Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. The fracking dream which is putting Britain's future at risk (Observer)
George Osborne believes shale gas to be a bonaza of cheap energy. Where's the evidence? asks Andrew Rawnsley

2. How will the economy do? It's anybody's guess (Independent on Sunday)
Forecasters are always wrong, writes John Rentoul

3. George vs Ed: knock yourself out boys (Sunday Times)
The true political contest is between Balls and Osborne, writes Martin Ivens

4. The royal prank shows we're quick to judge, but slow to learn (Observer)
The tragic death of Jacintha Saldanha has highlighted a lack of compassion at too many levels, writes Yvonne Roberts

5. Nurse Russell knows what's killing the NHS (Sunday Times)
At last, the NHS has accepted that compassion is lacking from its wards, writes Jenni Russell

6. The NHS was forged from care, not box-ticking (Independent on Sunday)
The answer is not more targets or managers, says Paul Vallely

7. Fairness is at the heart of Osborne's radical strategy (Sunday Telegraph)
Voters may hate "scroungers", but they would recoil from cuts to benefits for those in work, says Matthew d'Ancona

8. Dave unveils his secret weapon: the welfare wedge (Mail on Sunday)
The Conservatives are starting to look towards the next election, says James Forsyth

9. End the drift in our relationship with Europe (Sunday Telegraph)
David Cameron needs to take charge, says the leader

10. This isn't the time to yield on drug laws (Mail on Sunday)
An impartial inquiry into drug law would be welcome, says the paper's leader


Morning Call
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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