About two years ago, the term “coping classes” came into vogue to describe a set of people who were ostensibly middle class, yet felt squeezed by the prevailing economic circumstances. The term has since fallen out of use; such is the fate of many media inspired catch-phrases. I myself wondered what precisely was meant by “coping classes” at the time: when the articles were penned, I was in a well-paid job, my finances seemed reasonably secure, credit was more-or-less available. Yes, the economy was in trouble and I was worried about it; that said, it seemed churlish to complain too much given my relative good fortune. However, given the dawn of our new, more austere era, I wonder if it is time for the term to be resuscitated.

Late in 2008, I had to change employment: this was partially due to the recession and partially due to choice. I accepted a 20% pay cut in order to work in academia. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy my new life and what I do. However, I am aware of others who have had to accept cuts that were as big or deeper and under less providential circumstances. Meanwhile, the mortgages and loan payments, though done in prudence rather than haste, still remain. Council tax has gone up. Inflation continues to rise, particularly in fuel and energy costs. I have an overdraft and have to visit it every month in order to keep the precarious balance: yes, I have been and am paying down debt, and eventually, the worst will be behind me. However, for the moment, there will hopefully be no further disruptions or changes: things need to remain as they are just so I don’t get really squeezed.

It’s an easy matter to say, “just cut back”. It’s much more difficult to see how it can be done: I am cautious in how I shop. It’s always Tesco own-brand shredded wheat rather than the market leader, for example. Visits to the cinema have become rare, visits to the theatre have been eliminated entirely. Weekend trips have also been shelved: entertainment seems to reside exclusively on the internet and Freeview. There were no extravagant foreign vacations to cut, no retail therapy to push to one side: I’ve even reduced the amount of books I purchase which to a PhD is a form of intellectual amputation. Yet, the upward pressure on the basic bills remains: my eyes water when I fill up the car, public transport is too expensive to be a viable alternative, my heart sinks when I look at my bank balance.

I describe my personal situation in this painful detail for a simple reason: I’m fully conscious of the fact that there are millions experiencing the same pain or worse. As we look into the yawning abyss of terrible cuts, there are many who are even more precariously placed. Those who work at quangos like SEEDA spring particularly to mind: how many employees there are just as finely balanced? What provision can they make to adjust? What will they have to do in order to continue walking along the tightrope? Will they have to “downsize”, as I intend to do, and what will be the knock on effect on the wider economy? Will that bring still more cuts, more austerity, even more lives put under strain? At what point do we stop, turn around, face the bond markets and say “This far, no further”?

More depressing is the fate of the “other” coping classes: i.e., the people who require the help of public services on regular basis. Last night, as I drove home, I listened to a programme on Radio 4 which described some of the cuts which could be made to mental health services. One woman who was interviewed mentioned that she was sufficiently articulate to ask for what she wanted; she had a means to protest changes to her care. Others aren’t so lucky; another patient who was susceptible to incoherent tantrums was also described. Soon, there will be group of people who are more neglected than they used to be; what happens to them? If Cameron states that the “Big Society” is the answer, then who is going to contribute to it, given that so many are trying to just stay afloat?

The Labour Party didn’t get much right in the last election, but one part of their spin that was absolutely correct was their assertion that the present situation is “fragile”. This was used to describe the state of the overall economy, however, there is a pervasive brittleness, a subtle fibre of spun glass woven through the present order which threatens to snap. The Coalition Government will probably proceed undaunted: it is likely they will try to avoid hurting any media-friendly constituencies, but this does not represent the vast bulk of those who feel the noose tightening. Some groups’ plight is too large to be encapsulated in convenient sound-bites and slogans.

There are a large number of people to blame for this state of affairs. The previous Government was swept up by hubris, and now we face nemesis. The financiers who believed they could magic up money out of fancy acronyms and dodgy debts are also at fault, and maddeningly, they still refuse to pay their due to the society which just rescued them. Each of us contains a certain kernel of responsibility, because to a greater or lesser extent we were gullible enough to believe the promise made by both politicians and businessmen that the upward arc of our prosperity would continue unabated. However, we are left with the iron law which states that everything has to be paid for: it is always a question of who, and how much, and when. Hopefully we’ve learned to pay up front, because that generally means paying less. Hopefully we are learning that who should pay are those who are most responsible, not coincidentally those who have gained the most from our economy and society, and thus have a duty to support the country as a whole. Sadly, however, few politicial parties are stating this clearly, and the coping classes, such as they are, and such as I am, will continue to pray, to work, to grit our teeth, and one day, with a bit of luck, emerge.

The budget cuts have already hit close to home. Prior to the election, Gordon Brown and his minions had promised my university a large share of a £30 million grant in order to set up a high-technology research institute. Everyone here was elated. It was announced far and wide. However, the cheque hadn’t been signed prior to May 6; thus when the Chancellor and the Chief Secretary of the Treasury had to make choices, they had no problem rescinding the funding. I have not yet spoken to the academics affected, but my understanding is that they are naturally livid. In any case, there will be a prevailing sense of gloom hanging over higher education until we know the full extent of the cuts: this is going to be ugly and painful. It’s impossible to forget that what has been announced so far represents less than 10% of the structural deficit: a lot more horror is on the way.

The Coalition Government, by and large, will get away with this, particularly if they front-load the pain and subsequently take the credit once the all-but-inevitable recovery arrives. Those who believe that recovery won’t arrive are fooling themselves: almost nothing gets worse forever, and it is very likely that the bond markets will help out this particular administration. The blame for this state of affairs partially belongs to a feckless and servile media, but Labour deserves a share of the opprobrium too: indeed, Labour has done left-of-centre politics a terrible disservice by implanting a dreadful idea in the mind of the British public. They’ve made it seem like prudence and thrift are qualities which are the exclusive province of the centre-right.

