Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. The logic of David Cameron's cry for optimism is: vote Labour (Guardian)

It's tempting to side with conservative Eeyores, writes Gaby Hinsliff. But from peace in Ulster to US healthcare, the progressive case is clear.

2. The new prisoners of ideology (Financial Times)

The parties of the right have forsaken centrist broad appeal, says Philip Stephens.

3. I blame the English for India’s backwardness (Times) (£)

The country’s terrible problems can be traced back to those who brought in a culture of pettifogging regulation, writes Philip Collins.

4. Greece's only certainty in 2013? Predictions are futile (Guardian)

Forecasts of collapse, 'Grexit' and even civil war proved unfounded but Greek society is under immense pressure, says Nick Malkoutzis.

5. Making welfare simple is fiendishly complex (Daily Telegraph)

It is vital that Iain Duncan Smith's heroic attempt to bring simplicity to the chaos of the welfare system succeeds, says a Telegraph editorial.

6. Where was Willetts's concern for the disadvantaged? (Independent)

The Universities Minister's professed concern for white working class boys is risible, says Joan Smith.

7. The decline of western dominance (Financial Times)

Developing countries now account for about half of total world output, writes Samuel Brittan.

8. An unfair policy that fails on every test (Daily Mail)

The removal of child benefit from higher earners makes a mockery of David Cameron’s promise to stand up for the traditional family, says a Daily Mail editorial.

9. The Falklands: another way forward (Guardian)

The governments of the UK and Argentina would do well to look to the island of Tromelin for a model for their negotiations, says a Guardian editorial.

10. Our robotic revolution is only just beginning to gather steam (Daily Telegraph)

Robots offer the potential for unlimited economic growth - as well as a helping hand about the house, says Jeremy Warner.

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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