People are finally spending more on their cards

Is this the sign we've been waiting for?

I may just have spoken to the most optimistic and cheery senior UK-based banker for many a year.

Dave Chan, CEO of Barclaycard Europe, is not just chirpy about the prospects for UK plc; he says that there is evidence going back to the second quarter of the year that we may have turned a corner. In short, people are spending more on their cards.

In May and June, "nominal spend" – that is expenditure taking account of inflation – of Barclaycard cardholders rose for four months in a row for the first time in three years. Given the importance of consumer spending as an engine of growth and with expenditure now on a gentle upward trend, we may indeed be witnessing the recovery starting to gain momentum.

That is however only part of the story. The clever number-crunchers at Barclays have been analysing just what exactly we are using our cards to purchase. There are signs that discretionary expenditure is rising including purchases such as foreign holidays Perhaps the real clincher to back up Chan’s optimism relates to card expenditure on home improvements.

In the past couple of months he says that there has been a big uplift in expenditure in this sector.

Meantime, UK unemployment remains stubbornly high at 7.8 per cent. If the Bank of England forecasts for GDP growth are accurate – and here it has a decidedly mixed track record – we will only enjoy growth of 1.4 per cent this year and 2.3 per cent next year.

For those of us old enough to have lived through economic upturns following past recessions, such relatively low rates of growth are way below the growth levels witnessed during the Thatcher second term and Blair’s first term.

The chances of UK unemployment falling below 7 per cent and the trigger for a change in UK monetary policy – that means higher interest rates to you and me – is slim in the next three years. That inevitably will impact the prospects for the share prices of the major UK banks.

As for home improvements major players, such as B&Q’s parent Kingfisher, there may be renewed interest in how its share price performs. Analysts following Kingfisher are divided with six rating the stock a sell, seven say hold with 13 recommending a buy.

Time will tell if Chan’s grounds for optimism are well founded.

I am glad to report, that at no time during the course of a lengthy conversation did he use the phrase “green shoots” (Norman Lamont circa the 1991 recession).

A handful of credit cards. Photograph: Getty Images

Douglas Blakey is the editor of Retail Banker International

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war