This fate was not pre-ordained. Norwegian Independence Day was commemorated again last Monday, the 17th of May. They have much to celebrate: Norway has had a rather better recession than most, with unemployment and economic growth more moderately affected. Norway is led by a left-of-centre government which has been in charge for the larger part of the past twenty years. Their abundance of natural resources have been invested into one of the largest sovereign weath funds in the world. Furthermore, their books are balanced: when the oil eventually runs out or another crisis comes, they have an admirable financial cushion which means that the most vulnerable will be protected. There, it is the right, in the form of the Progress Party, which wants to splurge, while the Norwegian Labour Party and its allies exemplify caution.

Chile is another potent example. They have been led by Socialists since the year 2000. In their case, the abundance of natural resources is in the form of copper ore. However, they too “saved for a rainy day”. When the economic crisis hit, Chile was able to use what they had kept aside to stimulate the economy. This led to a rather uncomfortable moment for Gordon Brown: during a press conference while he was visiting Chile in March 2009 the redoubtable President Bachelet stated that her country was better able to weather the global recession “because of our decision during the good times to save some of the money for the bad times.”

Some might argue that Chile and Norway are special cases because of their relatively small populations and their ability to export valuable commodities. However, I would suggest that these factors are relatively insignificant in comparison to a difference in philosophy. Brown loudly proclaimed that he had abolished boom and bust. Despite being in the possession of apparent abundance, the left-of-centre parties in Norway and Chile weren’t so sure. Scepticism turned out to be a valuable ally.

It can also be argued that Labour used to exemplify Norwegian and Chilean virtues. Few may recall or want to remember Labour’s real Iron Chancellor, Sir Stafford Cripps. Teetotal, vegetarian and parsimonious, he was responsible for managing the nation’s finances through the tricky post-war period. He often had to say “No”: rationing was particularly severe and it grated on the nation’s sense of fun. But no one doubted his seriousness, nor did they feel Labour was being slack in trying to get to grips with the nation’s financial problems. His boss, Clement Attlee, possessed a quiet and modest style which also helped: neither the Prime Minister or Chancellor appeared to be spendthrifts nor at all complacent. Subsequent Labour governments were neither so lucky nor so brave. Worse, Brown refused to believe in the limits of his prescience: as Andrew Rawnsley made clear in his recent book, “The End of the Party”, he pushed spending to limits which the Treasury considered dangerous. Furthermore, he didn’t rein in the City to the extent that even he has stated that he should have done. In essence, New Labour proved to be the ultimate wastrel government, a “have your cake and eat it too” mob, which believed that both equality and unlimited greed could be maintained at the same time. We couldn’t and we can’t. Now there are many lives which will be thrown into the metaphorical meatgrinder because of this awful mistake; Labour’s future attempts to stand up for equality will look particularly hollow, especially if they choose a leader who was part of the previous administration which did politically idiotic things like spend as if there was no tomorrow during their final days. The Coalition can and will lay the blame for the cuts on their predecessors, and they will likely get away with it.

Labour should remember: there are moments in history when political parties lose their reputation for a particular virtue; the Conservatives lost their perceived ability to manage the economy and the country on Black Wednesday in 1992. It was an undeniable humiliation and New Labour’s massive victory in 1997 can be charted from that moment onwards. From a historical perspective, Labour’s abandonment of prudence could be even more dear, for the suffering will not come in the same form as a shock adjustment of a currency’s value, but rather it will be seen in unemployment queues, pared back public services, and higher tuition fees, in other words, it will be pain that stretches over a long period of time. It may even be that Labour cannot recover from this in its present state; in that case, it will fall to the other parties of the left to pick up the cause of equality. In the words of the Green Party motto, “fair is worth fighting for”: however, in order to restore the reputation and the integrity of the Left, it must also be stated that its benefits have a pricetag.

The Royal Family has rarely been the focus of my attention. To me, they’re rather like the colour of paint in some public buildings: the unconvincing shades of green or beige may be distantly unpleasant, but at the same, they’re not glaring enough to make me grab a can of white Dulux and a brush. Perhaps we should thank the Duchess of York for being so outrageous that she has made the Monarchy a topic worthy of scrutiny once more.

There is little one can say about the “cash for access” scandal that hasn’t already been vomited forth by the tabloids. Fergie is in dire financial straits, a situation which is likely due to a combination of her own mismanagement and her perception of what a “royal” lifestyle entails. Her grasping for cash was both sad and ridiculous at the same time. No doubt some sort of sanction will be applied, the cracks will be papered over by a combination of discreet absence and charitable works, and life, such as it is, will go on much as it did before.

However, a fundamental question is being lost in the mix: why do we need to have the Royal clique at all? I have no doubt that the Queen is doing a good job: it would be bizarre if her vast array of experiences didn’t give her some valuable insights and a sense of moderation. However, what comes after her are the “media generation” Royals, the ones who have had to fully adapt to the world of 24 hour news. Already, this change has been nothing if not awkward: we’ve discovered things about Prince Charles’ private life, e.g., his longing to be Camilla’s personal sanitary item while he was still married to Diana, which pass the “too much information” threshold. We’ve seen the emergence of “celebrity icon” Royals too, as exemplified by the lower end of the media’s continuing obsession with Princess Diana. What many seem to lose in the pop of flashbulbs is the following thought: these aren’t a bunch of film stars, these are people with an automatic place in government. They didn’t run for office, they had no manifesto to set out, no debates to endure: they are just there and put in place by an accident of birth. Charles has tried to carve out a role as an environmental spokesman; Andrew is a spokesman for British business. While I do not doubt their sincerity in either case, the fact remains that they hold these positions because of their surname, and ultimately because the public doesn’t find them sufficiently irritating to do anything about it.

I’ve read that a secretary to the Royal Family once refered to Fergie as “vulgar, vulgar, vulgar”: but perhaps her cruder qualities are useful in raising our awareness of aristocracy’s fundamental obscenity, given we live in an age which largely eschews unearned merit. The public nods its approval when Nick Clegg says that the House of Lords will become an elected chamber: for too long it has become a place to stick politicians who are too awkward to put before the voters such as Peter Mandelson, or worse, those figures whose careers are so faded that their sole contribution to present politics is the writing of cranky diatribes. Making the chamber elected is correctly perceived as reinvigorating it, providing it with fresh legitimacy. Why is it so difficult to make the same connection and draw the same conclusions about the wellspring of the order from whence the Lords arose?

There is no reason to accept the contention that the monarchy provides some natural beacon for stability; even countries as historically quarrelsome and chaotic as Italy have been held together by mere Presidents. Furthermore, it is doubtful that the Queen herself would want to say she is any more venerable than the long-serving former German President, Richard von Weizsäcker. Indeed, Herr von Weizsäcker was able to capitalise upon his political legitimacy to talk about important national issues, such as tolerance and social responsibility; given the political constraints on the Monarchy, Britain’s Royals find it more difficult to engage in such discussions.

It is also not particularly logical to assert that the Monarchy is a natural beacon for tourism; for example, no Royal lives in the Tower of London, yet the last time I went there it was overwhelmed with visitors. We perhaps need to accept that it is the Monarchy’s past, as well as the country’s, which make the tourists come rather than some obsession with our present political arrangements. No doubt, there would be a falling off of some tourists to see the “Changing of the Guard” if the ceremony was republican rather than royal in nature: however this could be more than offset by opening more of the Royal Palaces to visitors. The National Trust and English Heritage certainly know how to make the most of such opportunities.

Additionally, it need not be destabilising to abolish the monarchy. Indeed, it can and should be orderly: I would suggest that nothing changes until after the present Queen passes away. The Civil List can be wound up, a final settlement arranged with the remainder of the family, and eventually, the noble titles abolished. I suggest Buckingham Palace should remain as the official residence of the President of the British Republic. Continuity can go hand in hand with change.

Finally, there is reason to doubt the contention that the role of President would attract politicians who were more interested in pomp than circumstance: while there is the possibility that the likes of Jeffrey Archer could run for office, it is difficult to see how he would gain a direct mandate from the nation. Time and again, British democracy has indicated that the public has generally good taste: yes, ridiculous figures like Boris Johnson do get elected. However the hung parliament was an eloquent verdict on all three major parties’ failure to convince. The 1945 and 1997 elections were a stunning indication of the nation’s appetite for change. To cling to monarchy given the evidence of such resilient common sense is an act of bad faith lacking any reasonable justification.

Nick Clegg has promised that his political reforms will be the most wide ranging since 1832; this statement has been rightly dismissed as hyperbole. However, it is likely that at least some of what he proposes will be significant, and portions of it may even be worthwhile. Perhaps monarchy will be eroded still further as a result, and the wounds it receives from the likes of Fergie may indeed one day strike the final blow. We need not fear this: the nation should be confident that its vast and storied history is sufficiently understood and respected to no longer require a superfluous reminder. We rightly aspire towards self-governance, meritocracy, and equality. These ambitions should mean that as we continue to say “God save the Queen” in the meantime, we realise that eventually we will not want to indulge in the same exclamation for the Monarchy.

An impassioned plea for reason from one of Europe’s leading Greens:

I’ve been reliably informed that around about the time of Gordon Brown’s departure from Downing Street, a rainbow briefly appeared in the skies above Westminster. I haven’t seen a photograph or a video clip of the phenomenon, yet I believe it. Whether one has faith in a diety or not, it doesn’t stretch matters too far to suggest that there is a natural order which works towards achieving an equilibrium: a hint from circumstance or the weather is perhaps a perceptible outcome of this cosmic balancing act. The car crash which occurred at the launch of the last round of Labour posters could have been one such demonstration, the heavens providing an outburst of colour at the end of an era may have been another.

At my university, the shift in the natural order has led to a widespread sense of relief. With the departure of Peter Mandelson, the higher education sector feels, albeit temporarily, that the grip around its neck has slackened. The Prince of Darkness has been replaced by Uncle Vince; yes, the future remains uncertain, but at least the deeply offensive Labour manifesto, which labelled universities a “global export business”, is now consigned to the recycle bin. We will still have to contend with budget cuts, and Lord Browne’s report on the future of Higher Education looms omniously in the near distance. However, at least there is the comfort that our agenda will no longer be dictated by what the super-rich friends of Mandelson require, no doubt requested at cocktail parties held aboard giant yachts cruising beneath the warm Mediterranean sun.

There are other benefits. While I dislike this particular political configuration, I see this an opportunity to pick up wholesome political habits. The terms “Liberal Democrat” and “Conservative” do not raise a smile from me (to say nothing of the sickeningly saccharine talk of a “bromance” between Cameron and Clegg): the word “Coalition” does.

