In a stunning display of fiscal contrariness, the American economy has once again refused to roll over and play dead, instead staggering to its feet like a prizefighter who has forgotten the fight is over. Meanwhile, the Chancellor of the Exchequer has emerged from a bunker somewhere in Whitehall to warn that the UK must not fall into the trap of 'complacency' – a condition that, if left untreated, might actually cause us to enjoy something.
Let us first examine the American miracle. Here is an economy that has been declared dead, buried, and eulogised by every reputable economist since 2008. And yet here it stands, blinking in the sunlight, creating jobs with the fecundity of a rabbit farm and growing at a rate that makes our own GDP look like a reluctant tortoise in a sack race. The usual suspects – low unemployment, consumer spending, a tech sector fuelled by pure hubris – have conspired to produce what the cognoscenti call a 'soft landing.' I call it a miracle of misplaced confidence, a testament to the power of sheer bloody-mindedness.
But behold the Chancellor, a man whose face suggests he has just bitten into a lemon wrapped in a used tea bag. He stands before us, nay, he stands before the nation, to deliver a grave warning: do not be complacent. As if any Briton, after fifteen years of austerity, Brexit, and the occasional plague of locusts, could possibly be complacent. We are a nation of born worriers. We fret about the weather, the water pressure, the exact shade of grey the sky has turned. To warn us against complacency is like warning a fish against dehydration.
Let us consider what the Chancellor means by this. Perhaps he fears that if we acknowledge any economic success, we might collectively decide to have a lie-down and miss the next crisis. Or perhaps he is simply following the ancient British tradition of preparing for the worst by assuming the worst has already happened. His message is clear: under no circumstances are you to take comfort from the fact that the American economy is doing well. That would be unseemly. Glory be to the mother country, where growth is measured in millimetres and optimism is rationed like wartime sugar.
But wait, what is this? A faint glimmer of hope? A report from the Office for National Statistics claims that the UK economy grew by a whopping 0.1% in the last quarter. Cue the brass band! Light the beacons! The Chancellor, however, remains unmoved. 'This is no time for celebration,' he intones, his voice a monotone dirge that could curdle milk. 'We must redouble our efforts, tighten our belts, and perhaps sacrifice a small goat to the gods of fiscal responsibility.'
I put it to you that the real problem is not complacency but its opposite: a morbid fixation on doom that has seeped into the national psyche like damp in a Victorian terrace. We have become so accustomed to bad news that we have forgotten how to recognise good news when it arrives. The American economy, with its brash optimism and love of deregulation, is a stark contrast to our own cautious shuffling. But must we always look across the Atlantic with envy? Could we not, for once, take a page from their book and embrace a little reckless abandon?
No, says the Chancellor. No, says the Treasury. No, says every think tank from the Institute for Fiscal Studies to the Anoraks for Austerity. We must be vigilant. We must be prudent. We must ensure that every shred of good news is immediately qualified, contextualised, and eventually nullified. It is the British way: to find the silver lining and then paint it beige.
In conclusion, the US economy continues to defy odds because it has not yet read the memo that it is supposed to fail. And the Chancellor continues to warn against complacency because, frankly, he has nothing better to do. So let us not be complacent. Let us instead be moderately concerned, cautiously optimistic, and above all, ready to complain about something else. For that is the true engine of the British economy: discontent, and the occasional stiff upper lip quivering with suppressed rage.
And if you see a small goat, hide it. The Treasury is watching.
