Martin Vander Weyer

This week marks the 20th ­anniversary of John Major’s election victory and my debut in The Spectator. The two events were connected: going to press on the eve of a close poll, the editor needed one more non-political feature — and pulled my essay on the follies of the 1980s City out of the pile of unsolicited submissions. In it I observed that the ‘great blaze of swaggering hubris’ which characterised bankers’ boom-time behaviour had given way to grimmer times. The archetypal financier was no longer swanning round the world in first-class luxury but, ‘if he still had a job at all, stuck at Frankfurt... with an economy ticket, a ham roll and a bout of flu’.

As lead balloons go, last week’s Budget went down faster than James Cameron’s submersible in the Mariana Trench. The closer the small-print scrutiny afterwards, the worse it got. The pro-business measures were hardly sufficient to justify the claim that ‘this Budget unashamedly backs business’ — certainly no small businessman I met that evening, when I found myself addressing 300 of them, felt either backed or bucked by it. The ‘granny tax’ caught far more media attention than the claim that ‘24 million people earning less than £100,000 a year will gain’ from the increase in the income tax personal allowance to £9,205.

‘The faster the government starts selling its stake, the better for everyone,’ RBS chief Stephen Hester told the British Chambers of Commerce conference last week. In doing so, he opened up what may become the hottest financial debate after the Budget hoo-hah has died down: when and how should the government’s holding company, UK Financial Investments, start disposing of its 82 per cent stake in RBS and its 41 per cent stake in Lloyds? In the case of RBS, the government bought in at an average share price close to 50 pence against a market level of 29 pence today, and at least one more year of losses is expected before the bank begins to look relatively healthy again.

I wrote here in November that ‘history may judge the HBOS men to have been the worst of the lot’, and the FSA, in its grindingly slow, bureacratic way, is finally about to catch up with them. The regulator has at last issued a ‘Final Notice’ to the Bank of Scotland arm of HBOS to the effect that its Corporate Banking Division, under the now comfortably retired Peter Cummings, ‘failed to take reasonable care to ensure that [it] adequately and prudently managed high value transactions which showed signs of stress’. In fact — I paraphrase — it seems to have taken no care at all, tearing up the banking textbooks as it piled on lending to the commercial property sector and took equity stakes in many of the deals as well.

In my early twenties I spent memorable holidays crewing on a yacht in the Mediterranean. One afternoon we were entering the creek-like port of Ciudadella in Menorca when we realised that a departing car ferry was heading straight for us, gathering speed. Our entire crew, including me, began hollering uselessly and pleading with the youthful helmsman to take evasive action, while nearby fishermen gesticulated wildly, possibly to suggest that we throw ourselves overboard and swim for it. But our helmsman, wise beyond his years, ordered us to shut up. ‘I have chosen my course,’ he announced calmly, ‘and I intend to hold it.’ So he did, and we passed under the bows of the ferry into the calm of the inner harbour.

Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt’s declaration that 2011 would be ‘the year of corporate giving’ to the arts was never likely to be fulfilled, given how tough it is to stay in business these days. Trying to shift the onus on to companies to replace cuts in state arts funding was an obvious political manoeuvre, but it comes as no surprise that the total of corporate giving (according to the Arts & Business consultancy) is down 20 per cent from its 2007 peak, to £134 million. That compares with a record £382 million from individuals — a healthy 6 per cent up on 2010 after two years of decline. If there’s a surprise in these figures, it is that 30 per cent of FTSE 100 companies still support the arts at all.

One consequence of the Greek crisis — in which default remains a strong possibility despite the latest bail-out, and either way the Greek economy will be dead for a decade — must surely be a wave of Greek migrants looking for work across the EU. And since they won’t find a welcome between Macedonia and the Channel, that means an influx into Britain, absorbing many of the new jobs that will be on offer when real recovery finally kicks in. So it’s curious that David Cameron chose this week to sign a letter, with ten other EU leaders, calling for a ‘more integrated open labour market’ to help migrants settle where work is available.

