In a move that has sent shivers down the spines of spivs and speculators alike, the government has finally admitted what anyone with a functioning nose and a passing acquaintance with a tap has known for years: Thames Water is a bloated, leaky, privately-owned calamity. Late last night, the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA) confirmed that the private rescue deal, cooked up by a cabal of bankers with more bonuses than morals, has been unceremoniously rejected. Nationalisation, that dread word that sends Conservative MPs into paroxysms of ideological fury, is now the only option on the table. Or rather, the only option in the sewer.
Let us pause to shed a single, saline tear for the shareholders who will now have to make do with only three yachts instead of four. The poor lambs. They gambled on the enduring gullibility of the British public, and they lost. For years, Thames Water has been a masterclass in privatised incompetence: sewage in the Thames, raw effluent on beaches, and a boardroom full of people who couldn't find a leak if it was dribbling down their leg. They paid themselves millions while the pipes crumbled like stale biscuits. They took out loans to pay dividends, a financial strategy that would get a child sent to the naughty step. Now the piper, seemingly made of lead and bad water pressure, must be paid.
The rejected deal, known in the City as Project Something Pointless, would have seen a consortium of foreign investors swoop in to 'rescue' the company by shovelling more debt onto the pile. In return, they would have been handed the keys to the nation's water infrastructure and the right to charge us even more for the privilege of brown tap water. Happily, the government has decided that even they, masters of the kicking-the-can-down-the-road technique, could not stomach this particular flavour of absurdity. So, nationalisation it is.
This is not a moment for celebration, dear reader. It is a moment for dark, wry laughter. The same government that spent forty years telling us that private enterprise is the solution to everything has now been forced to admit that, in the case of water, private enterprise was a solution that invented new and ingenious ways to fail. They will now take control of a company that has been systematically stripped of its assets, its staff, and its ability to function. It will be like inheriting a flatulent corpse and being told to make it dance. The transition will be messy: legal challenges, compensation claims, and a great deal of wailing from the free-market faithful who will claim, with a straight face, that the problem was 'not enough privatisation'.
What does this mean for the average Londoner, who has spent the last decade flushing their toilet with varying degrees of faith? It means change. Possibly in your pocket, as the government will have to find the billions needed to fix this mess. Possibly in your water bill, which may rise or fall depending on how many consultants the civil service decides to hire. It definitely means that, for a while at least, the water in your tap will still be subject to the same laws of physics and neglect that have governed it since the Victorians built the sewers. The big difference: the profits, such as they are, will now go to the state. That means they will be spent on things like schools, hospitals, or perhaps a golden parachute for a retiring minister. The circle of life, eh?
In the end, the nationalisation of Thames Water is not a victory for socialism or a defeat for capitalism. It is a victory for common sense, which has been in short supply in the water industry for decades. It is an admission that some things are too important to be left to the whims of the market. And it is a reminder that, when a company fails as spectacularly as Thames Water has, the public always ends up with the bill. The only question is whether that bill comes with a side of sewage. Make mine a G&T, please. With extra tonic. And a slice of lemon. And definitely not Thames Water.
