Martin Vander Weyer

I remember the arrival of Toys ‘R’ Us in Britain, because as a young banker in 1984 I was tasked with devising a menu of exciting financial products to offer a brash American retailer that was clearly going to take a bite out of our sleepy — and in those days still Christmas-seasonal — domestic toy market. How we sneered at that childlike reversed R in the logotype; likewise the Guardian, commenting on insatiable demand for Cabbage Patch dolls, derided the chain’s huge stores as ‘-cathedrals to kiddie gratification’. But however tacky its image, this was the ultimate ‘economic disruptor’, to use The Spectator’s current favourite phrase: a business that utterly transformed its marketplace.

Human progress has depended on economic disruptors since long before the advent of the internet. The internal combustion engine was a hugely significant invention, but motor cars remained rare luxuries until a disruptor called Henry Ford perfected the assembly line that enabled the Model T to be mass-produced at a price the ordinary citizen could afford. If we define a disruptor as an entrepreneurial business that radically changes its own marketplace, numerous examples spring to mind, from the low-cost no-frills airline to the flat-pack, home-assembly bookcase. Today’s online auction, home-stay, ride-share and crowd-funding sites have generated markets and money flows that barely existed before, to the great benefit of providers and consumers.

This is an extract from Martin Vander Weyer's 'Any other business' column, in this week's Spectator.  Unilever, the consumer goods conglomerate formed in 1929 by the merger of Margarine Unie of Rotterdam with Lever Brothers of Port Sunlight, is a model of cross-Channel collaboration that pre-dates the European Union we’re about to leave. So the decision due this month as to whether the group will no longer maintain dual head offices — which means closing London but keeping Rotterdam — will be highly symbolic. If the move not only goes ahead but also entails doing away with dual fiscal entities and dual stockmarket listings, Unilever will henceforth be a wholly Dutch company with UK subsidiaries.

Some time ago I labelled Oxfam ‘the anti-capitalist lobby group which is also a part-time aid charity’: my column has repeatedly highlighted the fact that donors have unknowingly funded a hard-left think-tank (recent publisher of a list of ‘the eight people who own as much wealth as the poorest half of the world’) as well as a Third World relief operation that has now been tainted by allegations of sex abuse. I also objected to the plague of its 650 charity shops, cannibalising the trade of established small businesses in struggling high streets. So I have scant sympathy for Oxfam’s embattled boss Mark Goldring.

This week’s funniest parable of capitalism unravelling was the news that KFC had run out of chicken — or at least 550 of its 900 UK outlets had done so. In the way of the modern world, an immediate search began for someone to blame, and the finger of guilt swiftly pointed to DHL, the parcels business that took over KFC’s supply contract in November. DHL is owned by Deutsche Post, which is not only German and privatised but also a ruthless competitor to our own highly unionised Royal Mail, facts which no doubt prompted Mick Rix of the GMB union to weigh in by calling conditions at the DHL distribution centre ‘an utter shambles’.

The Serious Fraud Office has upped the stakes in the case of the controversial $3 billion Qatari financing that saved Barclays from a taxpayer bailout in 2008, by extending the charge of ‘unlawful financial assistance’ to the operating company, Barclays Bank plc, as well as the parent, Barclays plc. Four senior former Barclays employees, including the then chief executive John Varley, are already due to stand trial early next year on the same and other fraud-related charges. The significance of the SFO’s move is that Barclays Bank plc stands in danger of losing its licences to run banking businesses, including branch networks, in the UK and elsewhere if convicted of a serious criminal offence.

Regular passengers on the East Coast mainline are inured to change — and baffled as to why this transport artery cannot be run at a steady but modest profit by a private-sector operator. We recall with sadness the demise of GNER, the first post-privatisation franchisee from 1996 to 2007: part of the Sea Containers group that also owned the Venice-Simplon Orient Express, its service standards won passenger loyalty but it overbid for franchise renewal in 2005 and ran into losses; its parent went bust the following year. Then we had to put up with back-to-basics National Express East Coast, which lasted barely two years before defaulting, followed by five years under a taxpayer-owned ‘operator of last resort’.

Ingvar Kamprad, who died this week aged 91, was a tortured soul but a retail genius. As the founder of Ikea he sold cheap but stylish furniture to millions of what are now called ‘hard-working families’: those who want to improve their homes and make better nests for their children on limited budgets. Though his fortune does not seem to have made him happy, his stores have made a benignly egalitarian value-for-money contribution to modern civilisation and it’s interesting to list other companies that have done likewise. Here are a few for starters. Ford, Fiat and Volkswagen for ‘people’s cars’ more reliable than anything ever built by 20th-century British marques.