Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

1. To emulate Blair, Ed Miliband will have to stop imitating him (Guardian)

Labour's leader is brave and principled – but falls down as a future prime minister in the public projection of personality, says Steve Richards.

2. GDP is a clumsy test of economic health (Financial Times)

The gauge should be supplemented with one that tracks median household incomes, says Richard Lambert.

3. All we can do for Syria now is donate to the relief effort (Guardian)

Politics is blocked – a solution to the cause of the crisis is not likely any time soon, writes Timothy Garton Ash. But we can at least treat the symptoms.

4. Why David Cameron secretly dreads a Tory-only government (Independent)

A small majority would leave the PM dependent on the Commons votes of right-wingers, writes Andrew Grice. 

5. The irrational case for HS2 (Financial Times)

The government lacks clarity of purpose and honesty with the public, writes John McDermott.

6. Two cheers for growth. But we aren't safe yet (Times)

Today’s GDP figures should give us cause for optimism but the economy must still weather four strong winds, says Graeme Leach. 

7. Cameron’s empty gesture could spark a British rebirth (Daily Telegraph)

The EU referendum gives us the chance to re-emerge as a global trading nation, says Peter Oborne.

8. How God and Mammon can coexist (Independent)

The Archbishop’s  proposal for credit unions goes beyond moralising, notes an Independent editorial.

9. Blue-chip firms hacked phones on an industrial scale. So why aren't there dawn raids on them? (Daily Mail)

It would be an outrage if people who have done far worse than the News of the World were let off scot-free, says Stephen Glover. 

10. This English question demands an answer (Daily Telegraph)

More devolution to Scotland will be the final straw for the Union's largest country, writes 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