Any other business

Charles Dunstone wants Carphone Warehouse to be the Tesco of telephony. ‘You grow your market share, provide the best service at the best price and keep investing the gains you make into the business to make prices even more competitive.’ It is a typical Dunstone statement: simple to say, hard to do. It is no coincidence that his chairman at Carphone is the former Tesco buying director John Gildersleeve, part of the team that helped Tesco overtake Sainsbury’s a decade ago. ‘Charles has a remarkable hunger to do the right thing for customers,’ says Gildersleeve, echoing the Tesco mantra. ‘He has not got a big ego that gets in the way, but he is absolutely obsessive.

Had Lou Reed lived in Leeds rather than New York, his signature tune ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ could just as easily have been inspired by the derelict, crime-infested Holbeck area of the city as by the mean streets of Harlem and the Bronx. In the Seventies and Eighties Holbeck, just a five-minute stroll from the city centre, was Leeds’s guilty secret. It was the haunt of drug addicts, prostitutes, alcoholics and criminals, while its sprawling, post-apocalyptic landscape was a chilling study in urban decay.This didn’t seem to matter to most people, least of all to the city council. But for students of history it was a terrible shame.

Every time one of his doomed money-making schemes collapsed in ignominy, a deluded Derek Trotter in the BBC’s marvellous Only Fools and Horses would insist that despite this latest setback, ‘this time next year we will be millionaires’. Few Brussels apparatchiks have ever ventured to Peckham, but they seem to have learnt a trick or two from David Jason’s character, as can be seen by their touching conviction that an economic renaissance in the eurozone is always just around the corner. In the same way that the Trotters’ luck sometimes turned and profits briefly flowed in, only to be lost again in richly comic circumstances, the eurozone occasionally enjoys an uptick in growth by piggybacking on strong global trade.

The World Cup is not really my bag, but already it’s done its bit to pep up my GWB (that’s ‘general wellbeing’, for those not yet fluent in Cameron-speak). Eleven giant posters have been plastered around Bank station featuring Claudia Schiffer draped in a German flag. They’re part of a campaign to encourage investment in Germany and feature saucy slogans such as ‘Want to get down to business?’ and ‘Come over to my place’. Schiffer is an ideal ambassador for Germany. With her hairless armpits and winning smile, the supermodel is a world away from those moustachioed shot-putters who used to fly the flag for German womanhood. In fact, the campaign is such a good idea we should do something similar here. But who would represent Britain?

When I was seven my father gave me a duty-free Timex, my first watch. I loved it, wore for it years, and haven’t had another one since it stopped ticking a decade ago. Why? Because I don’t need one. I have a mobile phone and a laptop and I’m always near someone with an iPod or a Blackberry. All these devices display the time — which is why, if you look around, you’ll see loads of empty wrists: sales of watches to young adults fell 10 per cent in 2005. But while the sensible have realised that they don’t need them, others — apparently including distinguished Spectator contributors — are spending absolute fortunes on them. The luxury watch sector is booming.

Rupert Murdoch is probably the last person in the world who would use an online social networking service, but he may be the first to make serious money out of the concept. MySpace, which he bought for $580 million in 2005, is one such service, and it may or may not be the coolest thing on the internet. It has about 70 million users, but is already being squeezed by an upstart website called Bebo which is attracting a greater share of UK visitors. Nevertheless, Murdoch-watchers see MySpace as the next big weapon in his relentless battle to maintain global media dominance. But what exactly is an online social networking service? It is a website which allows anyone to build a homepage for free.

A black-helmeted cyclist half-circles in the middle of the road and wobbles to a halt to greet me in front of the Boden headquarters in North Acton. Johnnie Boden, eponymous founder and chairman of the mail-order-clothes-for-middle-class-families business, is arriving at work. Comparisons with David Cameron inevitably spring to mind. Boden also went to Eton and was a prominent member of the hell-raising Bullingdon Club at Oxford. Both he and Cameron have classy, team-playing wives and three young children apiece. There, however, the similarity ends. At just 45, Boden is a few years older than Cameron and diffident rather than slick.

If a bull market can turn a moron into a genius, the art market deserves government funding. It has done for the elite what the housing boom has done for the lumpen. They all think they deserve a Nobel Prize. What a delight for the art-mongers! The buyers’ pockets are full, their heads are empty, and the coast is clear. Today’s artist has a special status: he is the rebel who gets invited to all the best parties, the icon-buster who peddles his own shoddy images for worship and glorification. He has no visible talent except for self-promotion. In short, he is a humbug. Artists have always been critics of the times they lived in. When Dante drew his picture of Hell, he made sure to put into it all the leading citizens of his day.

What do the following have in common: metatarsally challenged footballing wonderkid Wayne Rooney, two-time-Ashes-winning spin bowler Phil Edmonds, one-time Greek oil explorer Frank Timis, and ‘Brian Cohen’, the eponymous hero of The Life of Brian? Is it that they are not messiahs, but in fact rather naughty boys; or that they are all regarded favourably by Gordon Brown; or that you can invest in them all via the London Stock Exchange? This is, of course, a trick question. The answer is, implausibly enough, all of the above, because they all represent controversial but strangely tax-efficient investment opportunities on London’s junior stock market. Welcome to the colourful world of Aim.

The markets are jumpy, the dollar is tired, and Alan Greenspan has sunk below the horizon. Now more than ever the dollar needs a top-class spokesman, and in Hank the Tank it may have found one. Henry Paulson, boss of Goldman Sachs, lion of Wall Street, took some persuading to jump ship and serve as George Bush’s new Treasury secretary, but in the end the sentimental lure of seeing his name on dollar bills proved too much. After all, he owns 700 million of them himself. He seems to think that he will get a say in making economic policy, unlike his two ineffectual predecessors at Treasury, Paul O’Neill and John Snow, whose role was limited to talking policies up.