Britain never had a double dip recession – and that doesn't matter

The magic of GDP revisions.

The ONS has released a bumper set of GDP revisions, taking a fresh look at the national output all the way back to 1997. The headline points:

  • The recession in 2009 was much more severe than previously thought. The agency has revised its estimate of the 2009 contraction from 4 per cent of GDP to 5.2 per cent; an increase of a third.
  • A change of 0.1 percentage points has erased the "double-dip" recession in 2011. The contractions in Q4 2011 and Q2 2012 still exist, but Q1 2012 is now estimated to have had exactly 0.0 per cent growth; the wiggle thus no longer qualifies as a technical recession.
  • Historically, the 2001 slump after the dot-com boom also appears to have been much worse than previously thought. Rather than the economy growing by 2.9 per cent that year, it grew by 2.2 per cent, a revision of 0.7 percentage points.

The immediate effect of the revision is political. The double-dip recession has been extraordinarily damaging for the Government, allowing the Opposition a concrete fact to point to to back up the claims that they "inherited growth and provided recession". The revisions eliminate the negative growth in one quarter, and mean that that period no longer meets the requirement of two or more consecutive quarters of negative growth which defines a recession.

But that is a technicality of the highest order. The estimate for growth over those three quarters combined is exactly the same as it was yesterday: a contraction of 0.6 per cent. All that has happened is that the timing of some of that contraction has shifted. Q2 2012 is now thought to be marginally worse, and Q1 2012 is now thought to be marginally better.

In other words, as I said back in April 2012, technical recessions don't matter. They impose an artificial dividing line between "good" and "bad" growth, when in fact, going by yesterday's stats or today's, that period is and always was mediocre. Horribly, cripplingly mediocre.

Anaemic growth is just as bad as a technical recession. In many ways, it's worse; whereas technical recessions are at least expected to end, the stagnation which we are living at the moment has stretched out for almost half a decade, and could well last almost half a decade more.

The more interesting fact is that the recession and depression have been massively increased in size. Since 2008, the economy has actually contracted by 1.1 per cent more than we thought. That increases the so-called "productivity puzzle": why has unemployment been falling while GDP hasn't been increasing? That puzzle is partially solved with the realisation that the labour market improvement stopped six months ago; but there still appears to be a disconnect between the two measures. The commonly cited solution to the puzzle is to argue that labour productivity has dropped; but even that just pushes the question further down the tree. Why is our productivity down so much?

But the number one take-home lesson from all of this is: GDP is actually kind of crappy. It's estimated from samples several steps removed from actually "measuring the size of the economy". It misses out huge sectors of the economy, from unpaid caring and parenting to increasingly mainstream aspects of the shadow economy like transactions in bitcoin. And it's wrong; sometimes for decades on end.

Perhaps we should take the advice of former MPC member Andrew Sentence (who has been predicting this recession would be revised out of existence for a year), and focus on more important and less volatile indicators like unemployment and business activity. Not only would that reduce the risk of rewriting history: it would also mean that doing well could no longer be defined as "not failing".

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times