Chancellor of the Exchequer, the only job in parliament that lets you drink alcohol at work, but only during the Budget speech… allegedly. Chancellor, the title alone sounds, “Old School”. You would expect every statement to be written at a desk fashioned from oak recovered from the HMS Victory, written on vellum with a large quill pen and start with “Hear Ye Hear Ye!”
The UK has however moved on a bit. Just imagine the latest budget technology our Chancellor has to understand and control. It must be the mother of all spreadsheets. Sometimes I imagine it comes with built in pricing scanners that signal if the price of a Mars bar (the UK’s most popular chocolate treat) has gone up by more than inflation. However if you are a lover of numbers, sleepless nights, and like the occasional brandy, you might want to give all the attendant theatre and costumes a go. However, here are a few things to remember:
It’s always your fault.
Being the Chancellor means you’re essentially the nation’s designated economic scapegoat with a large, embroidered target on your ceremonial robes. Even though you don’t control everything – for example, the independent Bank of England. If they decide to increase interest rates, it’s always your face on the news but only after the opposition spokesman and the clever guys from the IFS (Institute for Fiscal Studies) have had their say.
Budgets are basically public performance art.
Once or twice a year, the Chancellor gets their big moment in the spotlight: the Spring or Autumn Statement (depending on the level of emergency at the time). It’s the political equivalent of the Great British Bake Off, except instead of trying to balance your Star Bake and not drop it on the way to the judging table, you’re trying to balance public services, taxes, and debt without everything ending up a stodgy mass with a soggy bottom.
Public humiliation lingers around every corner.
Every line of the speech is analysed by political correspondents gazing intently at ultra-high-definition searching for anything that looks like a smirk or tear. If you smile after announcing a fuel duty freeze, it’s “smug.” If you look too serious, it’s “doom-mongering.” And don’t forget the famous pre statement photo with the Red Box (or is it a case) containing the nation’s fiscal future, and probably another brandy, Gaviscon, and some ibuprofen for later.
Economic forecasts are like the weather.
Heavy clouds to start, with bright sunshine to follow. Economists will give you five different forecasts with seven different outcomes – and all of them will be wrong within days.
As Chancellor, you must perfect the art of appearing to have everything under control while secretly typing into ChatGPT “How to stimulate the economy, and raise gazillions in revenue without making everyone angry.”
Perhaps we should just print more money. I remember the old joke about the fraudster talking to his cellmate saying, “This time last year I was making big money… 2 millimetres too big!”
You may be next to the Prime Minister in status terms, but you are also right next door.
I’d imagine you would have to invite them round for coffee, lunch, barbeques and the occasional soiree. You’d also have to warn the kids to please watch what they are doing… don’t kick the ball over the wall, them next door have a very expensive greenhouse. It could cost you your job not forgetting a very expensive replacement greenhouse.
In conclusion.
The Chancellor and their team of advisers create a stream of tax and regulatory change that keeps us pretty busy. Whether it is announcing changes to tax rates, freezing personal allowances, or introducing new taxes it brings us together as a team. We review the announcements, weigh up potential impacts, and then identify individual clients who may be affected. We devise strategies and individual solutions to mitigate any impacts ensuring clients and their families can retain as much of their income or capital as possible, keeping their plans on track.
Remember, as Chancellor you’ll never please everyone, you just might see the economy roar into life – and that’s worth a gold star, a biscuit, maybe even a knighthood or damehood.
Now, if only you could figure out what to do about those ever-increasing Mars bar prices…