Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. Be bold, Labour, and expose Osborne's skivers v strivers lie (Guardian)

Osborne's below-inflation benefit rise may not be as popular as he thinks, says Polly Toynbee. Labour can, and must, make the case against.

2. Young lives are being ruined because of our timid Treasury (Daily Telegraph)

Bold tax cuts in Sweden and Estonia show how to tackle austerity – and create growth and jobs, says Fraser Nelson.

3. A reality check for Alex Salmond (Independent)

Far from business-as-usual in its relations with Europe, a go-it-alone Scotland will have to start again from scratch, says an Independent leader.

4. Labour must cut its dependency on welfare (Times) (£)

Miliband's party cannot afford to lose the argument over welfare and the longer it refuses to tackle the problem the more likely such a defeat becomes, says Philip Collins.

5. The west must prepare for Syria’s endgame (Daily Telegraph)

The rebels’ capture of airfields and military bases has speeded up the collapse of President Bashar al-Assad's regime, writes

6. Forget the fiscal cliff: buy America (Financial Times)

The strengths of the US far outweigh its weaknesses even without cheap gas, writes Philip Stephens.

7. The Tories who jeered Ed Balls's stammer are as bad as playground bullies (Independent)

As a fellow stammerer I know this mysterious condition has nothing to do with getting your facts wrong and everything to do with the tricks of uncertain speech, writes Margaret Drabble.

8. Oh, please! Don’t play the victim card, Mr Balls (Daily Mail)

For the nastiest bully in politics to blame his stammer for his Commons disaster is rank hypocrisy, says Quentin Letts.

9. If only saying nothing were an option for William Hague of the FO (Guardian)

As Northern Ireland goes up in flames, our foreign minister still lectures other states on nation-building, writes Simon Jenkins.

10. Stale debate holds back Britain’s recovery (Financial Times)

Partisan bickering could be avoided with a division into three elements, says Samuel Brittan.

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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