“Base Rate, can you pop in and see me please?” It was the boss, the big man, the top dog.
“No problem Mr Carney!” said Base Rate, putting down the dusty phone and smiling to himself.
This is it, thought Base Rate. After seven and a half years of turgid living in the attic at the Bank Of England, at last, a call to arms. He couldn’t deny it had been a difficult time. Once considered the ‘go to’ base rate for Central Banks around the world his future had been assured.
But then, after a blissful holiday with his then partner British Pound, disaster. Global disaster. The world fell off a cliff and his career went with it. Base Rate shuddered as he straightened his tie on the way to see the Governor. He recalled the humiliation and agony he suffered in the autumn of 2008. Day after day he was summoned for a ‘haircut’. So much so that by the March 2009 every time he walked in the pub people shouted out “Hello, here comes Kojak!”
But things were about to change, the last laugh was his, he was back, he was sure of it.
“You wanted to see me, Sir.”
“Take a seat,” said Carney turning as he did so to wink at the Canadian flag. He began to speak. “We appreciate everything you’ve done for us over the past seven years Base Rate.”
“But I haven’t done anything Sir,” Base Rate interjected.
“Exactly!” said Carney. “And you’ve done it very well. But the world moves fast and since Brexit there’s been a change of sentiment. The chaps and I had another meeting and this time we actually did some work. Everyone’s calling for a sacrifice and we’ve decided that its your turn again I’m afraid.”
“But..but…wha…”
“It was unanimous, 9-0. I’m sorry Base Rate.” Carney turned his back and looked out of the window.
Base Rate knew it was hopeless. He walked out, his shoulders slumped. As he did so he looked up to see British Pound waiting to go in after him. Their eyes locked, they hadn’t seen each other since Greece.
“Hello stranger,” said British Pound, slightly embarrassed. Only yesterday she knew there were newspaper pictures of her dining with US Dollar.
“Hullo,” said Base Rate awkwardly as they passed. He hesitated as British Pound entered Carney’s office and he paused to listen at the door.
“Ah, British Pound, take a seat. We appreciate everything you’ve…” Base Rate couldn’t, no, didn’t want to hear any more. He knew all too well what was coming next.
With heavy heart and footsteps, Base Rate went back to the attic. Back to obscurity. He knew, deep down, that he really was only half the man he used to be.
