Business

Well, would you look at Mark Carney. Just three months ago I described the incoming prime minister of Canada and former governor of the Bank of England as ‘a fish-out-of-water technocrat’ who made little public impact over here and was swiftly forgotten after he left in 2020. When I once came across him hunched and dark-suited in the Pret queue at King’s Cross, midway through his Bank tenure, I actually felt sorry for him. But here he is, beer-swigging in an Ottawa bar with Sir Keir Starmer; cutting Donald Trump short in a press call before the G7 meeting; shedding his eco-credentials to champion Canadian oil and gas; and generally looking the statesman at ease with his people. What happened?

A hangar full of analysts and investment bankers must have spent the long weekend formulating advice for Shell chief executive Wael Sawan for and against a takeover of BP. On the plus side, Shell’s strong share performance, reflecting its undiluted focus on oil and gas and boosting its market value to £150 billion, makes a bid look almost bite-sized – BP’s value having shrunk to £56 billion over the past two years as investors decried the commitment to renewables that its board has belatedly reversed. And the addition of BP’s assets in North America and the Gulf of Mexico would turn Shell into a carbon-fuel giant to challenge the likes of Exxon and Chevron in the US.

Donald Trump’s Soprano-like threat that the ‘termination’ of Federal Reserve chairman Jerome Powell ‘cannot come fast enough’ has been headlined as one of his wildest thrusts to date, but is actually one of his most conventional. Prickly politicians always resent unelected central bankers, though they also see them as useful scapegoats for economic trouble. Liz Truss longed to fire Andrew Bailey from the Bank of England; Gordon Brown gave Eddie George’s Bank its ‘independence’ but took away so much of its power that George nearly resigned; Margaret Thatcher never accepted the most potent modern governor, Gordon Richardson, as ‘one of us’.

The Digital Services Tax (DST) is a relatively easy bargaining chip to give away in a last-ditch bid to appease Donald Trump, whose final menu of tariffs on UK exports to the US is expected imminently. First tabled by Philip Hammond as chancellor in 2018 and enacted by his successor, Sajid Javid, two years later, this 2 per cent levy on tech multinationals with more than £25 million of UK digital revenues was always seen as a raid on the likes of Apple, Amazon, Netflix, Google, Meta and Microsoft,  though it must by now also catch Shein and other Chinese operators – and was always a provocation to the White House. Within months, there were rumours that Boris Johnson’s government was ready to scrap DST to secure a longed-for UK-US trade deal.

I confess I was lunching at L’Escargot in Greek Street as Rachel Reeves delivered her Budget. My excuse was that I thought I already knew what was in it – but in reality the package was even more anti-business than I feared. My punishment was a risotto too glutinous to finish, but the Chancellor’s 76-minute sermon proved just as indigestible when I tuned in later. Like the wild mushrooms in my dish, the more pungent Budget measures had to be picked out of a blander mass – and I was roused from postprandial torpor by a call from a veteran entrepreneur, regularly quoted here under a variety of disguises, in a fury at one such small-print item.