Osborne's bank raid reconsidered

Was the "smash and grab" actually so bad?

When Osborne re-arranged the accounts between the Bank of England and the Treasury to put the £37bn profit of the QE programme on the nation's books, it was widely seen as a swindle, with our own David Blanchflower calling it a:

Smash-and-grab raid on the Bank of England to make his borrowing look lower.

But the FT's David Keohane (yes, second time today) wonders if the fading importance of central bank independence means that we should reconsider that assessment. Keohane writes:

We still find it hard to view the “raid” itself in any sort of harsh negative light.

We did and do acknowledge the timing was… awkward… but essentially it’s still accounting — the shifting of figures between a parent and a subsidiary. If anything, the “raid” has made the whole process far more transparent.

More generally, the idea that central bank independence might necessarily be eroded, and that it might be a good thing, was until recently taboo. But it is becoming more and more accepted that a central bank’s status is dependent on the economic realities it exists in.

The two big problems highlighted by Osborne's raid were that it blurred the lines between monetary and fiscal policy, and that it could come back to bite in the future. The former's looking like less of a concern in the current climate, but the latter actually might not be that bad. Even if it has already happened.

Keohane quotes Bank of America Merril Lynch's John Wraith:

As a result of the dramatic spike higher in yields that occurred over the first week or so of the New Year, the mark-to-market value of the BoE’s portfolio of Gilts acquired through QE over the past four years dropped by more than £7bn.

The Treasury/BoE is still earning £1bn a year month of positive carry — the value of holding the bonds — which ought to soften the blow. But ultimately, the fear sparked by an accounting change may prove to have been a storm in a teapot.

The Bank of England. 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