Coalition! The word in this case is neither a noun covering up a series of shenanigans, nor a historical term which indicates a necessity born of crisis: it looks like both parties mean it. Upon reading the news this morning, I discovered that Sarah Teather, Liberal Democrat MP for Brent Central, has been appointed as an education minister, and Steve Webb, a man of the Liberal Democrat left, was given a post in the Department of Work and Pensions. Neither could be said to be particularly friendly to the Conservatives, and yet they have been granted offices of state: these are just two examples. The cabinet has weaknesses to be sure: there are so few women, the Conservatives still retain the most influential posts, Theresa May is a homophobe and frankly not up to the job of Home Secretary, but overall it is remarkable. That old mongrel known as British politics has performed a new trick: it fetched pluralism out of an inconclusive result. As a consequence, we have joined most of the rest of the world and found out why they do things the way they do. Historically, we have had a peculiar vanity about handing all power to a single party, as if absolutism somehow makes our system healthier and stronger. Coalition, if it is enshrined in repeated practice, will upend this strange logic which is alien to so many of our European partners.

Good habits are beginning to jell already: the Liberal Democrats and Conservatives have not only shared ministerial posts, more importantly, they have agreed a common programme. They’ve even created a means for solving inter-party disputes, namely a committee which will meet in secret: while I understand the libertarian impulse for these discussions to be held openly, a modicum of privacy is perhaps the price of pluralism. Furthermore, constitutional reforms appear to be on the way which may make coalitions happen more frequently: the alternative vote system for the Commons, an elected House of Lords based on proportional representation, are proposals which bode well for all those who believe that politics should not be about one voice being raised above all others, but rather the coming together of different views into a salubrious synthesis. In this model, partisan rancour is not ended, but stilled in the national interest. Discussion and genuine debate predominate over spin. Ideas separate themselves out from marketing.

The benefits of coalition, however, should not be read as an endorsement of this Government: while the form is to be lauded, the substance is another matter entirely. It is a shame, however, that Labour apparently doesn’t understand what’s happening. Last night, David Miliband began his tour of “lost” constituencies by stating that Labour aspired to be the voice of the centre and centre-left, as if all faction could somehow be best subsumed within his party’s confines. He’s lost the plot and missed the point: as a nation, we have more choices and voices to represent us than ever before. The system should reflect this and the outcomes of that system should be equal to what an increasingly diverse society demands and requires. Any potential Labour leader should be wholeheartedly embracing this paradigmatic change for a future coalition with much improved content is possible. In my mind’s eye, I can easily see a smiling Caroline Lucas walking down Downing Street, holding an overstuffed folder and pausing only briefly to wave towards the cameras as she proceeds to take up a post as Deputy Prime Minister serving alongside (for the sake of argument) Prime Minister Cruddas. Adrian Ramsay could be a minister for Climate Change, Darren Johnson could take up the portfolio at Transport. No doubt Greens and Labour would argue, they would debate, they would compromise, and in the end they would represent a majority, and we would move on. Miliband’s mildly pathetic statements, and the utterances of other Labour figures suggest that all they want to do is to rewind back to 1997 and do it as quickly as they can. I suggest that is not going to be possible. I also believe that Labour will continue to falter so long as they hang on to this outdated dream. If they continue to cling to it to the point of absurdity, they may find that their self description as “New Labour” will be seen as ever more ironic; in which case, they will be a national joke. But perhaps the natural order demands they spend a period in purgatory: according to Biblical legend, God condemned the Israelites who worshipped the Golden Calf to wander in the wilderness until the generation that done wickedness in His eyes were consumed. Who can say how long the Labour Party, which fell to its knees before the gilded altar of Mammon, is likely to wander in the wilderness of its own making. No doubt it will end, but perhaps the outmoded members of “New Labour” generation will need to be consumed. If so, we will be the better for it.

In retrospect, the formation of the Coalition Government was probably inevitable. The mathematics largely dictated this outcome; however the situation was exacerbated by Labour’s ineptitude. It should have been obvious that a “progressive alliance” was not going to happen once it became clear who was negotiating on Labour’s behalf. First and foremost, there was Lord Mandelson, who has many gifts, but a description of whom as an “honest broker” or “trustworthy negotiatior” can only elicit rueful laughter. Additionally, Ed Balls was on the team; to describe him most accurately, it can be said that he is sort of a younger, English version of Gordon Brown, except he lacks Brown’s charm, wit, intellect and anger management skills.

The whole sorry episode highlighted the parlous state of New Labour: it was rather like a diseased, tottering elephant, gangrenous and stumbling, its open wounds infested with flies, while buzzards named “The Daily Mail”, “Sky News” and “BBC” circled overhead. The moment it fell over, it was a relief to the beast itself, but the force of the impact split the carcass open and gave us a gruesome view of the rot within. We were warned: the Liberal Democrat negotiators could smell the stench of death. According to reports, the Labour Party was much more interested in its forthcoming leadership battle than forming a government with them. So what else could Lib Dems do? If they had prevented the formation of a stable government, they would be damned by the voters. If they had tried to create a rainbow coalition, they would have chained themselves to the damned and again been damned. This was the only reasonable outcome from their perspective, and even respectable, leftish Liberal Democrat figures like Dr. Evan Harris have said so.

