I
was saddened to learn of the death of the British satirist John Fortune on New
Year’s Eve. In a distinguished career, he will perhaps be best remembered for
his hilarious collaborations with fellow writers and comedians John Bird and Rory
Bremner (Figure 71.1).
Figure
71.1: Pioneering satirist John Fortune, right, with the equally sharp John Bird
(left) and Rory Bremner.
Copyright
© 2013 BBC
A
couple of days later, I received a ‘Happy New Year’ email from a friend,
Emilio, who lives in the (central) Spanish region of Aragón. He described to me
an absurd conversation he had recently had with a member of staff at his local
bank. (I had better not identify the bank itself. Suffice it to say that it
also has branches in the UK.) Indeed, his encounter sounded positively Fortunesque.
First,
I had better sketch the background. Since the Eurozone economic crisis took
hold, Spanish banks have been on the ropes, distrusted and reviled by those
who have no choice but to use them. That said, the nation’s banking sector has
become profitable since this time last year. A significant factor, according to
the Financial Times, was a sharp
reduction in write-offs and provisions. Allow me to report another possible
factor.
A
fortnight before Christmas, Emilio had gone to his bank to withdraw some cash,
which he had been obliged to order at the beginning of December. He needed to
pay for materials – he is a self-employed air-conditioning engineer – and
suppliers tend to insist on cash payment. This is illegal, by the way, but as
they are loath to accept cards or bank transfers, Em has no say in the matter.
(A recently-leaked government report claimed that a staggering 25% of Spanish
commerce operates under the taxman’s radar, all helped by a neighbourly omerta among the small-business
community.)
While
counting the readies, the besuited señorito
behind the counter mentioned that the bank was once again issuing credit cards.
Ever agreeable, and wanting to establish some degree of financial
legitimacy, Em paid attention to the predictable spiel. The clerk suggested an
initial limit of two thousand euros, after which he outlined the ‘Terms and
Conditions’.
In
order to qualify for the credit facility, it was mandatory to open a savings
account at the same time. Em was puzzled, knowing that when servicing any sort
of debt, only a fool would opt to keep savings. Then the truth dawned – all
over him. The required deposit in the so-called ‘savings’ account would be –
you’ve guessed – two thousand euros. Furthermore, it paid no interest. Well, potentially it did; the current rate
just happened to be zero per cent. On
the other hand, the credit card would rake in a cool 22.8 per cent (APR). Some
differential. On top of that was a ten per cent surcharge should the full
balance not be settled by the end of each month (Figure 71.2). (No wonder these
banks are making a profit, the sole requirement being customer idiocy.)
Figure
71.2: You give your money to a bank, and the bank sells it back to you.
Copyright
© 2014 Mercury NIE
Despite
Em’s speechless incredulity, the clerk did not break his stride. If such a highly-valued
business client wanted a loan for, say, a new van, he could simply deposit
20,000 notes in an interest-free savings account, then pay for the vehicle upfront with his shiny
new piece of plastic. Olé!
My
reply was short: no lo hiciste, ¿te (you
didn’t, did you?) and no, mercifully, he didn’t. The bank’s generous offer was
declined with quiet courtesy.
Is it me, or does this transcend satire? Meanwhile, Spain’s politicians, squirming under the EU’s fat thumb, privately wonder why the black market is thriving like never before. It is the elephant which would be in the room, were it not too big to fit through the doorway.
John
Fortune (Figure 71.3) lives on – and works as a straight-faced bank clerk
somewhere on the outskirts of Zaragoza.
Figure
71.3: John Fortune (1939-2013)
Copyright
© 2014 Telegraph Media Group Ltd
Copyright
© 2014 Paul Spradbery