Amidst the gunfire generated by Stephen Hester’s bonus — on which I’m glad to say he took my advice and did the decent thing, so like Stephen Wraysford at the end of Birdsong he deserves a few days’ rest — I was intrigued by the week’s other RBS story. Hester is reported to be selling the troubled bank’s corporate stockbroking arm, Hoare Govett, to Jefferies, a US securities house. This will be the third change of ownership in 30 years for a firm whose name is so redolent of the pre-Big Bang era that many of us had forgotten it still operates at all, albeit from the death ship which is RBS’s investment banking division. Its history is, in effect, the history of the modern City writ small.

I thought editors came on a bit strong with  the ‘Jailbird Honours’ headlines in response to New Year gongs for ex drug-dealer Chris Preddie (OBE) and former HMP Ford inmate Gerald Ronson (CBE), the property tycoon who was convicted of theft and false accounting in the Guinness share-support scandal in 1990. But what was interesting about responses to the list was that by far the largest helping of hostility was aimed at the hedge fund manager Paul Ruddock — who was knighted for donating large sums to the V&A museum and other charities, but damned for making £100­million (for his firm, Lansdowne Partners) by betting on the fall of Northern Rock and other bank shares, and giving £500,000 to the Conservatives.

About ten years ago, over a good lunch, I had a debate with the late Giles Worsley about Battersea power station. The distinguished architectural writer said Battersea was an industrial icon that should certainly be conserved but — like its sister station turned gallery at Bankside — found a new purpose. If an industrial icon had ceased to serve the very specific purpose for which it was built, I countered, there’s no need to strive at enormous cost to save its impotent hulk, especially if we’ve kept another just like it a mile or so downriver. Assuming it’s physically possible to knock the brute down, why not create a new, fit-for-21st-century-purpose landmark in place of the old one?

A consolation of the financial crisis is that it is producing a bumper crop of fiction, the best of which will be read long after all the hefty works of investigative non-fiction have been forgotten. Last year I praised Sebastian Faulks’s A Week in December, and my Christmas reading this year will include Justin Cartwright’s Other People’s Money and Robert Harris’s The Fear Index. The ‘silo mentality’ of the hedge-fund manager offers a rich psychological seam, the drama of the trading floor provides all the McGuffins to sell the film rights, and the contrast between the financiers’ lifestyle and that of the people whose livelihoods they damage is the 21st-century zeitgeist captured in a few keystrokes.

I’m picturing you reading this in your armchair beside a blazing log fire on Friday evening, Christmas tree lights twinkling over your shoulder, spaniels steaming at your feet, beaker of mulled wine in your hand. ‘Quite exciting while it lasted,’ I hear you say, ‘but thank God it’s all over. Here’s to Angela and Nicolas and the FTSE through 6,000 by New Year’s Eve. Might even have another pop at those Italian government bonds on Monday. Pass the ski chalet brochures.

I admire the Chancellor for his clarity of mind and his coolness under fire, but I don’t believe a word of his forecasts. I didn’t even believe the forecasts he read out on Tuesday from the independent Office for Budget Responsibility, and I’ll hazard a guess that the Chancellor wasn’t really putting much faith in them either. The key predictions of 0.9 per cent growth this year and 0.7 per cent next year, and all the borrowing numbers that flow from them, depend, he was careful to point out, on whether the eurozone finds a way through the current crisis: ‘If they don’t then the OBR warn that there could be a much worse outcome for Britain.

I wrote here in July that I was hoping to see history reversed at Northern Rock. Shortly after that, Swiss boffins declared that time travel really might be possible, after discovering they could fire neutrinos through an Alpine tunnel at a fraction faster than the speed of light. But the idea of propelling the privatised remains of the Rock backwards through several decades — to emerge as a mutually owned and socially responsible provider of mortgages to sensible savers in the north-east — was never high on the Treasury’s agenda. The bank whose 2007 collapse heralded 2008’s financial armageddon was always going to be sold to the highest bidder at the earliest moment a deal could be made to stand up and not look too embarrassing for George Osborne.