Paul Tucker attempts to spice up British monetary policy

Negative interest rates are like candy floss to central bankers, it is believed.

In the midst of his testimony to the treasury select committee, Bank of England deputy governor Paul Tucker gave a suggestion that Britain might be considering some unorthodox monetary policy of its own:

I hope we’ll think about whether there are constraints to setting negative interest rates. This would be an extraordinary thing to do and it needs to be thought through very carefully.

Such a move would be unlikely to affect the Bank's base rate. While we still have cash, that rate is pretty firmly stuck at the zero lower bound, because savers will always be able to withdraw savings as cash and horde it that way, safely out of reach of the banks trying to charge interest on their money.

Instead, it would be the rate paid on the Bank's overnight deposits which would be hit. This is the sum the Bank pays to other banks which leave their money with the Bank of England. It's basically the interest rate the Bank charges when it's actually acting like a bank. It can get away with it because, while withdrawing your savings and stuffing them under a pillow may work for you or I, it's less of an option for Halifax or HSBC.

The Financial Times' David Keohane thinks that the statements, which echo suggestions in the minutes of the monetary policy committee released last week, could be an attempt to talk down the value of the pound. Keohane writes:

Throwing around the negative interest rates idea has become very trendy all of a sudden with Draghi, Praet and Constancio weighing in and, we'd argue, using the threat to substitute for policy impotence.

Was Bank of England deputy governor Paul Tucker doing the same thing? Using a jedi-trick to talk down sterling perchance?

Of course, as Keohane points out, if that was the aim, it didn't do a whole lot of good. The effect of Tucker's words is almost lost in the general volatility of the market today:

Maybe the Bank of England is just feeling a little bit jealous of its Japanese counterpart? After all, they're gearing up to do all kinds of cool new things with monetary policy — Foreign bond purchases! Stock exchange targeting! Capital stock nationalisation using the profits of quantitative easing! — while we're stuck with boring old open market policy, where a chart from eight months ago is still accurate.

Continuing the theme of literally illustrating metaphors, this is a picture of some spices. 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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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

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 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times