Shadow cabinet minister Jon Trickett, speaks in parliament. Photograph: BBC.
Show Hide image

Labour left seek to run candidate in leadership election

Jon Trickett and Ian Lavery are the two leading contenders to represent the left in the contest. 

The Labour leadership race has gained further momentum today after Chuka Umunna became the second candidate to formally declare (following Liz Kendall) and Stella Creasy and Ben Bradshaw emerged as the latest contenders for the deputy post. The NEC will meet tomorrow to agree a timetable for the election (Harriet Harman outlined the three main options at last night's PLP meeting). 

Ahead of MPs' nominations opening, sources tell me that the left of the party is also hoping to get a candidate on the ballot paper. Andy Burnham, who will soon launch his campaign, is regarded as insufficiently radical to be given a free run. The two leading contenders are Jon Trickett, the deputy chair of the party, who was yesterday reappointed to the shadow cabinet as shadow minister without portfolio, and Ian Lavery, the former NUM president and the chair of the parliamentary Trade Union Group. John McDonnell, the chair of the Socialist Campaign Group, who stood in 2007 and 2010 (but failed to make the ballot) ruled himself out of contention before the election. "I’ve done it enough times and been blocked from getting on the paper. How many times can I be hit by that?" he told me in March. 

The challenge for whoever goes forward will similarly be to make the ballot. Candidates require the support of at least 15 per cent of Labour's 232 MPs (up from 12.5 per cent in 2010). But sources are hopeful that the arrival of more left-wing MPs at parliament (Cat Smith, Clive Lewis, Richard Burgon, Louise Haigh among them) will make the task easier. An alternative would be to appeal to other candidates to "lend" some of their supporters (as in the case of David Miliband and Diane Abbott) to ensure a full debate. While unlikely to win, a left-leaning candidate would have the opportunity to influence the eventual victor's programme and to represent a growing wing of the party. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Getty
Show Hide image

Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt