Part of the soap opera appeal of politics comes from the idea that it is a competitive sport based on fine margins – with a result that will be determined by the relative performances of the teams and their captains.
Under the British first-past-the-post system two major parties slug it out in an epic tussle across hundreds of seats and then one of them wins. Sometimes things are so closely fought that neither party has an outright majority, in which case one or more of the minor parties gets to choose which should be propped up.
From this point of view, every policy shift or zinger soundbite thrown by Boris Johnson or Keir Starmer changes the odds as to which of them will occupy 10 Downing Street after the next election. Neck and neck in the polls, our two principals fight each other like adversaries on a rope bridge traversing rapids.
But what if this isn’t right? What if we are merely talking it up to kid ourselves that the conduct of politics is more compelling and unpredictable than is actually the case?
Just after the 1997 general election, I recall having lunch with a Tory grandee who had been prominent in John Major’s Cabinet.
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