Congratulations, humble peasants and lowly costermongers. You, along with the rest of the gullible Great British public, are now joint-owners of 50 billion quid’s worth of cast-iron, triple ‘Z’ rated, unadulterated shite. Every man, woman, child, dog and symbol group member among you has invested an average of £833 in assets so toxic even Tesco’s Richard Brasher couldn’t repackage them as a Discounter line.
For this money, suckers, you could buy the entire UK grocery industry with about £15 billion to spare (Asda, being a US company for tax purposes, doesn’t count). You could pay for the entire nation’s grocery purchases from January to April (Scotland is included here as a rounding error). You could keep King Justin in dental whitening strips for nearly six months.
Nonetheless, as a loyal (if very junior) member of HMG I must applaud the decisive and resolute action of El Gordo in single-handedly saving the world. But if I were a grubby grocer I might just be thinking to myself “what the bloody hell is going on?”
What we have is a regime obsessed with masquerading as consumer champion while harrying the daylights out of a basically honest industry whose collective profits wouldn’t buy you the doormat at your local Royal Bank of Scotland. If I were Tel, Bondy, Bolan or KJ I’d be tempted to start serially screwing every last penny out of the punters and investing in Bhutanese yak futures. Surely it wouldn’t be long before Darling saddled up his eyebrows and rode to the rescue?
Still, there are one or two winners. I understand Philip Green may be about to make a bid for Iceland. If he does, he’s likely to get more than he bargained for with his greasy fivers. I suppose if anyone can make a go of that forlorn lump of frozen lava then it’s Greeny.
And as for Philip Hampton landing the top job at RBS, fair enough. These days it’s about the same size as Sainsbury’s Bank.
For this money, suckers, you could buy the entire UK grocery industry with about £15 billion to spare (Asda, being a US company for tax purposes, doesn’t count). You could pay for the entire nation’s grocery purchases from January to April (Scotland is included here as a rounding error). You could keep King Justin in dental whitening strips for nearly six months.
Nonetheless, as a loyal (if very junior) member of HMG I must applaud the decisive and resolute action of El Gordo in single-handedly saving the world. But if I were a grubby grocer I might just be thinking to myself “what the bloody hell is going on?”
What we have is a regime obsessed with masquerading as consumer champion while harrying the daylights out of a basically honest industry whose collective profits wouldn’t buy you the doormat at your local Royal Bank of Scotland. If I were Tel, Bondy, Bolan or KJ I’d be tempted to start serially screwing every last penny out of the punters and investing in Bhutanese yak futures. Surely it wouldn’t be long before Darling saddled up his eyebrows and rode to the rescue?
Still, there are one or two winners. I understand Philip Green may be about to make a bid for Iceland. If he does, he’s likely to get more than he bargained for with his greasy fivers. I suppose if anyone can make a go of that forlorn lump of frozen lava then it’s Greeny.
And as for Philip Hampton landing the top job at RBS, fair enough. These days it’s about the same size as Sainsbury’s Bank.
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