It's astonishing the banks haven't been ring-fenced earlier

The in-kind subsidy to consumer banks has been crying out for a limit.

The chancellor has announced his plan to "electrify" the proposed ring-fence between retail and investment arms of British banks — which George calls the "Jurassic Park solution" — ensuring that if a bank tries to breach the ring-fence, it will be separated fully.

Much of the criticism of the ring-fence, as well as the Chancellor's defence of it, stems from its effects on financial stability. That's obviously important, but there's a bigger reason why such a move is long over-due, and that's the state backing of retail banks.

This backing isn't even a question of the too big to fail subsidies which hand around £34bn to the biggest banks. Instead, it's the effect of the financial services compensation scheme.

That's the government body which protects up to £85,000 of individuals' deposits with accredited banks. Since it was formed, it has paid out over £26bn, mostly in the aftermath of the financial crisis, to customers of retail banks which went bust.

And that's good! The FSCS is necessary in a world in which customers can't be expected to judge the financial health of a bank when deciding where to keep their money, and even more necessary given that a bank account is largely deemed a prerequisite of living a normal life in the UK today (hence the concern over the lack of basic bank accounts). But, at least on a cursory analysis, the FSCS also reduces the cost of capital for banks, because they don't have to compensate customers for the risk that they will lose all their deposits.

For a bank that's not failing, though, the FSCS is an in-kind subsidy, and it makes sense to limit that distortion. That's the reason for a ring fence: it ensures that the government is only subsidising the consumer banking sector, rather than the entire sector at once.

The stability arguments are important; and the ring-fence does indeed lessen the downside of a casino bank going under (although the amount it will lead to broader stability of the financial system is more questionable). But even without them, there'd be a strong prima facie reason for some kind of limit to the amount consumer deposits can be leveraged.

Photograph: Getty Images

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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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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