Workfare casts a shadow over the Jubilee

The use of the unemployed as unpaid stewards is a symptom of a divided nation.

In his speech at last night's Jubilee concert, Prince Charles notably referred to the "difficulties and hardships" faced by many (before an unintentionally amusing reference to people proudly "lining the banks"). On the theme of hardship, then, today's Guardian reports that "A group of long-term unemployed jobseekers were bussed into London to work as unpaid stewards during the diamond jubilee celebrations." Worse, they were told to sleep under London Bridge the night before the river pageant, had no access to toilets for 24 hours, and were taken to a swampy campsite outside London after working a 14-hour shift.

The security firm in question, Close Protection UK, was operating under the government's Work Programme, which attempts to make jobseekers more employable by offering them "work experience" with selected companies. It's important to note that the programme is voluntary and does not affect jobseekers keeping their benefits. But it's not hard to see why the story has provoked such outrage this morning. There is something Dickensian about the unemployed sleeping under London Bridge in order to guard a hereditary monarch. Blogger Eddie Gillard (who first broke the story) reports that "some had been told they would be paid for working and that they should 'Sign Off' benefits before starting, which turned out to be a falsehood, mistake or lie, I cannot say which." Given that the government allocated £1.5m for stewarding, it is unclear why some were left unpaid.

The hope in Downing Street is that the "feel-good-factor" created by the Jubilee will improve the Tories' dismal poll ratings (one poll yesterday put them 16 points behind Labour). It may yet do so. The Guardian's story was not picked up by the BBC or the Times, both in full royalist cry. But the accounts of workfare are a symptom of why Cameron will find it so difficult to rally an increasingly divided nation behind him.

Update: The BBC have belatedly covered the story under the guise of "Prescott urges inquiry into Jubilee work experience claims".

A security guard stands beneath a large screen in St James's Park prior to The Diamond Jubilee Concert. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I’ll miss the youthful thrill of Claire’s Accessories – but the tween Mecca refused to grow up

From an adolescent rite of passage to struggling to stay open: how the tackiest shop on the high street lost its shine.

The first day I was allowed to go into “town” (hailing from rural Essex, that’s the local shopping centre, not London) with a friend – unsupervised by a parent – was a real cornerstone of my childhood.

We were 13, and looking back, we had neither mobile phones nor contingency plans, and my mum must have been sat at home for the entire two hours scared shitless, waiting for when she could pick me up again (by the Odeon carpark, 3pm sharp).

Finally free from the constraints of traipsing around department stores bound by the shackles of an adult, my friend and I had the most grown-up afternoon we could imagine; Starbucks Frappuccinos (size: tall – we weren’t made of money), taking pictures on a pink digital camera in the H&M changing rooms, and finally, making a beeline for tween Mecca: Claire’s Accessories.

As a beauty journalist, I’m pretty sure Saturdays spent running amok among the diamante earrings, bow hairbands and fluffy notebooks had an influence on my career path.

I spent hours poring over every rack of clip-on earrings, getting high on the fumes of strawberry lipbalm and the alcohol used to clean freshly pierced toddlers’ ears.

Their slogan, “Where getting ready is half the fun”, still rings true for me ten years on, as I stand on the edge of dancefloors, bored and waiting until my peers are suitably drunk to call it a night, yet revelling in just how great my painstakingly applied false lashes look.

The slogan on a Claire's receipt. Photo: Flickr

On Monday, Claire’s Accessories US filed for bankruptcy, after they were lumbered with insurmountable debts since being taken over by Apollo Global Management in 2007. Many of the US-based stores are closing. While the future of Claire’s in the UK looks uncertain, it may be the next high street retailer – suffering from the surge of online shopping – to follow in Toys R Us’ footsteps.

As much as I hate to say it, this is unsurprising, considering Claire’s commitment to remain the tackiest retailer on the high street.

With the huge rise of interest in beauty from younger age groups – credit where credit’s due, YouTube – Claire’s has remained steadfast in its core belief in taffeta, rhinestone and glitter.

In my local Superdrug (parallel to the Claire’s Accessories, a few doors down from the McDonald’s where we would sit, sans purchase, maxed out after our Lipsmacker and bath bomb-filled jaunt), there are signs plastered all over the new Makeup Revolution concealer stand: “ENQUIRE WITH STAFF FOR STOCK”. A group of young girls nervously designate one among them to do the enquiring.

Such is the popularity of the three-week-old concealer, made infamous by YouTube videos entitled things like “I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS CONCEALER!” and “FULL COVERAGE AND £4!!!”, no stock is on display for fear of shoplifters.

The concealer is cheap, available on the high street, comparable to high-end brands and favoured by popular YouTube “beauty gurus”, giving young girls a portal into “adult life”, with Happy Meal money.

It’s unlikely 13-year-olds even own eye bags large enough to warrant a full coverage concealer, but they’re savvy enough to know that they can now get good quality makeup and accessories, without going any higher than Claire’s price points.

They have naturally outgrown a retailer that refuses to grow with them; it’s simply not sustainable on Claire’s part to sell babyish items to a market who no longer want babyish things.

Adulthood is catching up with this new breed of teenagers faster than ever, and they’ve decided it’s time to put away childish things.

Tweenagers of 2018 won’t miss Claire’s Accessories if it goes. The boarded-up purple signage would leave craters in shopping centre walls soon to be filled with the burgundy sheen of a new Pret.

But I will. Maybe not constantly – it’s not as if Primark has stopped selling jersey dresses, or Topshop their Joni jeans – it’ll be more of a slow burn. I’ll mourn the loss of Claire’s the next time a pang of nostalgia for blue-frosted shadow hits me, or when it’s Halloween eve and I realise I’m bereft of a pair of cat ears. But when the time comes, there’s always Amazon Prime.

Amelia Perrin is a freelance beauty and lifestyle journalist.