Draghi, annotated

What the ECB president was <em>really</em> thinking.

We don't normally do straight-up linkblogs, but sometime-NS-contributor Paweł Morski's "annotated highlights" from the ECB press conference yesterday are a must-read. Here's a taster:

As regards fiscal policies, euro area countries should build on their efforts to reduce government budget deficits and continue to implement structural reforms, thereby mutually reinforcing fiscal sustainability and economic growth. Fiscal policy strategies need to be complemented by growth-enhancing structural reforms. […] To support employment, wage-setting should become more flexible and better aligned with productivity.

The floggings will continue until morale improves. Our only idea for growth is to give all the German MEPs little “Ask Me About the Hartz IV Labour Reform” badges and hope the word spreads.

So this could also go ahead speedily. I am sure that the European Commission has done a splendid job on both accounts.

You want to know how cool I am? I can say this stuff with a straight face.

Informative and entertaining. It's like an economics version of Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiago?

Anyway, the key takeaway – if you aren't clicking through – is that Mario Draghi has a habit of dropping bombshells where they really shouldn't be. Draghi suggested that the European Commission should draw an explicit distinction between uninsured depositors and bondholders in favour of the depositors – à la America's FDIC – despite the fact that the funding of European banks is far more reliant on bondholders than American banks are. The advantage of such a move would be that it would lessen the risk of a bank run, Cypriot-style; but if it scares off bondholders instead, it could be disastrous.

An important point – buried in the answer to a question at a press release. It's hardly "whatever it takes", Draghi's famous intervention which may have saved the Eurozone for a bit.

Mario Draghi. 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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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood