Morning Call: pick of the papers

The ten must-read comment pieces from this morning's papers.

1. Why Europe is floundering (Guardian)

Its architects envisioned the EU as a model for the world, but current dogma will achieve the opposite, writes John Gray.

2. Why the Tories are ready to risk detonating the Brussels bomb (Daily Telegraph)

Withdrawal from the EU has changed from being a fringe view to mainstream opinion, writes Peter Oborne.

3. Behold, we have a new Sir Humphrey Appleby (Times) (£)

The Attorney-General’s specious reasons for not publishing Prince Charles’s letters are beyond parody, says David Aaronovitch.

4. The Prince of Wales must be free to give his opinions (Daily Telegraph)

Any minister will tell you that the confidence of the Crown is vital for the system to work, writes Jack Straw.

5. The Treasury doesn't know best (Guardian)

Labour rightly wants to reform over-mighty markets, writes David Miliband. But the state also needs to fundamentally change.

6. How much has austerity really cost? (Financial Times)

The contribution of severe deficit reduction is worthy of debate, says Chris Giles.

7. Banning teams is the way to tackle football racism (Independent)

Now is Uefa's chance to send an unequivocal message that there is no place for racism in football, says an Independent leader.

8. Watch out Westminster – council politics just got sexy (Guardian)

We may think we live in a centralised state, but decisions made by local authorities have real impact on our lives, says Zoe Williams.

9. This glimmer of hope could be far brighter (Daily Mail)

George Osborne should be doing far more to help firms seize the chances opening up to them, says a Daily Mail editorial.

10. Malala paid dearly for claiming her right (Financial Times)

Countries that fail to educate females cause themselves incalculable damage, writes David Pilling.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood