Why the Governor is in the soup — and how I got the soup into the Governor
I’m no WikiLeaker, but I am prepared to reveal that I have, on two occasions, lunched à deux with Professor Mervyn King in his private dining room at the Bank of England. Not a single word of what he said will appear in this column or anywhere else. But I think it’s probably OK to tell you about the soup.
As soon as this smoothly indeterminate vegetable concoction was served at our first encounter, the Governor filled his spoon, raised it halfway to his mouth, and embarked on a tour d’horizon to which, having been a notably slow student of economics long ago, I felt able only to reply ‘Mmm’. Two minutes in, my own plate was empty; 25 minutes in, the Governor’s was still full, his spoon immobile, his butler darting in and out and dancing from foot to foot in frustration at being unable to clear for the main course, which was going cold outside.
But the second time I went better prepared.
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