Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. Why the world faces climate chaos (Financial Times)

We will watch the rise in greenhouse gases until it is too late to do anything about it, writes Martin Wolf.

2. Will Ed Miliband be the Doctor Who of politics? (Daily Telegraph)

Labour must decide its policy on welfare soon or be forced to dance to the Chancellor’s tune, says Mary Riddell.

3. A Tory-led Europe exit would unleash a carnival of reaction (Guardian)

The nationalist right has long set the agenda, writes Seumas Milne. Labour should back a referendum and make the progressive case.

4. Which part of your manifesto is for real? (Times)

Politicians will be pressed to say which of their promises are non-negotiable in the event of another coalition, writes Daniel Finkelstein.

5. Cameron and his party conspire to create a European shambles (Daily Telegraph)

The Prime Minister’s concessions over the EU referendum have eroded his authority, says Iain Martin.

6. Data geeks are going to change the way we live (Times)

Clever information will cut crime, reduce surgery costs and create billions of new wealth, says Stephan Shakespeare.

7. The UK could reshape the EU if it would only try (Financial Times)

Political leaders must show they want and expect to stay in the EU, writes Charles Grant.

8. This rebellion is Cameron's Maastricht. He should have seen it coming (Guardian)

Every Tory leader should expect a revolt over Europe, writes Melissa Kite. But this time the rebels' anger goes much deeper.

9. Afghan exit - or is it a very long goodbye? (Daily Mail)

The US appetite for interference on a global scale continues to unsettle the world, writes Andrew Alexander.

10. The awful prevalence of grooming gangs (Independent)

Such crimes would be distressing enough in isolation, says an Independent editorial. What is worse is that the authorities could have done something about them so much earlier.

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Would you jump off a cliff if someone told you to? One time, I did

I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain.

Ever heard the phrase, “Would you jump off a cliff if they told you to?” It was the perpetual motif of my young teenage years: my daily escapades, all of which sprang from a need to impress a peer, were distressing and disgusting my parents.

At 13, this tomboyish streak developed further. I wrote urgent, angry poems containing lines like: “Who has desire for something higher than jumping for joy and smashing a light?” I wanted to push everything to its limits, to burst up through the ceiling of the small town I lived in and land in America, or London, or at least Derby. This was coupled with a potent and thumping appetite for attention.

At the height of these feelings, I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain. One of the cool girls started saying that her cousin had jumped off the bridge into the river and had just swum away – and that one of us should do it.

Then someone said that I should do it, because I always did that stuff. More people started saying I should. The group drew to a halt. Someone offered me a pound, which was the clincher. “I’m going to jump!” I yelled, and clambered on to the railing.

There wasn’t a complete hush, which annoyed me. I looked down. It was raining very hard and I couldn’t see the bottom of the riverbed. “It looks really deep because of the rain,” someone said. I told myself it would just be like jumping into a swimming pool. It would be over in a few minutes, and then everyone would know I’d done it. No one could ever take it away from me. Also, somebody would probably buy me some Embassy Filter, and maybe a Chomp.

So, surprising even myself, I jumped.

I was about three seconds in the air. I kept my eyes wide open, and saw the blur of trees, the white sky and my dyed red hair. I landed with my left foot at a 90-degree angle to my left ankle, and all I could see was red. “I’ve gone blind!” I thought, then realised it was my hair, which was plastered on to my eyes with rain.

When I pushed it out of the way and looked around, there was no one to be seen. They must have started running as I jumped. Then I heard a voice from the riverbank – a girl called Erin Condron, who I didn’t know very well. She pushed me home on someone’s skateboard, because my ankle was broken.

When we got to my house, I waited for Mum to say, “Would you jump off another cliff if they told you to?” but she was ashen. I had to lie that Dave McDonald’s brother had pushed me in the duck pond. And that’s when my ankle started to throb. I never got the pound, but I will always be grateful to Erin Condron. 

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser