49's the sticking point for French firms

Quantifying regulatory burden.

A group of LSE economists have published a paper which makes a strong effort to actually work out the damage regulations do to economic efficiency. Luis Garicano, Claire Lelarge, and John Van Reenen hit upon the method of looking to France, where there are sharp increases in the regulatory burden when firms employ 50 or more workers.

Seemingly as a result of those burdens, a noticeable number of firms appear to "stick" at 49 employees even when they may hire that extra marginal person. The piece's key chart is a killer:

Notice how the number of companies with 49 employees is actually higher than the number with 45 – and also that there's a precipitous drop between the number with 49 and the number with 50.

The paper tries to estimate, to a preliminary level, the regulatory cost of this burden. They estimate that 0.05 per cent of firms are distorted, and that the total output lost by those distorted firms is about 35 per cent – meaning that GDP is lowered by 0.5 per cent.

As the New York Times' Casey Mulligan writes, however, we shouldn't confuse the direct cost with the total cost of the regulations:

This is not to say that the regulations imposed on 50-employee companies are necessarily excessive, because they can create public benefits that more than justify their net costs for an employer and his employees, just as taxes and government spending can. For example, an air-pollution regulation might kick in at 50 employees that creates a significant cost for the employer and little aggregate benefit for his employees but creates a significant benefit for the people of France.

The employers also miss another transfer of wealth that might be just as important. Matt Yglesias covered it in another context last week:

One very plausible consequence of this would simply be to strongly discourage the owners of small firms from pursuing growth. And the big winners from that kind of disincentive to firm growth will be the owners of other small firms that simply aren't as lucky or well-managed as the growing ones.

In other words, it's a transfer of wealth from a company which may expand by a few employees to the companies which aren't going to have their lunch eating by a growing competitor. In the French context at least, that transfer will be relatively small. While companies are disinclined to grow from 49 to 50 employees, they may well be happy to leapfrog from 49 to 51 or higher; and the impact on creation of massive companies will be small indeed. But it will have an impact.

Fundamentally, it's an example of why it's best, where-ever possible, to target margins rather than absolutes. In taxation, for example, there's rarely this sort of adverse incentive, because there are few margins where earning more affects the taxes you pay on money already earned (where that does happen – between £100,000 and £150,000 of income, for instance – it is still carefully planned so that there is a positive value for every extra pound earned).

The problem is that that's harder to do for regulation. You can't really tell a company that they have to provide health insurance for the 50th employee but not the first 49, for instance. It would be unfair, not to mention probably even more impractical.

Better answers may be to more gradually phase in the burdens, so that at no point is there a leap in regulation big enough to dissuade too many companies from expanding; to stop fetishising small businesses, and make them subject to the same regulations as every other company (which would also force regulations to be easy to comply with, of course); or to make such regulations more explicitly support entrepreneurship rather than merely being small by imposing them a set period after a company has been founded, rather than basing them on growth.

More research, please!

An employer works on pullover sleeves for one of the luxury French brands who outsource work to these small specialist artisan factories on December 10, 2009 in Port-Brillet. 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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Inside Big Ben: why the world’s most famous clock will soon lose its bong

Every now and then, even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care.

London is soon going to lose one of its most familiar sounds when the world-famous Big Ben falls silent for repairs. The “bonging” chimes that have marked the passing of time for Londoners since 1859 will fall silent for months beginning in 2017 as part of a three-year £29m conservation project.

Of course, “Big Ben” is the nickname of the Great Bell and the bell itself is not in bad shape – even though it does have a huge crack in it.

The bell weighs nearly 14 tonnes and it cracked in 1859 when it was first bonged with a hammer that was way too heavy.

The crack was never repaired. Instead the bell was rotated one eighth of a turn and a lighter (200kg) hammer was installed. The cracked bell has a characteristic sound which we have all grown to love.

Big Ben strikes. UK Parliament.

Instead, it is the Elizabeth Tower (1859) and the clock mechanism (1854), designed by Denison and Airy, that need attention.

Any building or machine needs regular maintenance – we paint our doors and windows when they need it and we repair or replace our cars quite routinely. It is convenient to choose a day when we’re out of the house to paint the doors, or when we don’t need the car to repair the brakes. But a clock just doesn’t stop – especially not a clock as iconic as the Great Clock at the Palace of Westminster.

Repairs to the tower are long overdue. There is corrosion damage to the cast iron roof and to the belfry structure which keeps the bells in place. There is water damage to the masonry and condensation problems will be addressed, too. There are plumbing and electrical works to be done for a lift to be installed in one of the ventilation shafts, toilet facilities and the fitting of low-energy lighting.

Marvel of engineering

The clock mechanism itself is remarkable. In its 162-year history it has only had one major breakdown. In 1976 the speed regulator for the chimes broke and the mechanism sped up to destruction. The resulting damage took months to repair.

The weights that drive the clock are, like the bells and hammers, unimaginably huge. The “drive train” that keeps the pendulum swinging and that turns the hands is driven by a weight of about 100kg. Two other weights that ring the bells are each over a tonne. If any of these weights falls out of control (as in the 1976 incident), they could do a lot of damage.

The pendulum suspension spring is especially critical because it holds up the huge pendulum bob which weighs 321kg. The swinging pendulum releases the “escapement” every two seconds which then turns the hands on the clock’s four faces. If you look very closely, you will see that the minute hand doesn’t move smoothly but it sits still most of the time, only moving on each tick by 1.5cm.

The pendulum swings back and forth 21,600 times a day. That’s nearly 8m times a year, bending the pendulum spring. Like any metal, it has the potential to suffer from fatigue. The pendulum needs to be lifted out of the clock so that the spring can be closely inspected.

The clock derives its remarkable accuracy in part from the temperature compensation which is built into the construction of the pendulum. This was yet another of John Harrison’s genius ideas (you probably know him from longitude fame). He came up with the solution of using metals of differing temperature expansion coefficient so that the pendulum doesn’t change in length as the temperature changes with the seasons.

In the Westminster clock, the pendulum shaft is made of concentric tubes of steel and zinc. A similar construction is described for the clock in Trinity College Cambridge and near perfect temperature compensation can be achieved. But zinc is a ductile metal and the tube deforms with time under the heavy load of the 321kg pendulum bob. This “creeping” will cause the temperature compensation to jam up and become less effective.

So stopping the clock will also be a good opportunity to dismantle the pendulum completely and to check that the zinc tube is sliding freely. This in itself is a few days' work.

What makes it tick

But the truly clever bit of this clock is the escapement. All clocks have one - it’s what makes the clock tick, quite literally. Denison developed his new gravity escapement especially for the Westminster clock. It decouples the driving force of the falling weight from the periodic force that maintains the motion of the pendulum. To this day, the best tower clocks in England use the gravity escapement leading to remarkable accuracy – better even than that of your quartz crystal wrist watch.

In Denison’s gravity escapement, the “tick” is the impact of the “legs” of the escapement colliding with hardened steel seats. Each collision causes microscopic damage which, accumulated over millions of collisions per year, causes wear and tear affecting the accuracy of the clock. It is impossible to inspect the escapement without stopping the clock. Part of the maintenance proposed during this stoppage is a thorough overhaul of the escapement and the other workings of the clock.

The Westminster clock is a remarkable icon for London and for England. For more than 150 years it has reminded us of each hour, tirelessly. That’s what I love about clocks – they seem to carry on without a fuss. But every now and then even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care. After this period of pampering, “Big Ben” ought to be set for another 100 or so years of trouble-free running.

The Conversation

Hugh Hunt is a Reader in Engineering Dynamics and Vibration at the University of Cambridge.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.