But what is tactically right can also be strategically wrong. We have seen all three big parties throw away the mantle of progressive politics. In fairness, the Liberal Democrats did so out of necessity and with some reluctance; no doubt there will be Liberal Democrat activists who will be having antacid along with breakfast for the next few years. The Conservatives wanted the progressive label but never did anything to earn it; their embrace of the Lib Dems is more a symbol of continuity than change. To explain: the Tories remain the most electorally successful political party in Europe, largely because they rarely let ideology get in the way of obtaining power. Labour said “good-bye” to being progressive when they became “intensely relaxed” about the super-rich earning billions and worse, when they signed up to George W. Bush’s adventures, both curious positions for a party that was established by the trade unions and once was the leading advocate for nuclear disarmament. Labour’s deathbed utterances have only proven how far gone it is: Lord Mandelson claimed that the New Labour project was “alive and well”, Alistair Campbell made the extraordinary claim on Newsnight that Labour was the “only” progressive party available, an assertion which sounds rather curious to Green, Scottish Nationalist and Plaid Cmyru ears. Labour is not going to make anything better by having a leadership election: apart from the bumptious Mr. Balls, the other choices feature a range of Milibands, who are more or less cloned from a New Labour vat, and Jon Cruddas, whose credibility as an authentic radical voice is only surpassed by the unlikelihood of his obtaining the top job. Perhaps a symbol of how un-progressive things have become can be discerned in both Labour’s and the Tories’ strange revival of the spirit of Richard Nixon: first Cameron summoned up “Tricky Dick” by invoking the “ignored majority” (which was a remix on Nixon’s “Silent Majority”). Brown followed: his Nixonian appearances on the television debates were supplemented by a Nixonian outburst of bad temper, followed by a farewell speech filled with Nixonian pathos. If you want an idea as to how genuinely progressive such motifs are, ask students who attended Kent State in 1970.

So who will take up the progressive cause? While the Scottish Nationalists and Plaid Cmyru are genuine left-of-centre parties, they are by definition locked into their respective nations. The far-far left seems to be locked into a perpetual set of splits and counter-splits which gives Monty Python’s “Judean People’s Front” gag continued currency (at last count, there are ten Communist Parties in Great Britain, to say nothing of Trotskyist organisations). It is indeed only the Greens, in both its England & Wales and Scottish variants, who are united, serious, modern, purposeful and fresh. To suggest that progressive politics will revive in the form of the Green Party may sound far-fetched at this moment; after all, the Green Party has only one MP, and indeed, its vote was squeezed in the local component of the recent election. However the Party fills a vacuum, which democratic politics as well as nature abhors. Who else is going to stand up for public services in the face of impending cuts? Who else will be free of the tension of coalition, and thus be able to give full voice for the need for civil liberties? Who else upon whom can the trade unions rely? Who else will be credibly saying that a complete re-think of foreign policy needs to occur, and that Britain’s involvement both in Afghanistan and in the deployment of nuclear weapons must end? And lastly, who is going to be trustworthy and seen to be trustworthy when it comes to demanding changes in how the economy is run? As Caroline Lucas looks to her left, she will see few. As she looks to her right, she will see a wasteland. While the pomp and glamour of the new government’s arrival may obscure this perspective for a time, once the progressive majority gets over being blinded by the flashbulbs, it will see it has few other places to go and certainly nowhere else that will call upon that most precious of political emotions, enthusiasm. It will be a gradual process to be sure, and the opportunity will need careful cultivation, but just as a “new politics” may have arrived, so too may have the Green moment.

It would be a mistake to assume that any political party is a monolith or anything close to one: people don’t abandon their individual points of view the moment they sign the dotted line of the membership form. I once asked a Tory Member of Parliament, during a period when John Major was struggling with the Eurosceptics, why it was proving so difficult to impose some sort of discipline. He replied, “The only thing which united the Conservative Party was opposition to socialism.” When Labour shifted right and ditched Clause IV, the Conservatives immediately fell to pieces; after the 1997 election, some liberal Tories found it a relatively simple matter to cross the floor. This is by no means a purely Conservative problem: Labour is guilty of letting faction drive the agenda as well. Indeed, the battle between Brownites and Blairites has been more fierce and long lasting than Major’s struggle with the anti-European “bastards”.

Just because the Liberal Democrats are a smaller party doesn’t mean that they lack similar divisions; indeed, as their organisation is the result of a fusion of two separate political parties, it is entirely natural and predictable that they would have vast areas of disagreement. Broadly speaking, there are two identifiable factions: the “Orange Book” Lib Dems, i.e., those who tend to believe in the free market, and the “Beveridge Group”, who are less trusting of capitalist solutions and more supportive of maintaining public services. The leadership election that took place after Ming Campbell’s departure was essentially a contest between the “Orange Book” and “Beveridge Group” factions, with Nick Clegg representing the former, and Chris Huhne more-or-less standing for the latter. As we’ve seen, the Orange Book tendency won.

If one looks at the list of MPs which comprise the Beveridge Group, it is clear that the election has weakened them: Paul Holmes, the Group’s nominal leader and MP for Chesterfield, lost to Labour. Dr. Evan Harris, one of the most outspoken and eloquent members of the Group, has been sent packing by the Conservatives. Richard Younger-Ross, Sandra Gidley, Paul Rowen, Paul Keetch also lost their seats. David Howarth retired. At the time of writing it is unclear if any of the new intake will replace those who have been dispatched. Meanwhile, prominent Orange Book Liberal Democrats such as David Laws and Vince Cable remain. Under these circumstances, it may be that protests within the Liberal Democrats to a deal with the Conservatives will be relatively muted. Resistance will likely have to arise from the party activists; however, it is difficult to see how such a movement will coalesce in a timely manner, though fortunately they could conceivably rally around Chris Huhne or Simon Hughes.

