Banks and Auctions

First an apology to those who may have commented on one or more of my past blogs. I have not been picking them up via the comments box on my dashboard! Now it isn't that I'm a technophobe, JC! More like a technoramus, perhaps. I promise to mend my ways. And thanks for the reminder, M.

Right: so today is the most beautiful day in the history of the most beautiful part of the world, i.e Wester-Ross! All is blue and green and nothing moves by wind. Garden birdsong all around. Seagulls slow patrol the water's edge. Snow-capped hills form the horizon jagged, sharp and clear. Today is why folk (including self) don't often get much beyond the adjective 'beautiful' when describing this adopted homeland of ours.

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Now for something different. Yesterday I wrote about bankers who shunt money - our money - to and fro between themselves, creaming off chunks of it in the process. Nice work if you can get it except it is not work by any commonly understood definition of that much misused word, and personally I would not want to bury the capitalist system by which I have lived my life in the way they are burying it.

Last evening we were watching a program on TV that we much like. It's called 'The Antique Road Trip' and for those not watching the BBC, pairs of antiques dealers drive around picking up bargains from shops owned by other dealers and then selling them hopefully at a profit in auction houses. The winner is the one making the greatest profit. It dawned on me that the auction house bidders appear to be 90% + other antique dealers. Presumably the chain goes on until the last dealer is left holding something he doesn't want and cannot sell, other than at a loss.

I could see the micro similarity to the latter day activities of  big bankers. One big difference though. When a big banker is left holding the baby the government (in other words you and me) is prepared to take it off him. After all we can't have the banker's Saville Row suit pissed upon, can we? We ordinary folk in jeans and jumpers might protest but we can stand it, can't we?

Back to the analogy. When you, the antique dealer, is left holding the unwanted baby? When you have something nobody wants at a price bearable by you? Tough luck. In your game of musical chairs you should have sat down faster, barged aside the others more forcefully, bought yourself a pinstripe suit.

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