New Statesman Scotland
One of the more unlikely figures in the demonology of Scottish politics is the Catalan architect Enric Miralles. He is, of course, the designer of the controversial (to say the least) parliament building which is currently a huge hole in the ground at the bottom of Holyrood Road. The laid-back architect has a remarkable knack of infuriating his critics among our MSPs, particularly Donald Gorrie (Lib Dem) and Margo MacDonald (SNP). Both are hopping up and down at the bearded one's latest pronouncement on the building's progress that "the less we rush the better". Miralles is also refusing to comment on the way the costs seem to be spiralling, which MacDonald regards as "cheek".
Gorrie and MacDonald certainly have a point. A project that began as £50 million now seems to be heading for a whopping £200 million. And instead of the MSPs being safely ensconced by the end of 2001, it looks as if they will have to wait until the year 2003. First Minister Donald Dewar and the little team of architectural enthusiasts (including broadcaster Kirsty Wark) who ran the competition for the parliament building may come to rue the day they opted for the "exciting" Miralles design.
John Reid, the Secretary of State, no doubt regards the Scotland Office as a power in the land but that's not a view shared by British Telecom. So far as BT's directory inquiries are concerned, the Scotland Office does not exist. "You mean the Scottish Office," the operator chided when this diary sought the number. No, the Scotland Office. "There's nothing listed under that name," she declared firmly. Eventually she came up with an Edinburgh number - which turned out to belong to the Scottish Parliament. So did they have a number for the Scotland Office? Certainly, said the parliament's switchboard lady - and helpfully gave the diary the number for the Scottish Executive. The Scottish Executive's operator did have a number for the Scotland Office - but only for the one in London. Is there a metaphor in there somewhere?
The tussle between the Bank of Scotland and the Royal Bank of Scotland for the soul (and assets) of the English giant National Westminster is about to reach a conclusion. By this time next week, we should know which - if either - has won the day. This diary has been much intrigued by the Bank of Scotland's glossy document designed to tempt NatWest shareholders into selling out to the men from The Mound. For example: £100 invested in the Bank of Scotland in 1989 would now be worth £1,515; the same amount invested in the NatWest would be worth £745. At the last count every employee of the Bank of Scotland produced £51,750; the best that the strivers at NatWest could manage was £35,466. And so on.
All very impressive. The comparative figures look good. They certainly suggest that the Bank of Scotland is a lean, mean, fighting machine. But what strikes this diary is that they also suggest that small is better. Small means closer contact with customers, shorter lines of communication, ease of installing new ways of working, new technologies, and so on. Small made the Bank of Scotland the UK's best performing clearing bank. Which begs the question, if small is good, why become so much bigger? If the Bank of Scotland is such a well-oiled, sweetly meshing and profitable operation, why try to bolt it on to the NatWest's huge, rusty, creaking apparatus? Are the men from The Mound (and the men from the Royal Bank's HQ on St Andrew's Square) sure they know what they are doing?
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