That said, the Orange Book faction have several potent weapons in their rhetorical arsenal: they can present the party as a moderating influence on what otherwise might be a rapacious Conservative government. They can say they are putting country ahead of politics. If they win on issues such as tax reform, they can also claim a “David versus Goliath” victory. It is entirely possible that some sort of electoral reform, perhaps even a resurrection of the recommendations of the 1998 Jenkins Commission, will be put to a referendum. Such moves may rub balm on the inflamed sensitivities of Liberal Democrat voters and activists. However, tensions will remain: and while the Orange Book group may have enough in common with the Conservatives for a deal to be signed, it’s quite another for it to work on a day to day basis. That said, Labour politicians and others who believe that there is somehow a natural barrier between the Liberal Democrats and Conservatives are kidding themselves. They’re not taking into account the changed disposition of the Liberal Democrat Parliamentary Party, nor looking at the ideological currents which run underneath its public persona. It cannot be said strongly enough: under present circumstances, a deal is entirely possible. What may stay the leadership’s hand is the knowledge that any deal will be unstable, and the thought of the party splitting apart: this was a consequence of previous coalitions between the Liberals and Conservatives. Do the ghosts of Asquith and Lloyd George whisper warnings in Nick Clegg’s ear? Can the party activists raise their voices in time? Or will the Beveridge Group become an anachronism?

I don’t believe that the Orange Bookers are unaware of the risks they are taking; it doesn’t take much for a disagreement to turn into a split, and it may even be that Caroline Lucas isn’t alone for long. After all, the first Green member of the House of Lords, Lord Beaumont, was a defector from the Liberal Democrats. This outcome may seem fanciful at the moment, but this is a time when the range of possibilities is much wider than usual. It all hinges on the the deal and its dynamics, the variety of reactions to the bargain, and the consequences that may ripple outward. There are good reasons why so much caution is being mixed with silence about the negotiations; but it’s perhaps not due to the negotiations being impossible, it’s perhaps because they may be successful.

For me, this election only had two highlights. The first occurred when the voters of Belfast East made the most beautifully practical and rational choice they’ve made in recent memory: they elected Naomi Long of the non-sectarian, liberal Alliance Party to be their Member of Parliament. I’ve rarely seen an electorate rebuke corruption and depravity so eloquently. The other highlight was even more brilliant: Caroline Lucas’ win in Brighton Pavilion has been a giant step forward for the Green Party. Yes, the lack of other Green MPs does highlight how far the party has to go, but as the old saying goes, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, or in this case, seat.

These two results are bright specks of light in an otherwise dark and murky sky: overall, the election has been dreadfully inconclusive. As I sit here, Nick Clegg is being tailed around London by television cameras as if he was a latter-day Beatle: I can’t help but get some of the opening sequences of “A Hard Day’s Night” out of my mind upon viewing the intensity of his media hangers-on. Gordon Brown has largely remained hidden behind the locked door of Number 10. David Cameron is ensconced in Conservative HQ. The public statements so far have been cautious, nuanced, halting.

I was not unhappy with the idea of a hung (or “balanced”) parliament, but I dislike this particular hung parliament: the Liberal Democrat number of MPs is far too low, and the barriers thrown up by the present electoral system are more impenetrable than ever. In the previous election, it took in excess of 90,000 votes to elect a Liberal Democrat MP. Now it’s more than 120,000. Worse, some of the best and brightest of the Liberal Democrat parliamentary party (Dr. Evan Harris is a prominent example) lost their seats. The Conservatives were indeed rampant: they wrenched back Winchester and Romsey, and took away Montgomeryshire. The City of Chester fell, as did Portsmouth North, Brighton Kemptown and Hove. The result is a lopsided hung parliament, rather than a “balanced” one: it disproportionately benefits the Conservatives, and the numbers are probably sufficient for them to attempt a minority administration with the support of the Democratic Unionists. I’ve looked at the math for a “progressive” coalition, and cannot see it working without the Scottish Nationalists and Plaid Cmyru supporting it: this is a large ask. Indeed, even Caroline Lucas might be required to make the sums work, which would be an unusual position for someone who has just arrived at Westminster. A stable coalition of whatever stripe looks unlikely.

Nick Clegg is the man in the middle. His careful, nearly hesitant statement which suggested the Conservative Party should attempt to form the government if it can rule in the national interest is a reflection of the present dilemma: he knows that if he helps the Conservative Party, together they have the numbers to form a majority administration. However, he and his party have little in common with the Tories. He may want to do what’s right for the country by giving it a stable government, but how can it be anything other than unstable if the arrangement implies endless bickering? No doubt every permutation and mutation of the numbers is being gone through by Mr. Clegg and his counterparts: they may come to the conclusion that consensus is impossible. If so, by necessity, the focus of attention will shift elsewhere.

If it wouldn’t drown out the news, I would go upstairs, get my copy of Mussorgsky’s “Boris Godunov” and set it blaring on my stereo; for those who aren’t familiar with this work, its setting is during a period in Russian history known as “The Time of Troubles”, a chaotic interregnum between the end of the Riurik dynasty and the beginning of the reign of the Romanovs. The figure named in the title of this work was appointed by the Patriarch of Moscow to hold the throne: however his time was notable for famine, plot and instability. While I am not suggesting that we are entering a period as dire as this, when one asks the question, “Who is in control, really?”, the only honest answer is “no one”. David Cameron does not have the numbers, Gordon Brown does not have the authority, Nick Clegg’s relatively small mandate marks him as an also-ran. Our modern day British equivalent of the Patriarch of Moscow, the Queen, may have to make a judgement as to who can best lead. However it will be a guess, not a decision based on solid fact: a creaky political system that is not designed to cope with coalition government will reduce everything to estimates as to who can best survive. Yet the strongest party, and the one upon whom the charge of government may rest, wants to keep this system rather than abandon it for something more consensual and certain. It does not want to grow up and adopt the slow, deliberate bargaining between parties which is a fact of life throughout much of Europe.

I cannot see an administration with such a weak foundation lasting for long. I cannot see it being able to take decisive action insofar as the economy is concerned. I can see the electorate being subjected to even more wild swings of politics than we’ve experienced hitherto: this could lead to more demands for reform, or alternatively it could make the electorate so sick of politics that at the next time of asking, they may take an easier option and cement a party into place. This is perhaps the worst of this result: the election is theoretically over, however its machinations may carry on for months to come. We may be entering our own time of troubles; it’s possible that its resolution will not be to most people’s liking. One can hope that this can be avoided; if the electorate’s learning curve is ahead of the politicians, the demand for genuine change will outweigh petty manoeuvring at Westminster. On present form, however, this seems unlikely. The election is over, but it continues: a time for crossed fingers, sweaty palms and tense nerves is upon us.

In many respects, this is a day like any other. The alarm clock’s intervention was still unwelcome at 5 AM. The descent from the bedroom to the kitchen was still bleary eyed and stumbling. The coffee tasted as it usually does: bitter but enlivening. The early morning broadcasts from the World Service were more interested in Nigeria than Britain. The view of the sunrise from the landing was moderated by the presence of a thick layer of clouds.

Yet for all the things which are symmetrical with the normal patterns of the week, there was a thought which ricocheted through my mind: “In 24 hours, we will know so much more.”

I had my breakfast and watched the news: the local bulletin featured a gold coin collection which is now on display in Fareham. The shower was altogether typical: the fresh scent of the shower gel, which had vaguely antiseptic aroma, hit my nostrils and I fully awoke. Afterwards, putting on my clothes and shoes was routine. I then threw on my backpack and walked along the quiet, deserted street to where my car was parked.

In 24 hours, we will know so much more. This area, which has suffered from an absence of politics, may get a fresh jolt of it: earlier this week, I recalled, I finally got a leaflet from our absent Conservative MP. I wasn’t going to vote for him anyway; his endemic neglect of this constituency was cement poured on top of the coffin rather than a final nail in the lid. It struck me as interesting that he suddenly felt the need to tell his constituents that they came first and that he was devoted to their interests. Quotes from constituent letters also featured in the leaflet, all of them praising our local MP to the skies: one went so far as to say he was the best Member of Parliament the country had. Such expressions of gratitude had an almost post-coital air: too much, too extreme, to be seen as anything other than a mark of desperation. I suspect he suddenly noticed that there was an election, and was now furiously leafletting to try and shore up his support.

Too late, I thought, as I reached the car. Or rather I hoped. In 24 hours, we will know so much more. It could be that his decent Liberal Democrat opponent will be surprised with a mandate, and will be left scrambling to assemble a team to help him in Westminster. I’ve been to the House of Commons several times, and visited the offices of several MPs. I recall Westminster’s narrow, winding staircases and halls, the Victorian gloom of parts of the building, and the occasionally spectacular views, particularly from the balcony outside the Commons bar. I was simultaneously impressed and terrified. The Liberal Democrat candidate is a local councillor and a former schoolteacher; how would he react, I wondered, to arriving at such a place? I remember being told that the Conservatives have a bar in the Commons which they like, and Labour MPs have one which they frequent: if the Liberal Democrats do as well as the polls suggest, will they get one of their own? And what about the three to four Green MPs I hope will arrive? The Commons has some aspects of an American college fraternity; would the “established” parties try to be funny and leave out some wheatgrass smoothies for their new, Green counterparts?

I found my car, got in, and started my drive to work, again, down narrow and deserted streets. Signs of life in my town are few and far between before 7 AM. I passed by the entrance to the County Hall, where I will go vote later. My polling card, I recalled, lay on the table in the living room. I had arranged everything so all I have no errands to do once my working day is done: I even stocked the fridge full of fine St. Peters beer. I set up a mini-fridge in the television room, which will hold some additional bottles. The ingredients for an organic turkey Hungarian goulash have been purchased. After I arrive back, I will set the goulash to simmer in a casserole dish, exercise, shower, change, go vote. Dinner will then be served, and I’ll take up my place for the night, specifically glued to the television and internet, as the sun finally descends.

As I proceeded to drive along the dual carriageway, I finally found other human beings: at that time in the morning, there are a fair number of lorries and white vans headed off towards the west. The lorry from Belgium ahead of me: did the driver know what was happening today, I wondered? Did he care? The white van belonging to the carpenter from Cosham: was he voting later, or was he part of the Great Apathetic? He probably had Radio 2 on in his car, I thought: his vehicle swayed back and forth in its lane slightly, as if moving to a beat. Tomorrow, I mused, our relationship with the lorry’s point of origin, what tax the carpenter will pay, and what will be the disposition of the government towards my workplace, my university, will be much clearer.

I was discomfited when 7 o’clock arrived and I didn’t hear the familiar, friendly voice of Rob Cowan on Radio 3, rather it was Sara Mohr-Pietsch. Usually, I take that as a sign of a bad week; my musical education has been expanded by Mr. Cowan’s casual tutelage: I can’t say the same for his substitute. No government would surely take away Radio 3, I comforted myself, but they could make its life more miserable, or worse, make it more commercial: tomorrow, we will have a better idea if a campaign to save Radio 3 will be required.

