Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. The west’s Mid East dominance is ending (Financial Times)

Those calling for deeper US involvement in the Syrian conflict are living in the past, writes Gideon Rachman.

2. Forget the excuses, here's how Britain can tax the rich (Guardian)

Cameron has made a bold push at the G8, writes Polly Toynbee. But it's time our politicians admit you can't have Swedish services on US rates.

3. The Thatcherite case for staying in the EU (Daily Telegraph)

Britain is richer, safer and more powerful for being a member of this global economic giant, says Ken Clarke. 

4. Is Ed up for a referendum? He may need to be (Independent)

Tory taunts won’t go away if Miliband resists matching Cameron’s pledge, says Donald Macintyre.

5. Intervening in Syria is a terrible idea – but we might just have to (Daily Telegraph)

The advantages that come from our alliance with the US also bring a heavy responsibility, writes Benedict Brogan.

6. No Minister, you can’t have recycled paper (Times)

The wasteful practices of the National Union of Mandarins is making cuts even deeper than they need to be, writes Rachel Sylvester.

7. Borisstan: the independent city state and docking station for global wealth formerly known as London (Guardian)

What would the British capital look like in the future if it broke away from the rest of the country, asks Aditya Chakrabortty.

8. Hassan Rowhani is a man we must do business with (Times)

Iran’s new President is brave and outspoken, writes Norman Lamont. The west should see him as a Gorbachev.

9. U-turn if you want to, Ed Miliband’s still a dud (Daily Telegraph)

There's just one thing missing from Labour's recent policy changes: a convincing leader, says Dan Hodges.

10. Britain is served well by its political class (Financial Times)

The crisis response by the UK’s unloved elites has been better than in many other rich democracies, writes Janan Ganesh.

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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