Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. London must be free to tax and spend (Financial Times)

Other capital cities have a wider tax base and more freedom to set rates, writes Tony Travers.

2. Big business mustn’t crush little guys in cars (Times)

If oil executives have fixed prices there should be a windfall tax and jail sentences, says Robert Halfon.

3. European Union: if the 'outs' get their way, we'll end up like Ukraine (Guardian)

There will come a point when Britain's relationship with the EU will change: to rush to the exit now would be a leap in the dark, says Vince Cable. 

4. France should face up to its fears (Financial Times)

The realisation of what is needed explains the people’s profound anxiety, writes Maurice Lévy.

5. Old Tory scepticism has won, yet Europe still ravages the party (Independent)

Eurosceptic anxiety under Blair was partly justified, says Steve Richards. They were right to be on their guard.

6. Have MPs learnt a thing since 2009? Their greed suggests not (Daily Telegraph)

The expenses scandal hasn't gone away, with politicians of all shades still milking the system, writes Peter Oborne.

7. Work on into your 70s. It will be good for you (Times)

Putting off retirement is good for the economy, writes Mark Littlewood. And people will be happier, healthier and wealthier too.

8. We have to decide to listen to sexually abused children (Guardian)

The cost of ignoring the girls involved in the Oxford case is too high, writes Zoe Williams. Why weren't they given this basic human respect

9. Who’s the odd one out in Europe? Not us (Independent)

France has left Germany's side and the public mood is heading south, writes Andreas Whittam Smith.

10. Mauling for Maude over his plans for change (Daily Telegraph)

Bernard Jenkin's select committee are putting the boot in over civil service reform, says Sue Cameron.

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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