party.

What will I do as Prime Minister? This time around, we’ll carry out all our promises, get the nation back on its feet. We’ll add a heart and a brain and a liver and a bile duct to our non-existent coalition partner. Protect jobs through free school meals for everyone. Paddy Ashdown will be dispatched simultaneously, instantaneously, momentarily to deal with all warzones, bullies or bastards. We’ll just add the extra zeros on the end of the national debt together to cancel them out. The NHS will be run entirely by angels. Friendly dragons will pare your cuticles with their talons! Lend a hand to the mums and dads of Alarm Clock Britain! Tuition fees will be made of candy floss! Danny Alexander! The yellow bird of freedom will fly anew on the British flag!

Sorry Miriam! I didn’t know I was shouting! God, sorry, I know your work is important. Sorry, sorry. I’ll just run the country more quietly, from the den. Run the country..? Oh, God, I’m in charge. I’m in charge. I’m in..? Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I’d better quickly reiterate a conflict of interest mentioned on the methodology page; once upon a time I worked for the Liberal Democrats. Don’t worry, I’m so bitter and jaded now that erstwhile affection won’t affect my judgement on their policies one way or the other. I’m just here to see if their manifesto commitments work in this simulation.

A more troubling caveat is that I’ve become aware of the foibles of the programme we’re using, which means I’m fairly certain that the Lib Dems are going to hit the same problem as the Tories and Labour did  a global recession. That prior knowledge isn’t much help, as I still have to try to implement the manifesto, but it may make me more cautious as to when I carry out huge projects like electrifying the entire UK rail network or taking Paddy’s favourite stiletto away.

I have to admit that I skim-read the Lib Dem manifesto, as it was twice the length of the Labour or Tory tomes, and there’s a pile of factual books about babycare staring me in the face. Without being glib, that’s not the fiction I want to spend my spare time reading. By that I mean that the Lib Dems themselves have stopped pretending that they are a party of solo government, which was the rhetoric up to 2010.

Now their message is that they’re a centrist party of coalition, like the Free Democratic Party of Germany (a long-running liberal party that failed to make it into parliament at the last election. Not to draw any parallels.) The people who wrote this manifesto never expected that it would be implemented at all; it’s a negotiating point for coalition and never intended for any real world scenario, despite its length. So fiction!

Given that extra length, it’s surprising how similar it is to the two main parties’ manifestos. Maybe the blues and reds just had better editors? The Lib-Dems have the same commitment to balancing the current budget, in their case by 2017, and they want to make debt fall as a percentage of GDP. They’re also committed to borrowing £70bn less than labour and cutting £50bn less than the Tories, raising the personal tax allowance to £12,500.

However they have a lot more detail to all their promises. I can’t really see a coherent central theme to their manifesto  just thousands of independent tweaks so I’ll implement tax measures first, then start spending the tiny amount of money we’ve got spare on whatever of their policies work at the time. The two tax commitments I can see, which are rather vague, are that “the richest pay their fair share and corporations cannot avoid their tax responsibilities”. The rhetoric of the first one implies that a punitive wealth tax seems appropriate; the second I can only simulate by putting up corporate tax rates. I follow that up by limiting debt agency activity, to help the poorest.

Then I focus on policies, y’know, for kids. I increase child benefit because a) the Lib-Dems have committed to extending child care to two-year-olds, and b) because it’s the only way of simulating a rise in the bottom tax band in Democracy 3. I lift a few people out of poverty and feel a bit happier.

It’s worth noting that because we’ve started with the same starting conditions as Labour and Conservatives, we have the same starting problems  alcoholism, an asthma epidemic, homelessness, organised crime, low productivity, technological backwardness, ghettos, street gangs, and vigilante mobs to deal with them. Getting rid of any of these would probably help us win the next election, but they’re all horribly sticky and tend to require tons of spare money – which we don’t have.

In the next six months, I hit education. Using the cash from the tax rises, I increase the main state education budget by £2.5bn, and carry out the commitment to free school meals. I also stomp on creationism that’s crept into the education system and change sex education to make it more explicit. Oddly enough, liberals love me and the religious hate me.

Another dilemma forces me to legalise GM crops  which I later learn is counter to Lib Dem policy. Meanwhile, a man dressed as a superhero is keeping the crime rate down singlehandedly  perhaps it’s the Kinnock-nemesis Captain Beany who’s taken to wearing a suspiciously orange suit. Very unusually, he pops up a couple of times over the term giving the crime rate a solid thumping.

