Three reasons bankers ditch a client

The boot's on the other foot.

HNWs are usually the ones who complain about their bankers, but 2013 has seen a power shift: the John Lobb boot is on the other foot. The introduction of a regulatory overhaul, the Retail Distribution Review, has made it more time-consuming to service clients, and so advisers are increasingly discerning in whom they work for. With mounting numbers of wealthy clients therefore being ‘managed out’, an explanation of what makes a relationship tricky and how you can avoid the cull is timely.

The chief complaint that bankers make is the level of attention that clients demand. Have you ever interrupted your adviser’s wedding anniversary with a telephone grumble about the S&P or disturbed their sleep with a quibble about the Nikkei?

Such behaviour (unsurprisingly) irks bankers, despite all their protestations of intense availability for your needs, because at the top end of the market they are only allowed to work for 30 clients, to guarantee five-star service, and if one of their clients takes up double the amount of time that leaves less time to reap fees from others. (Their fees are not your first concern, clearly.)

Equally, at the lower end of the market, bankers take on up to 400 clients, meaning that HNWs who insist on daily dialogues chew into time that could be devoted to attracting new accounts paying 1 per cent per annum. 

The wealthy will rebuke their bankers on the grounds that many sell themselves on bespoke service. Beauty parades are often won with platitudes like ‘I’m just a phone call away’, as well as assurances that advisers in local jurisdictions are accessible day and night. 

The solution, therefore, is to have your banker explain at the outset how much time they intend to dedicate to you. "That solves the most frequent problem," says a top CEO, "which is when clients say that they are happy with discretionary relationships whereby bankers do the day-to-day investment and then report back quarterly, when, in fact, they want much more active roles discussing portfolio moves weekly in a manner reminiscent of advisory relationships.’

The reverse — a communication freeze — is not much liked by bankers either. The reason is that snap-firing decisions are much more likely when clients aren’t given regular outlets to vent their frustrations — ‘so it’s important to use the annual lunch to explain your position and give your banker the chance to change," says the CEO. "Silence may suggest happiness on the surface, but it often doesn’t under the veneer, so bankers will always appreciate hearing from you approximately four times a year."

Beyond communication levels, the second sin that bankers complain about in their clients is when they vary their expectations. While legitimate after a radical transformation in circumstances like a lottery win, those who change their minds based on market movements are not appreciated.

For example, in the mid-Noughties, many bankers would report to clients that they had made 10 per cent and the response would often be:"My friend got 15 per cent — I’d like to take more risk, please." Now, however, the economic winds have changed and those same clients are happy if offered 4 per cent — proof, if ever there were, that expectations can fluctuate as much as the FTSE.

Of course, bankers find the practice trying because it requires readjustments of client portfolios. Such shuffling increases costs and eats into performance while also taking up time in workloads which, at the firms focused on sub-£3 million accounts, already include relationship and investment management. And although HNWs will quite properly query who serves whom, a balance must be struck because, according to Barclays, HNWs lose as much as 3 per cent per annum from portfolio adjustments. 

The solution starts with getting bankers to explain what they intend to deliver in military detail at the beginning of relationships so that clients won’t feel aggrieved by the results thereafter. Then it’s a matter of looking through market movements and remembering that bankers tend to underperform indices in the early stages of rallies, such as in 2012, and outperform in downturns, as in 2011, because they understand that private clients don’t like losses and so they manage money with one eye on benchmarks and the other on absolute returns. 

Expectations aside, the third thing bankers complain about is when clients don’t act as part of a team. That manifests itself most obviously when clients look over their shoulders and second-guess decisions. A glittering example is Apple: in September, the technology stock was trading at $700 but since January it is has been below $500. Losing 30 per cent has of course had plenty of HNWs prodding their bankers as to why the stock wasn’t sold, but in doing so they have overlooked the fact that many bankers backed Apple in 2010 when it was $250. 

The shortened sense of perspective is in part attributable to the media, which play up star stocks and make finance dinner-table conversation. But bankers are always keen to remind clients to look through the markets and take a five-year view. As the anonymous CEO says, ‘It always pays to remember that Robert Peston and co cover big falls in the FTSE, but they are half as interested in the rebound the following day.’

Another example of lack of teamwork between bankers and clients is, more subtly, when HNWs don’t recognise good performance or promote it to their friends. No, bankers don’t expect referrals. But they know that, in terms of time and cost, referrals are the most effective form of business development, and therefore they get frustrated when clients feel embarrassed about talking finance to friends.

HNWs will find that referring their bankers is profitable for their own balances as well, because when advisers are freed from business development and allowed to focus on their day jobs their investment results and service levels improve. (If this seems like you’re doing their work for them, perhaps that’s right.) 

HNWs who repeatedly trespass across the three boundaries will find that they aren’t so much dismissed by their bankers as marginalised. If their portfolios are over £200,000, then they’ll be passed to junior bankers, whereas if their accounts are underneath the threshold they will be pushed into a fund-of-funds service. 

In an age when the regulator requires an annual review of everyone’s portfolios and financial circumstances, bankers with 400 clients and 250 working days will find themselves stretched with even the most understanding clients — so it’s crucial to remember that the best business relationships are mutually beneficial and that making sure you fit in well with your banker’s expectations is just as important as double-checking that they fit well with yours.

Alex Pendleton writes for Spear's.

This piece first appeared on Spear's

A London Bank. Photograph: Getty Images

This is a story from the team at Spears magazine.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

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 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war