I arrived at work, parked, and stopped for a moment to listen to a piece by Strauss entitled “Wahlstimme” (which means “vote”). I realised at that moment, the doors to a thousand different and distant polling places had already swung open. In my mind’s eye, I could picture a small local school, a town hall, a grey government building of Sixties’ architecture, with lines of people of all types filing in to cast their ballots. No doubt, we will soon see images of David Cameron, Gordon Brown and Nick Clegg casting their ballots in their constituencies, smiling nervously for the cameras’ benefit. We may not know right now what kind of government we will have, but at least there is succour to be had in knowing that the machinery of democracy, the ballot paper, the cross against the name, the ballot box, the dedicated council workers who will be up late doing the count, are all in place. Now is the moment in which the nation simultaneously acts and holds its breath. Tomorrow, we’ll know. We will cope. We will carry on. Hopefully, we will also progress.

I’ve experienced this election mostly through the medium of social networking; Twitter, Facebook and a variety of online news sources have provided an endless stream of fact, opinion, counter-fact and counter-opinion. At this point, three days out, it seems to have blended into a glutinous and incoherent mass of Arial Bold and Times New Roman. The latest furore is indicative: it concerns Philippa Stroud, the Tory candidate for Sutton & Cheam, who believes that gay people can be “cured” through prayer; some have difficulty understanding why the media isn’t covering this in more detail. With respect, a story about a homophobic Conservative candidate has the same shock value as one which describes bears defecating in the woods; it would have been much more newsworthy if she was a militant atheist who had married her girlfriend in a civil ceremony while out on the hustings. However, the larger picture has been lost in the process of expressing (righteous) outrage: Sutton and Cheam is more likely to stay Liberal Democrat now, which surely is a relief to those who live there.

Overall, no one knows what’s going to happen: this is both exciting and terrifying. A week from now, we may have a new government, the same government, or no government at all. We may be choking on nonsense about the “Big Society”, or chortling at guff about “tough, long term decisions” or watching MPs of all political stripes pile in and out of a lengthy negotiation, the Civil Service doing its best to keep the wheels turning in the interim as bond traders compulsively bite their fingernails.

All this is possible, and attempts to predict the outcome can seem futile. On Sunday, Andrew Marr asked David Cameron, “You’re on a roll, aren’t you?” The instant reaction among the Twitterati was incredulous anger; this appeared to be the manifestation of inexcusable bias. But perhaps Marr’s query was less a question (or statement) about the present state of the Conservative campaign. Rather, it may have been an expression of a plaintive hope: is there not going to be clarity, are you not going to win, if not, what will happen? Yes, it is more likely that Marr would like to know who he should be buttering up; but he may have also unconsciously stated a human desire which runs in contra to human nature: we desire stability and to be able to plot out a secure future, yet we are unpredictable beings. Here we are, staring “irreducible uncertainty” in the face: what will happen all depends on individual decisions in individual constituencies, based upon the relative value or worthlessness of individual candidates. The sum at the end of these calculations is unknown: some would say it’s now time to panic.

However, there is a glimmer amidst the descending gloom: our present ambiguity means the most probable outcome is a far weaker Government than we’ve had for the past thirteen years. Wishing for an enfeebled state may seem go against the grain, given our (altogether human) aversion to chaos; furthermore, we face some very unpleasant choices in terms of taxation and spending, which intuition suggests can only be imposed by a strong central authority. Let’s “get real”: while much of the present deficit is due to the economic slowdown and the massive bailout of the banks, there is a substantial chunk which is structural. In order to fix it, there will need to be either tax rises, spending cuts or a combination of both. It’s not something that simply can be brushed under the carpet either: sorry, but romantic Trotskyists and their ilk need to realise that even the Soviet Union had a credit rating. Voters know this, but don’t want to accept it; the politicians’ fudging of the issue is a reflection of popular unwillingness to grasp this particular nettle.

But Leviathan may not be the answer. It has already proven itself incapable of sorting out our deeper problems: the accrual of vast powers of surveillance and the crimping of civil liberties by the present government have not stopped crime nor ended terrorism. Centrally-imposed targets have not in and of themselves made education or the health service better; in many instances, the “target culture” has had to be abandoned. Worse, the stronger the government, the more likely it is to stumble into mistakes without hindrance, conditions or constraint: Britain’s disastrous participation in the Iraq war is perhaps the most powerful recent example. Practical experience thus suggests that what is counter-intuitive is what is required in this instance.

A weak government, or rather, one that is reliant on achieving a political consensus which reflects the opinion of the majority, will have to discuss issues in depth, not only with the factions which comprise it, but also with the wider population. Additionally, given the public’s now heightened suspicion of politicians, the government will have to work much harder to convince and persuade. This represents far more of a “Big Society” than anything proposed by the Conservatives, as it implies a system in which citizens are healthily involved in choosing the direction the country will take. Unfortunately for the Conservatives, it also implies the nation is unlikely to go their way; as Johann Hari has suggested, the combined percentages of Labour, Liberal Democrat and Green support highlight that Britain is a “liberal-left” country.

If indeed “weak government” proves a success in solving our present problems, it may well be that its triumph provides further impetus for substantial electoral reform. From then on in, governments which cannot persuade will fall. Yes, in this scenario, elections may become more frequent. There is also the potential that the kind of tussle that could take place after May 6th will become a permanent feature of the political landscape. The human desire for stability groans in pain at this point; our boredom detectors sound the alarm. But exhale a moment, and grasp the possibility: what may emerge from the mess is a new politics, a more considered politics, a more participatory politics and for all its rough edges, a better politics.