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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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

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 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism