1 Aah, the little ones — aren’t they precious?
2 Vote for me.
3 (Looks at watch, drums fingers, shuffles nervously from foot to foot.)
4 Anyone fancy a Turkey Twizzler?

The bold initiative to stop poisoning the under-16s, announced yesterday, come close on the heels of other government pledges concerning matters of national importance such as jokes (aah, religious maniacs, aren’t they precious?), cannabis (aah, Santana’s first album, wasn’t it precious?) and house arrest (aah, your living room, isn’t it precious — so why not remain there indefinitely without trial on the whim of the Home Secretary?). It could not have been less sincere had the Prime Minister offered to marinade the organic chickens personally.

The Government wants credit for addressing a mess of its own creation. Worse, it wants credit when it is quite clear nothing would have been done unless it had been publicly humiliated by the pressure group it fears most: a popular celebrity with a camera crew.

If the health of a generation improves as a result of a revolution in the school canteen, thank Jamie, not Tony. It needed the great Jamie Oliver, his community spirit and his evangelical passion for food to bring about this re-education. School dinners did not become toxic in the past term: they have been that way since Labour came to power, and before, as instances of obesity, asthma, eczema and childhood illness relating to poor diet have steadily risen without reaction from those in power. Then along came Jamie. Now it is a manifesto issue.

Which is worrying. For manifesto, read vote-winner. For manifesto read delay, a report, Ofsted, electioneering; manifesto means something will be done, rather than something is being done. Labour sees its pledge to fix what is on your child’s plate as a way to ingratiate itself with parents, and reclaim the female vote. Children do not actually need a manifesto: they need someone who knows how to cook in the kitchen and, behind the cook, a council bean-counter with the funds to purchase more than a tin of glorified dog food for lunch (actually, most children could not afford to eat a whole tin of dog food as an average school dinner costs 37p while Pedigree Chunks in Meaty Jelly retail at 56p in Sainsbury’s, so the kids would have to share).

This being a manifesto for children, the Government is calling it a mini-manifesto. Cute. So here is a miniexplanation of the mini-illusion that was perpetrated yesterday, kept in a language kids can understand.

The Man who Played Both Ends Against the Middle
Once upon a time there was a naughty old politician, who was going around poisoning people. He would hand out tasty treats, pretending he was being kind, but these treats had really nasty things inside them and made people sick. So the people said they were not going to vote for him any more. “But you must vote for me,” said the politician. “Why?” the people asked. “Because I can make you well again,” he said. “How will you do that?” they asked. “By not handing out my treats,” he replied. And the people swallowed it, like they always do. Mugs. The end.

“We will fail as a country unless we provide all children with . . .”. So said Labour’s mini-manifesto. You do not need to hear the rest of it, just the idea that we fail as a country, not as a government: as if it is the public that priced school dinners at less than a tin of Winalot and turned playing fields into concrete jungles. There is a plan to fit obese children with pedometers. To where are they going to walk? The industrial estate that used to be the football pitch? At my school we held a sponsored run to raise money for new buildings. Labour could cut out the middleman. Get the children doing the building, on what used to be their running track. A bright new estate for John Prescott, a right few quid for Gordon Brown and a lovely set of pecs for your 9-year-old. After all, you never see a fat hod-carrier.

At the bottom of my garden is what remains of Labour’s last great plan for children: a crumbling comprehensive in freefall through the new, specious league-table system. Parents pay not to send their kids there. Everyone agrees a new, better school is needed. The one thing the school has going for it is land. Acres of it, enough to boast the greatest sports facilities in the area; enough for football and rugby pitches, running tracks, hockey pitches, netball and tennis courts, a swimming pool. So what is being sacrificed to fund the school rebuilding programme because the Government, the borough council, the county council and the church will not fund it? The very thing on which success, not houses, should be built. That is the reality no mini-manifesto can hide.

Mr Blair, it should be impossible to produce a nation of unhealthy children. You know this. They run everywhere. Let go of their hand — voom — gone. It is not just Turkey Twizzlers that are ruining them; it is the systematic destruction of open spaces, as authorised by this Government. Between September 1999 and February 2003, every development on a school playing field in the country was approved. Since 2001, according to the National Playing Fields Association, applications of this nature have increased by 40 per cent year-on-year.

“I believe that children are our future,” Whitney Houston sang. She looked like she meant it. So does Labour. It means it all the way to the polling booth. Once more with feeling, Tony. See if they fall for it this time.

Explore Columnists

• Graham Spiers