Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. While dubious mortality rates grab headlines, NHS privatisation gallops on (Guardian)

The ferocity of the battle over 'dangerous' hospitals was not synthetic, says Polly Toynbee. The future of the NHS itself is under attack.

2. German fear of past jeopardises Europe (Financial Times)

The onus is on Berlin is to show it is ready to lead, writes Mark Mazower.

3. The world must learn from India’s two nations (Times)

The fatal poisoning of 23 children shows that growth and democracy are not enough, writes Philip Collins. You need good government too.

4. We have to wean the country off the drug of immigration (Daily Telegraph)

Education and welfare reforms, not imported labour, are the way to solve our mounting debt, argues Fraser Nelson.

5. David Cameron has failed to resist the lunchtime lobbyists' lure (Guardian)

In opposition, he saw the scandal coming, writes Simon Jenkins. But in office the PM has cosied up to corporate figures like Lynton Crosby.

6. Italy must throw out its racist politics (Financial Times)

The nation is stranded in the past regarding gender and racial equality, writes Philip Stephens.

7. Bad news: house prices are bubbling up again (Times)

The latest forecast is a 13% rise, writes Ed Conway. But will voters thank Osborne for stoking up the market?

8. Better a turbocharged backbencher than a ministerial drudge (Daily Telegraph)

A rebellious MP can have more effect on the direction of the party than an obedient minister, says Isabel Hardman.

9. Red Ed's picked this union dinosaur to clean up Labour's vote rigging scandal (Daily Mail)

Ray Collins is indelibly associated with corrupt elections and smears, says Andrew Pierce.

10. There is no ‘golden age’ for Malala to return to in Pakistan (Independent)

The message is simple: everything Malala has learned is wrong, writes Peter Popham. 

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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