UK bank shares: not for widows or orphans

No-one earning their bonuses right now.

The half yearly reporting season for UK-headquartered banks is almost upon us.

Following nine years of record profits, UK-based but Asia-Pac focused Standard Chartered is likely once again to be the strongest sector performer. It reports on 1st August and no major surprises are expected. StanChart’s shares remain the strongest performer of the UK banks; as of this morning, StanChart’s share price has fallen by a mere 10.8 per cent in the past 12 months.

The day before on 30 July, HSBC reports its first half profits. Notwithstanding all the understandable hullabaloo over its extensive anti-money laundering failures, the market is likely to be in forgiving mood. HSBC’s share price, in the past 12 months, is down a relatively modest 14 per cent.

The reporting season kicks off with Lloyds Banking Group (LBG) on Thursday. Expect to hear positive noises about profits growth in 2013 and earnings being boosted in 2014 as a result of the Project Verde sell off having been scaled down in terms of assets sold. LBG’s share price, by the by, is down a whopping 35.6 per cent in the past 12 months.

Barclays will report on Friday and will attract a great deal of attention, following its role in the LIBOR scandal and the departure of Bob Diamond. It may even report an increase in underlying profits of up to 10 per cent year-on-year in the six months to end June. The plunging share price of Barclays seems to have played little more than a peripheral role when it has come to determining bonuses at Barclays. In the past year alone, the Barclays’ share price is down by a whopping 33.6 per cent.

Bringing up the rear, in more ways than one (share price down by 45.4 per cent in the last 12 months), Royal Bank of Scotland reports on 3 August. RBS continues to hemorrhage money in Ireland via its Ulster Bank operation. It remains very hard to foresee RBS returning to profit in 2012. The IT shambles earlier in the summer plus media rumours of an involvement in the LIBOR scandal, means that good news relating to RBS is some way off. There will be analysts that suggest that RBS’ share price has now sunk so low  - down from £3.63 to £1.98 in the past year - that it represents an attractive punt.  That may well be the case: but it is not one for widows or orphans.

Just in case any of the UK banks dare to suggest that a collapse in bank share prices is a disease afflicting banks around the world and that they really are earning their bonuses, don’t believe them.

Two of the largest US-based banks – US Bancorp and Wells Fargo – have enjoyed strong double-digit share price growth in the past year; Westpac and National Australia Bank have also shown a rise in their share price while Canada’s largest lender, Royal Bank of Canada’s share price is flat.

Meantime, the results have been released today of the latest UK Customer Satisfaction Index (UKCSI) by the Institute of Customer Service. 

In the banking sector, the UKCSI shows – yet again – that first direct ranks top. With a certain degree of predictability, the Coop Bank ranks second.

The survey will really deserve a greater degree of comment if and when first direct and the coop do not come out at the top of the poll of 26,000 customers.

For the record, Yorkshire Bank ranked third, just ahead of Nationwide and HSBC in fourth and fifth places respectively.

London at night, Photograph:Getty Images.

Douglas Blakey is the editor of Retail Banker International

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad