Spectator money

I still feel bad about the beggar I ignored years ago. Fear of being mugged while fumbling for money has often kept me walking past beggars. But on that occasion I felt safe since I was with friends. Wimpishly, I took my cue from them. Later we compared notes – we’d all felt a strong urge to give. Some of us never give, others always do, and, some like me, agonise, summoning instinct to make snap decisions, then fretting we’ve made the wrong ones. Lately, I’ve been wondering if I should always walk on by, though reasons to give freely tug at my heartstrings. Contrary to urban myth, those asking

Exceptions aside, Spectator readers are not consumers of luxury for luxury’s sake. They are unassuming keepers of style, guardians of distinction – and firm of belief that any claim to sophistication demands a renunciation of bling. In fact, I can only assume that this is being read by a pious confederacy of cashmere-clad clones. You may recall the early noughties. It was a halcyon age. Everyone was flush with cash and casual credit was king. We were at our most acquisitive and if there was money to be spent, it was invariably on one thing – the obsession of the era, the latest ‘It Bag’. Just thinking about it turns

As lenders’ names go, The Bank of Mum and Dad is rather appealing. There’s instant brand awareness, the prospect of small or non-existent interest rates, and the likelihood that financial negotiations will end with a hug and a few happy tears. I’m a member of this institution. When I moved back up North following 14 years in London, I found the perfect house outside of Manchester. But I couldn’t sell my flat in the capital and was leaking money left, right and centre. A bridging loan was out of the question, as was anything resembling a deposit. So my Dad stepped in, loaned me a sizeable sum, and it all

Financial companies, large and small, are trying to grab a piece of the burgeoning digital advice market. Also known by the unattractive name ‘robo advice’, this uses computers to give low-cost financial advice online with little or no human intervention. It could help the huge numbers of people who need financial advice but do not currently receive it. But digital advice has been strongly criticised recently for having confusing structures and opaque fees. Some also say many digital services are just a cynical attempt by companies to secure money on which they can charge ongoing fees, but are not sophisticated enough to make sure users get the best solution for

Yesterday the UK financial regulator released complaints data for the second half of 2016. While this happens every six months, yesterday was meant to be different. This data was meant to arm consumers with information to make more informed decisions, and ultimately empower people to make the financial world better. Sadly, it turned out to be a lost opportunity. So what did change? As a result of Policy Statement 19/15, the Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) has released more information than ever before. From 30 June 2016 all complaints handled by a regulated firm became reportable (previously it was just complaints dealt with by the close of the next working day). To enable

I’ll never forget the estate agent who tried to flog me my first flat. As I waited on the kerb in North London, he roared up in a Mercedes-Benz convertible, bling glittering from his hands and neck, a belt emblazoned with the word ‘STUD’ and a knuckle tattoo that can’t be shared in a respectable publication. I was new to house-buying but even this struck me as a bit odd. I soon came to learn that a spotty teenager with a souped-up car and a penchant for gold jewellery isn’t that unusual in the estate agent game. Since then, I have dealt with agents who know what they’re doing and conduct

I am an idiot. This is something my recent experience with Amazon has taught me. ‘How come we have Amazon Prime?’ my husband asked from time to time, ‘I get it free,’ I told him. ‘But I don’t want to find out how exactly, you know, in case they notice and start charging me.’ May I refer you back to my original statement. For the avoidance of doubt, one of the world’s biggest companies was not providing me with free benefits out of hidden generosity. As an Amazon Prime member, you are entitled to things like faster deliveries, inclusive movies and Kindle books for £79 a year or £7.99 a month. I used some

I used to like aphorisms. Maybe a little too much. In the good old days, I sought them out on Google – their infinite wisdom reassuring validation for whatever romantic or existential mess I’d gotten myself into. Today, they hold the appeal of a ripe Époisses. Rendered hackneyed and empty by social media. Occasionally, amid the deluge of syrupy cack on my Instagram, I’ll spot a gem. If you want more luck, take more chances. You may play the Euromillions, own Premium Bonds or like me, indulge in the occasional turn of roulette. Unlike me, you probably didn’t disappear on your husband for three hours, before breakfast, inside a Monaco