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. I read and reread the FT from cover to cover. I blew the dust off textbooks untouched for decades. And when the soup arrived, I launched into my own extended take on the global monetary situation. The Governor gradually emptied his bowl — mission accomplished, I felt — while regarding me through his spectacles with the same mildly puzzled look that my Oxford tutor used to assume, as if to say, ‘Why on earth did we let this boy into the college?’ A third invitation has not been forthcoming.
I tell this tale to explain that the Governor is an economics teacher at heart. That’s what he did for a living before he moved to Threadneedle Street, it’s why he still calls himself ‘Professor’, and it’s why he cannot hide his exasperation at politicians who put electoral gamesmanship ahead of serious economic policy formation.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in