‘Crypto assets are commodities,’ said my neighbour at dinner. No they’re not, I replied, commodities are natural raw materials that have ultimate real-world uses. Crypto is merely a collection of blips in cyberspace to which adherents choose to attribute value. ‘Just like fiat currencies,’ my neighbour shot back. ‘What’s real about them? Aren’t they just an idea in the mind of central bankers?’

And off we went on a ding-dong debate. A pity the US Securities and Exchange Commission chairman Gary Gensler wasn’t there to offer his theory that bitcoin, crypto’s market leader, is big enough to be a commodity but that lesser imitators are ‘securities’ (that is, investments bought with the expectation of profit from the efforts of their founders and promoters) which should be regulated like shares. Today’s crypto arena, says Gensler, is akin to the 1920s stock market, riddled with hucksters and fraudsters. Hence his launch of charges against Binance and Coinbase, the world’s biggest crypto exchanges, for illegal securities trading.

Enthusiasts say Gensler’s actions will merely drive crypto trade to more welcoming regimes such as Hong Kong and Dubai. But let’s hope the City of London, in its current thrust for new revenue streams, doesn’t yield to the crypto lobby. On this I’m firmly with Harriett Baldwin MP, chair of the Treasury select committee, who said recently: ‘With no intrinsic value, huge price volatility and no discernible social good, consumer trading of crypto… more closely resembles gambling than a financial service.’ In short, neither a commodity nor a security, but an evanescent casino chip.

On the rocks

‘Britain’s post-Brexit policy drift alarms world executives,’ says a Bloomberg article. Its sources call the UK ‘an extraordinarily bureaucratic country’ (private equity veteran Guy Hands) with ‘a stifling commercial environment’ (US pharma giant Eli Lilly & Co) and a ‘scandalous neglect’ of science (James Dyson) as well as being ‘the least attractive shopping destination in Europe’ (Burberry chairman Gerry Murphy) after scrapping VAT-free shopping for tourists.

Meanwhile, a survey by BritishAmerican Business and Bain says confidence in Britain’s business environment among US firms operating here has ‘dropped markedly for a third year in a row’, aggravated by ‘anxieties over political stability, economic growth prospects and corporate tax’.

The Department for Business and Trade responds with blah about the ‘largest ever delegation of Asia Pacific investors’ who are ‘set to pour millions into UK tech’. But be honest: the world now sees our economy as a shipwreck, despite bright spots of talent. How will you change that, Prime Minister, in the time that remains to you? And what would you do differently, Sir Keir?

Double-breasted dog

‘A large puppy in a pinstripe suit’ is a vivid if not quite accurate description of Crispin Odey, the hedge-fund prince who is leaving his own firm following allegations of repeated sexual misconduct towards female staff. The phrase was coined by the Financial Times, whose investigative team – fresh from skewering the CBI – were responsible for the startlingly detailed Odey exposé. An objective reader might think him more of a dog than a puppy, while an expert on the social hierarchy of British suiting might say he’s more the plain-grey double-breasted Old Harrovian than the spivvy stripe of the parvenu. In my one encounter, for what it’s worth, I found him physically imposing and (not without justification, given his £800 million bank balance) hugely pleased with himself.

Nevertheless, we should ask whether media hostility to a Tory donor whose fortune was boosted by betting against the pound and the trajectory of UK government bonds (‘the gifts that keep on giving,’ he called them) has played a part in the way his reputation has been destroyed. Impossible to say, but my only other glimpse of him in the flesh may or may not be telling.

I was lunching at Corrigan’s in Mayfair with a foreign diplomat who likes gossip. In came Odey from his nearby office with a female companion who looked many years his junior, heading for what I’d guess was his regular booth. A little later, without turning to look, I whispered, ‘That’s Crispin Odey behind me, by the way…’ ‘Oh really,’ said my host uneasily. ‘Well he’s certainly very friendly with that young lady.’

My AI replacement

I’m in the Dordogne refreshing my work-life balance and discussing that theme with friends and neighbours. A restaurateur tells me he plans to close his popular bistro for the high tourist season because it’s too exhausting for his small équipe and too much hassle, under French rules, to hire extra temp staff. Our jobbing gardener says he loves his job and it keeps him fit but he’s outraged at Macron’s forced rise in the state pension age from 62 to 64. An American visitor argues that manual workers should be happier than older desk workers, who are rapidly being made redundant by artificial intelligence.

‘Not me,’ I retort. ‘Oh yeah?’ she says. ‘So what are you writing about this week?’ Then she feeds my topic list and one of my old columns into ChatGPT and in seconds it produces a block of prose that sounds uncannily like me, particularly good on ‘the high-stakes game of crypto’ but without jokes or restaurant tips. It’s terrifying but, I’m relieved to find, not infallible: it thinks the leader of the free world is called ‘President Harrison’.

Ah well, while waiting to read a stack of Economic Innovator entries from the AI sector, I’ll make an interim award for real-world hard work, good cooking and entrepreneurial vision to chef Fabrice Lemonnier of La Cantine at Daglan, whose pizza annex now also offers ‘Happy Hour’. One way or another, we’re all going to have lots of those to fill.