Martin Vander Weyer

How, I wonder, did a shortlist of candidates to succeed Sir Mark Tucker as chairman of HSBC come into the public domain? The three names ‘exclusively’ revealed by Sky News, if they really are the final contenders, ought to be a secret kept between a board committee led by senior independent director Ann Godbehere and the headhunters on the job, named as MWM Consulting. Two of the three – Kevin Sneader from Goldman Sachs and Naguib Kheraj, formerly of Barclays and Standard Chartered – might feature in a round-up of usual suspects. But the third is the former chancellor George Osborne, who has no public-­company chairmanship experience and is, to say the least, a Marmite figure.

The softening of the Bank of England’s stance on ‘stablecoins’ looks like another tugging of the British forelock towards the Trump regime. Stablecoins are virtual money akin to cryptocurrency, but theoretically safer because their value is pegged to the dollar or other conventional currencies. Often used by investors to buy into crypto, they’re claimed to offer a more efficient future for international payments – but also accused of facilitating crime. Two years ago, Governor Andrew Bailey decreed that stablecoins did not ‘meet the standards we expect of safe money’; other non-US regulators largely agreed. That well-known crypto player Donald Trump, however, called them ‘perhaps the greatest revolution in financial technology since the birth of the internet’.

Call me hard-hearted, but I doubt even a magic mushroom-induced tantric visualisation of a harmonious universe could transport me into a state of sympathy for Rachel Reeves. Her content-free but don’t-blame-me speech on Tuesday morning did nothing to make me feel more benign. Yes, it’s not entirely her fault that a Labour cabinet can’t deliver welfare cuts, that defence spending must rise and that the UK has a chronic productivity deficit; and yes, the Tories left a mess behind. But in every other respect she’s in a trap of her own making, in which the only Budget move that might restrain out-of-control public borrowing, namely raising income tax, is also the one that should surely guillotine her disaster-strewn chancellorship.

In a radio discussion of the Renters’ Rights Act which passed into law this week, I heard ‘Britain’s housing emergency’ referred to as a given fact. If that’s so, then the housebuilders who create supply and feed home-owning aspirations ought to be public, political and stock-market heroes. But they’re not – and it’s worth asking why such an essential sector has fallen so far out of favour. Think back to Sir Lawrie Barratt, who built 300,000 houses and achieved fame with 1980s television ads featuring a strong-jawed actor as Barratt himself arriving by helicopter to inspect the latest show house.

Who knows what Rachel Reeves reads in bed. Perhaps she dips into her own debut book, The Women Who Made Modern Economics (2023), and dreams of those carefree pre-government days when serious people, Mark Carney for one, thought she might make a decent Chancellor. But if she’s also burning midnight oil over drafts of her Autumn Statement, I hope her boxes are packed with granular data on the state of the UK job market. September normally sees a recruitment surge, but not this year. A summary of recent stats in IFA Magazine shows vacancies down by 119,000 from a year ago and entry-level graduate jobs down by as much as a third, as diminished hiring focuses on ‘skills-based’ selection rather than useless degrees.

Between news bulletins of the Manchester synagogue attack last week, I popped into my local Co-op for some groceries. When the public address system said something indistinct about ‘solidarity’, I paused to listen: it was an advert for Sun & Stone lager, produced in Scotland in collaboration with Taybeh, a Palestinian microbrewery, and with a slice of any profits going to the Disaster Emergency Committee’s Gaza appeal. The Co-op is a benign beacon of alternative capitalism, owned by its members and valued by millions of customers. At their annual meeting in June, those members voted to ‘cease all trading with Israel’, as the Co-op has also done with the likes of Belarus, Iran and Syria.

A friend runs a small factory employing 60 skilled workers. He exports industrial components worldwide, competing with Europe for quality and China for price: a model enterprise for the productive economy we wish we had more of. Earlier this year, his top concerns were the hike in employers’ national insurance (costing the equivalent of several new apprentices) and the advent of Donald Trump’s tariffs. Since then, he’s been hit by a cyber-attack – and his story, a miniature of Jaguar Land Rover’s, is a parable for business everywhere. Like most companies today, this one is paperless: IT-dependent in everything from product design to accounting and HR. It also happens to hold ample cash, which hackers could have spotted from Companies House filings.

Barely noticed amid all the other bad news and political shenanigans, there’s a slump in UK housebuilding that makes Labour’s promise of 1.5 million new homes within this parliament not just ‘stretching’, as the departed minister Angela Rayner called it, but a Truman Show fantasy of utopian suburbs that will never exist. Glenigan, a data provider for the construction industry, reports that residential ‘main contract awards’ in the three months to the end of August were down 44 per cent on last year and detailed planning permissions down 42 per cent. In London, only 2,158 new homes – a tiny fraction of anyone’s target or expectation – were started in the first half of the year.

