Unemployment

The papers make pretty depressing reading this morning, whether you are Alistair Darling, a Spactator reader facing the prospect of a 50p top tax rate or a member of the mythological "hardworking" family. Growth at its lowest rate since the war, stratospheric debt, unemployment over two million: the end of the first decade of the 21st century is turning into a living nightmare. And I don't buy the prediction that this will be over by the end of the year.  I agree with those who say that the government which takes us out of recession will harness the hard work, enterprise and aspiration of the nation. But I really don't the 50p tax "bombshell" is the real issue here. The micro-entrepreneurs and innovators that we need so dearly at the moment are not people earning the top salaries.

I don't think it's quite right for me to keep promoting New Deal of the Mind here on my Spectator blog. That should happen elsewhere and will. But just in case readers are interested, the launch meeting at Number 11 Downing Street was a fascinating affair. Cabinet Ministers Andy Burnham and James Purnell pledged their support as did opposition culture spokesman Ed Vaizey. It's probably best to let others who were there speak about this so check out Lynne Featherstone's report of the event. Lynne has been a great supporter of the initiative, designed to harness the innovative potential of the creative industries during the downturn.

A rather impassioned piece on unemployment from Polly Toynbee in yesterday's Guardian made me realise that there are a number of people on the liberal-left in Britain thinking very hard about the implications of the global recession. "Has the horror of it all struck Westminster with full force?," asks Polly? I think they are beginning to, but the problem is that they are stuck in the politics of the late-1990s census, which had us all triangulating like mad. All the clamour for an apology from the Prime Minister stems from a desire for him to atone for all our sins. It was difficult not to embrace the market when the market seemed so cuddly. What we mistook for comforting girth turned out to be the flabby product of over-indulgence. But this is not the time for self-flagellation.