ROAD MAP OF A MID-LIFE CRISIS (2)

ROAD MAP OF A MID-LIFE CRISIS (no.2)

DEBT CRISIS

Sunday morning chez Pwëngl. I am luxuriating in the folding camping chair while reading the papers. A mug of black tea nestles in the chair’s cup holder. The absence of milk is not an attempt to mimic Californian health fads but rather an unwelcome result of finding that the pint of semi-skimmed in the fridge door is having an identity crisis and thinks it is cottage cheese. As I scan the news it appears that for once I am in tune with the wider world. I do not have two pennies to rub together and live in constant fear of the postman’s arrival. The same appears to be true of much of Europe.

Greece, Ireland, Spain, and Portugal all have to hide behind the sofa when the milkman calls for his money. Their reaction to the crisis is illuminating of national character. Greece behaves like the occupant of a crumbling stately home, possessed of all the hauteur generations of aristocratic inbreeding bestow and all the debts that accrue from centuries of upkeep and death duties. Now, with the day of reckoning at hand and payment due, Greece dismisses talk of money as vulgar and insists it simply must be allowed to carry on spending in the manner to which it has become accustomed.

Ireland’s response is the polar opposite, like a dog who finds the Sunday roast cooling and unattended in the kitchen and does what comes naturally. Ireland knew deep in its heart that it should never have had the money it spent on building homes nobody wanted to live in and now, when it has been caught with its muzzle deep in the chicken’s breast cavity, it slinks off, tail between its legs.

Spain’s response will be familiar to those who have seen the film “The Hangover.” The nation woke up after one hell of a party to find a tiger in the bathroom and with collective amnesia about what happened. The only significant difference is that in the film they found someone to hold the baby.

Many of the papers forget to mention Portugal; enough said.

It is tempting to view the default candidates on Europe’s fringe as feckless idiots who given the keys to the sweetshop gorged themselves on borrowing oblivious to the consequences. But that would be to ignore some fairly unpalatable truths. We in the UK did not watch this happen and canvass caution or warn of the perils ahead. No, quite the opposite; our government and economic commentators lauded an economic miracle. Now reality must be checked, belts tightened and financial reason restored to its throne, all under the stern eye of the German governess.

And most recently Italy…..

Italy is like the fat girl who is constantly announcing she is about to embark upon a diet while she takes another doughnut from the Krispy Kreme box. Most nations balk at the prospect of ceding their national sovereignty but Italy has in the past shown its admiration for the firm smack of Teutonic authority. It is pleasing to imagine Italy, pink faced and flabby, being put through its paces by the chiselled, buzz cut, German personal trainer. Whether financial austerity has the same attraction as high shine jack boots and well tailored field grey we must wait and see.

And so as the world faces another economic crisis, the European ship is on the rocks and in danger of sinking. With hindsight it is easy to see how we got to this point. The lack of unified economic and fiscal policy making within a single currency area was always likely to be fatal especially when the norms of financial probity were routinely ignored. But more importantly it is clear that not all the lookouts were at their post. The Head of the IMF was not necessarily on the bridge looking out for icebergs, instead he was below decks brushing up on figures. There appears little doubt that DSK will not face trial in New York but from here in the UK we can only marvel at a political system that will welcome him back as a presidential candidate with genuine prospects of success after his acquittal on grounds that the chamber maid with whom he had sex did so not because of the threat of physical violence but as a result of a financial arrangement.

What will it all mean for me?  Apparently the break up of the Euro Zone will result in untold misery. That things could get considerably worse is difficult to imagine. Perhaps, as the old joke runs, we have to date been up to our knees in the brown stuff and shortly the bell will ring to announce the end of the tea break. Then we will have to revert to standing on our heads. To my untutored eye the prospect of Greece, Spain, Portugal and Italy going back to their national currencies holds out nothing worse than the hope that I may one day be able to afford a foreign holiday again.

All this consideration of global economic woes has left me hungry.  I am checking out the vast expanse of emptiness that is the inside of my fridge when the phone rings. Would I like to go out for a pub lunch asks the voice at the other end. I think about my empty wallet, my extended overdraft, the pile of red bills lying unopened on the worktop and then I think about how ravenous I am, how nice it would be to eat thick slices of roast beef and I think “Oh what the hell.” Maybe the IMF will bail me out.