I awoke on Sunday to what felt like a Brave New World moment: Radio 4’s news-reader reciting an unedited Downing Street script for Donald Trump’s visit, about US financial firms (mostly Citigroup, in fact) agreeing to invest £1.2 billion over here to create 1,800 jobs. Or some such propaganda, the Financial Times having already set the tone with ‘Rush for deals ahead of Trump trip – tech, nuclear and whisky on table’. As the President packed his best leisurewear for Windsor Castle, news followed of £5 billion from Google for UK-based AI services; and finally, even bigger bucks from Microsoft. All to the good if pledges turn into realities and AI doesn’t knock out those new jobs in financial services.

Gold goes on up: having risen by an unprecedented 40 per cent in a year to pass $3,600 (or £2,675) per ounce by the beginning of this week, even its most ardent devotees are wondering how long the surge can last. Much of the rise clearly represents a stampede towards the most traditional of safe havens, in anticipation of market storms ahead as well as fears over inflation and Donald Trump’s threat to the independence of the US Federal Reserve. But it also has to do with a secular shift in the economic world: de-dollarisation, as favoured by the busload of US-hating heads of states who partied with Xi Jinping and Vladimir Putin in Beijing a couple of weeks ago.

‘We’re going to get all our oil and gas out of the North Sea’ was certainly a winning line for Kemi Badenoch to deliver to the Offshore Europe conference in Aberdeen this week, just as she might open with ‘I love puppies’ to a spaniel breeders’ convention in Surrey. But other than as an appeal to climate-change-sceptic would-be Reform voters, how much sense did it make? A recent study by the industry body hosting the Aberdeen event says that if – in some Ed-Miliband-free alternative universe – all remaining reserves under the North Sea were licensed for development, they could provide half the UK’s hydrocarbon needs until 2050, by which date we might have approached full transition to cleaner energy.

The theme of my holiday reading has been the insidious ways in which the vanities and fetishes of rulers harm the interests of citizens. I started with 1929, Andrew Ross Sorkin’s new history of the Wall Street crash, which I’ll be reviewing elsewhere ahead of its release in October –my point here being not about whether President Herbert Hoover and the US Federal Reserve mismanaged that market cataclysm and its aftermath, but rather the fact that my zero-value, plain-cover ‘uncorrected proof’ copy of the book was held up by French customs for almost three weeks for want of a ‘commercial tax ID number’ on the packaging label. ‘A common post-Brexit headache,’ the publisher shrugs.

In this season of scant corporate news – a Ryanair rant against the French here, a new BP oilfield there – it’s hard to know what business leaders are thinking about the cold months to come. Until, that is, you read a survey conducted last month for the Institute of Directors. Given that I’m writing from France this month, I’d call it an absolute croissant-dropper. The nub is that 639 UK businesses, large and small, report ‘optimism in prospects for the UK economy’ at -72, lower even than their darkest pandemic sentiment at -69 in April 2020. Export hopes and investment intentions are down, wage expectations are sharply up and, unsurprisingly, headcounts are set to fall.

I must modestly doubt that the Supreme Court justices took account of my 12 July column in their ruling on the issue of hidden car finance commissions. But the effect, limiting compensation claims to the more egregious cases of overcharging, is to do exactly what I hoped: namely to head off ‘a tsunami of claims that could cripple lenders and provoke a mini banking crisis’. Chancellor Rachel Reeves evidently hoped so too; given that up to 90 per cent of new UK car sales are financed by loans offered through car dealerships, a collapse of that market would have put another ding in an already battered economy.

At Stansted on Monday, a currency kiosk offered me €270 for £300. ‘Wrong way round,’ I said, having swiftly figured €300 for £270 would represent an exchange rate of 1.11, close enough to the current market level of 1.14. ‘Nah, mate, airport rate, innit?’ This week’s first lesson is never buy euros at the airport; but the second lesson is that wherever you buy them – especially if you have, say, a Mediterranean superyacht charter in prospect – you’re in for a painfully expensive summer. Back in March you could have had €1.20 for your pound. Since then sentiment towards sterling has been soured by expectations of bad economic news made worse by whatever Rachel Reeves does next, necessitating successive interest rate cuts.

The weekend’s torrential Yorkshire rain amid a hosepipe ban offered a handy metaphor for the chaos that has befallen the privatised UK water industry. Sir Jon Cunliffe’s Independent Water Commission report – aiming for a ‘fundamental reset’ to restore public confidence, clean our waterways and ensure future supply – is welcome for the clarity of its central conclusion: that unfit-for-purpose Ofwat and a jumble of other regulators should be replaced by a single body with more teeth and comprehensive oversight of the sector. So far, so good. Cunliffe – a veteran of the Treasury, the Bank of England and Brussels – can also be applauded for his bureaucratic cunning in tabling no fewer than 88 recommendations, in the hope that perhaps eight of them might actually be adopted.

The nation owes the former Labour leader Neil Kinnock an eternal debt for losing the 1992 general election when he was clear favourite to win it, thereby sparing us whatever socialist folly he might have brought to Downing Street. I salute him again for popping up to propose a 2 per cent wealth tax on fortunes above £10 million that might raise a supposed £11 billion for the hard-pressed Chancellor – thereby bringing into sharp focus the vague threat that several cabinet ministers have studiously refused to rule out. Pressure is building on Rachel Reeves from backbenchers, unions and anti-poverty campaign groups to mount a raid on the rich in her autumn Budget.