So what went wrong with Philip Hammond’s proposed millennial railcard?

Oh, Phil, where did it all go wrong? Image: Getty.

Millennials just can’t catch a break, can they? Bad enough they have to deal with insecure work, over-priced housing and a future in which Sussex look like Mad Max: Fury Road; now, they won’t even get their railcards.

The government’s plans for cut-price rail cards for those aged 26 to 30, announced by Chancellor Philip Hammond in last autumn’s Budget, had already run into problems. March’s pilot schem saw the website where you signed up for a cards almost instantly fall over, unable to cope with the level of demand. Many of the more pro-active millennials, who spent an hour or more on the phone in an attempt to get their rail cards, were eventually told that there weren’t actually enough to go around.

Now, it turns out, this is as good as it’s going to get. The Spectator’s Katy Balls, wearing her other hat over at The I, revealed yesterday that the scheme has been delayed, because of a row over who’s going to pay for it. How long this delay will last it’s impossible to say – but I don’t think we can rule out “indefinitely”.

It’s tempting to view this as the latest example of the society-wide phenomenon in which the younger generation are getting repeatedly, and painfully, stuffed by their elders. It’s hard to imagine a promise of goodies for the over 50s being quietly abandoned in this way. Quite the opposite: subsidies to that generation are treated as inviolable, even when they look suspiciously like a waste of public money. Subsidies to the young, by contrast, are often framed instead as a somehow illegitimate attempt to buy votes: witness the row over Labour’s proposals for free bus travel for the under 25s.

But while intergenerational inequality may be a factor, the proximate cause of the delay is more prosaic. As Balls quotes a Treasury source as saying: “No-one wants to pay for it.”

Think about how a cut price rail card actually works. The rail network is privately run, so the card means that private companies will be required to accept lower fares from some passengers – even if they squeeze out those who are paying full-whack. To ensure the train companies aren’t disadvantaged (you may be fine with that; contract law isn’t), the government has to plug the gap.


The problem is, we don’t actually know how big that gap will be. Changing fares will change behaviour: you’d expect more young people to take subsidised trains, and perhaps more older people to think the train is suddenly a bit over crowded and to avoid it. The Treasury will have modelled this, when working out costs – but the fact demand was high enough to immediately crash that website suggests it may not have modelled it very well.

So: rolling out the cheap rail cards will require some bit of the government to accept responsibility for paying a bill without knowing how big that bill will be. Departments have budgets and targets to hit, so nobody is keen to do that.

And so, while that turf war continues, those lucky millennials will be denied one of the few things this government has ever promised to do for them.

There’s another way of reading this story – that it’s just the latest in a whole series of policies this government has announced to get good headlines, without giving the slightest thought to how it might actually work.

In that bucket you can also put Universal Credit, and starter homes, and the expansion of Right to Buy to housing associations, and even, if you’re so minded, Brexit. All of these things sound great, to a certain segment of voters, in a 300 word news story – but they all fall apart when you actually have to deliver them.

It’s tempting to view this news as yet another example of the British government screwing things up for millennials. But the real story, I suspect, is of the British government screwing up for itself. It’s learning slowly and painfully that, try as you might, you can’t govern by headline.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and on Facebook as JonnElledgeWrites

Want more of this stuff? Follow CityMetric on Twitter or Facebook

 
 
 
 

The media scumbag’s route of choice: A personal history of London’s C2 bus

A C2 bus at Parliament Hill. Image: David Howard/Wikimedia Commons.

London’s C2 bus route, which runs from Parliament Hill, by Hampstead Heath, down to Conduit Street, just off Regent Street, is one of the bus routes recently earmarked for the chop. It has oft been noted that, of all the routes recently pencilled in for cancellation after a consultation late last year, it was the one most likely to survive, for the simple reason that it links liberal suburban north London with BBC Broadcasting House and Soho; it’s thus the route most likely to be used by people who can convince someone to let them report on its imminent demise.

So it would come as no surprise that former Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger took to the Camden New Journal when the consultation began, arguing that it would be a disservice to the local community to discontinue a route where you can always get a seat – seemingly missing the point that the fact you can always get a seat is not a great sign of the route’s usefulness.