I’ve got a nearly balanced budget now, but I need more cuts to fulfil that big NHS funding commitment. I can’t touch pensions because of the "triple lock" promise the coalition partners both share, so I slash the army budget instead, right down to "purely ceremonial" and hope no one notices. Eventually, they do.

Meanwhile, it’s that time again  the global economy is crashing! Despite running a really solid budget surplus, my credit rating is downgraded. That’s not a big problem, as we’ve done what we promised and balanced the budget. Now we can unbalance it.

We start with a small step, by subsidising bicycles. Our bigger commitments, like doubling the billions already in science funding, might have to wait until the economy’s on a better footing.

One pillar of the Lib Dem manifesto is healthy eating, particularly restricting the marketing of junk food to children. The sim can’t quite do that, but we can tax junk food to high heaven and run a healthy eating campaign, which happens to be another manifesto commitment.

Another aspect of that health policy is more controversial. A minimum unit price for alcohol can be represented by a simple raise in alcohol duty, but it really hits the poor in their pockets hard, undoing the good work of our child welfare improvements earlier. In comparison to alcohol, there isn’t a commitment to legalise cannabis  but there is to effectively decriminalise it, by diverting people caught with personal quantities into treatment or civil penalties. Unfortunately, there’s no way of representing that in the game.

The Lib Dems have a pretty positive international agenda  but they still pander to the immigration moral panic to show that they can play with the big boys. So, while we improve foreign relations at every turn, appointing an internationally-popular UN ambassador for example, we also have to improve border controls, so that only highly-skilled immigrants can get in. I also establish a trade council to give international trade a boost, and jack up our diplomatic service too. When an extradition dilemma pops up  do you want to send this terror suspect to somewhere he’ll be tortured and probably killed? – we keep him in the UK.

Sadly, after a year of surviving the global recession, in one bad quarter my carefully-curated surplus turns into a £30bn deficit. Ugh. At least the global slowdown seems to be slowing its dive, so this should only be temporary. Ish. As soon as it starts to recover, I’ll kick a stimulus package out there. In the meantime, I do a quick reshuffle because my ministers aren’t performing, to make sure I have enough influence to pass policies.

But what policies? The Lib Dems still have hundreds of them, and I don’t know what order to go at them in, or how to implement most of them. It’s starting to feel like the Lib Dems drew their inspiration for their piecemeal policies from this game, so closely do they fit. For example, they want to fundamentally shift prison to being about rehabilitation not punishment  which is, to me, a rational, philosophically coherent position that should be at the heart of governmental criminal policy and that I implement to the full  but it’s buried away between pettifogging commitments to Community Justice Panels, Youth Justice Boards and Women’s Justice Boards.

There’s just over a year left of this parliament, and 44 per cent of the electorate are onside. Apart from a few hundred whackjobs in the "Crusaders of the Lord" paramilitary cult, who seem determined to kill Clegg. The biggest problem, which is causing the other major problems like street gangs and vigilantes, is unemployment. The graphs are stark. Unemployment feeds all alcoholism, homelessness, organised crime, ghettos, street gangs, and vigilante mobs, all of which feed into each other. I’ve really hardly dented them.

Now there’s a £50bn gap in income versus expenditure. I need to find policies that boost the economy pronto as the global economy is carrying on going down six months longer than it did for Labour. What to do? Flood prevention research? Too pricey, not stimulating. Electric cars? I implement them, but Mr Tesla is hardly going to create many jobs in the UK.

Ah, simple things. I implement expensive small business grants and start a telecommuting initiative. I throw a lot of money into road building, train subsidies, and the like (all based on manifesto commitments), and whack up Capital Gains Tax (which I’d forgotten to do at the start). A huge spending stimulus that bumps up GDP over our last six months.

And we cruise to a safe election  partly because 33 per cent of the electorate didn’t turn up. If anything, that was easier than Labour’s victory because the Lib Dems had so many little tweaks that they wanted to do, most of which had a positive effect in the simulation, even though they had similar ringfences to the Tories.

The only people who didn’t end up liking them were capitalists, patriots, the wealthy, and the religious. I can’t really say that they had anything amounting to a coherent agenda except "do what’s cheap, effective and wins votes". Which I’m sure was Reagan’s slogan in ‘81. Maybe we should give that Clegg chap another chance..?

Read our methodology here. Follow the rest of the series as it unfolds here. And here's what happened with the manifestos in the 2010 election.

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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