It wasn’t always that way. When I left university in 2000, and moved from accommodation near college to up to a rented shared house in N6, the C2 was my bus. I commuted to Soho for sixteen years: for more than a decade from flats around the Swain’s Lane roundabout, and for five years from Kentish Town. While my place of work bounced around from Golden Square to Lexington Street to Great Marlborough, it was always the most convenient way to get to, and from, work; especially given the difference between bus and tube prices.

So when it comes to the C2 I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, and bought the bus pass. And by bus pass, I mean those little paper ones that still existed at the beginning of this century. Not just before contactless, but before Oyster cards.

More importantly, it was before London buses operated a single zone. There was an outer zone, and an inner zone, with different prices. To travel from one zone to another cost £1.30, meaning an all cash commute was £2.60, whereas a paper bus pass was £2.00. That made it worth your while to divert to an early opening newsagents on your way to the bus stop (GK, in my case), even if you only got two buses a day.

It’s a measure of how greatly London’s buses have improved over the last twenty years, since first brought under control of the mayoralty, that pretty much everything about this anecdotage, including the prices, seems faintly mad. But there’s more: back when I started getting that bus down to Stop N, literally at the very end of the route, the C2 used single decker buses with a single door. It’s an appalling design for use in a crowded city, which meant most of any journey was, for most passengers, spent fighting your way up and down the middle of the bus to find a seat, and then back again to get off; or – and this was more likely – fighting your way up the bus to get into standing space the driver insisted was there, before fighting your way, etc.

Such buses – and in my former life in the English Midlands I went to school on one of these buses every day – are perfectly functional where bus stops are infrequent and buses rarely standing room only. But running through Camden Town at rush hour, they’re wholly unfit for purpose.

A Citypacer. Image: RXUYDC/Wikimedia Commons.

It could have been worse. I didn’t know this at the time, but a few years before the C2 route had been run using Optare City Pacers. Those are, let us be frank, not really buses at all, but minibuses. That’s something the reveals the C2’s origins, as a hopper route to the west end largely intended for the daytime use of Gospel Oak’s pensioners in the years immediately before bus privatisation. (The C11 has a similar origin, taking the same constituency from Archway to England’s Lane.)

Once responsibility for London Buses was moved to the newly established mayoralty, things improved dramatically. Under Ken Livingstone it went double decker in 2005, and 24 hour in 2007. Under Boris Johnson it was extended from its once, and future, terminus of Conduit Street to Victoria Station, swallowing up the cancelled sections of the 8 bus; this extension was quietly disposed of a few years later, once it was clear no one would notice. (I did.)


In those years I must have taken a C2 the best part of ten thousand times; but for all the years when I wouldn’t have been able to live without the C2, times have reduced its utility, and not just for me. I’m now a 214 sort of guy: these days the top chunk of the C2 route is duplicated exactly by that other bus, which starts up in Highgate Village and, once it gets to Swain’s Lane, follows the same path until the fork of Kentish Town Road and Royal College Street, opposite the long defunct South Kentish Town tube station.

From a few hundred metres below that point, at Camden Gardens, stop C, the 88 starts. That duplicates the rest of the C2’s route, with the exception of the run down Albany Street and onto Great Portland, for much of which the C2 is the only bus.

So the C2, old friend that it is, is pretty redundant in the age of the hopper fare, which allows you to change buses without paying a second fare. That’s even more true now the C2’s otherwise un-serviced stops are being giving over to a re-routed 88, which will pick up the C2’s most northern leg, by not finishing at Camden Gardens anymore and instead going all the way to Parliament Hill Fields. Which will be nice for it.

All this, however, ignores the best reason for getting rid of the C2 (or rather for merging it with the 88, which is what’s actually happening): that first character. The letter. Who wants a bus route with a letter in front of it when even half the night buses don’t have the N anymore? It’s relic of the route’s aforementioned origins as a ‘Camdenhopper’.

That C is twenty five years past its own utility. It’s just untidy. City Metric hates that sort of thing. Get rid.