Ertblog

My maturing endowment

My 25 year mortgage endowment policy matures tomorrow. It's a rite of passage: I've had the policy for more than half my life, and took it out the year I started work.

Inevitably, the policy has fallen short. It was supposed to pay off a £27,000 mortgage. It looks as if it will produce £6,000 less. But I can't claim I was mis-sold the endowment as I sold it to myself when I was working for Nationwide in Newport, Wales.

But I totally understand the outrage people felt about the way the banks and building societies flogged endowments. In 1984, 80% of mortgages were repayment, which meant that the borrower knew they'd have paid off their loan at the end of the term. By 1988, 80% were interest only, backed by an endowment, even though the tax benefits of endowments had disappeared in those four years. The reason? Banks and building societies had realised how much money they could make from flogging endowments.

Back in 1988, I inadvertently told the Daily Telegraph how much Nationwide made from endowment commission. "You won't do that again!" said Nationwide's general manager. I didn't, but felt uneasy about the endowment circus.

PS: 25 years ago, I'd have been amazed by the fact I've written this post on a tablet computer with far more power than my Nationwide Nixdorf computer - let alone the idea I'd then publish it to the world in a taxi!

In praise of the wonderful RAF Museum, London

Above: Owen and the immortal Hawker Hurricane, RAF Museum

Karen was off Christmas shopping yesterday, so Owen and I went to the RAF Museum at Hendon, London.

What a wonderful place. Owen's too young to appreciate the significance of the RAF's role in saving Britain 70 years ago, but he loved the aircraft - and the hands-on gallery that explains the wonder of flight.

He was intrigued by the film about the famous bouncing bomb that the valiant dambuster squadron unleashed against Nazi Germany in 1943. What he doesn't know is that his grandmother regularly saw dambuster leader Guy Gibson in her hometown of Penarth during the war: Gibson's wife came from the seaside town.

Yet I was slightly uncomfortable as we had a snack in sight of the peerless Avro Lancaster bomber. Yes, I share the regret of many that the enormous sacrifice of Bomber Command crews was brushed under the carpet after peace came in 1945. (Back in 1942, the nation was grateful that the RAF was alone in taking the fight to Nazi Germany. Three years later, the politicians were more queazy about the resultant death and destruction.) But as we sat underneath the gun turret, I knew that I'd want Owen to understand that war is something to avoid rather than glorify.

Here's my video of our day at the RAF Museum.

 

 

At last: free parking in Chalfont St Giles

Back in 2008, I blogged about the threat to village shops in Chalfont St Giles from Chiltern District Council's car parking charges. The council dropped plans to charge for on-street parking - the reason for the blogpost. But it still charges an extortionate 60p for anyone using Blizzards Yard car park for a few minutes while they pick up a newspaper or pint of milk. 

Sense has finally prevailed. The Buckinghamshire Advertiser reports that the council is introducing an hour's free parking, matching the very successful arrangement in neighbouring Chalfont St Peter. But it appears that no thanks are due to Chiltern Coumcil - it's the parish council and Chalfonts Local Area Forum who have stumped up the cash to end Chiltern Council's drive to get everyone to shop at Tesco. 

It's great news, as it encourages people to use village shops and the brilliant local deli rather than go to Tesco in nearby Amersham. And it also means that people have no excuse to park illegally to avoid the punitive parking charges. 

Poppy day pride - and prejudice

Above: my father and uncle in uniform during the second world war

I wore my poppy with pride today, as Britain marked Remembrance Day. 

On Friday, the 93rd anniversary of Armistice Day (11.11.11), I left my office in Richmond to walk to the Poppy Factory, the place where remembrance poppies are made for people in Britain and many other Commonwealth countries. The modern entrance stood in stark contrast to the original building, built soon after the end of the Great War.

Above: Richmond's Poppy Factory

The last veterans of the Great War have passed away in recent years. Yet there are still some very old people alive who lost a father in that terrible conflict. The Guardian yesterday interviewed several, in a very moving feature. As Donald Overall, 98, said, "I'm an old man, I am supposed to be tough. I thought I was hard but I'm not. He's my dad and I miss him." The killing fields of Flanders exert a powerful emotional pull down the years. 

My grandmother (born 1891) and her siblings lived through terrible times. The two world wars left millions dead and injured, while economic depression and recession blighted many other lives. How lucky we are by contrast. 

The poppy appeal is a simple call to commemorate the dead of the great and small wars alike, while helping today's veterans. Yet my father, Bob Skinner, who served in the army during the second world war, is uneasy at the way this quiet tradition is becoming a compulsory exercise in sentimentality. He asks whether BBC newsreaders would be allowed to go on screen without a poppy. Political correctness has taken over. Bob hasn't worn a poppy for several years. 

I'm also uneasy. I was appalled by the undignified argument between England's Football Association and FIFA over whether players could wear a poppy on their shirts during a game. FIFA's view that it was a political symbol was as crass as the FA's totally inappropriate aggressive stance. It's significant that these arguments are raging now, over 70 years after the end of the second world war, and not in the immediate aftermath of those great wars. This is the era of Daily Mail intolerance of alternative opinions - especially ones that are critical of the military. Back in 1921, when the first poppy appeal took place, no one would think to glorify war. The object was to mourn, to commemorate and to help survivors. Almost a century later, Britain is much less likely to criticise its warriors, their leaders or the decision to send them to war. As a result, we've been involved in wars that have nothing to do with us for well over a decade. 

 

 

Life online: my 15 years on the internet

Fifteen years ago this weekend, I got onto the internet for the first time. Life has never been the same since.

Back in November 1996, life online was a revelation, despite the tardy 56k modem connection. My browser was Netscape, my search engine Altavista (I liked the name - it sounded like an appealing brand of coffee). I went online on my first PC, an Intel 486 based machine I bought in November 1994 from a long-forgotten company called Escom from its shop in Cheltenham.

I was used to company email: I was emailing within Nationwide Building Society in 1987, sending daily summaries of news coverage. But being online to the world was different. I loved, and love, the serendipity of the web: finding out about everything and anything almost instantly. Within months I'd found out from the BBC website who had become my MP in the 1997 general election. I followed progress of Ireland's historic Good Friday agreement online. And I dated the cricket bat my grandfather gave my dad in the 1930s from information we found on an Indian cricket website. Two years later, I got onto the web and external email at work at Eagle Star insurance. 

A decade and a half later, I have the internet in my pocket. I can shop, pay and enquire anytime and (almost) anywhere. I can find my way around London with an app on my phone. I follow with great interest the lives of my old school friends - even those I've not seen since 1982. I share my thoughts with the world on this blog - and Twitter. I share videos on YouTube. 

Life online is a joy - up to a point. My only concern is that our attention span is shortening. The constant stream of emails, Facebook and Twitter makes us twitchy. When we attend a lecture, many of us are more likely to be tweeting quotes than paying proper attention. (Something that I noted ironically at yesterday's excellent Institute for Government and Fishburn Hedges Media & Government debate about the respective influence of the media and social media.) We're rushing to judgement and comment, rather than reflecting on things.

But I strongly believe the online benefits outweigh the disadvantages. The internet has been a good thing. It has shared influence and power. It slightly redresses the balance of power in society - newspaper owners, politicians and big business have a little less influence over the rest of us. And we've barely begun - just wait another few years, and we'll see the huge benefits of the mobile revolution.

My first steps online were in a very different world. Back in 1996. John Major's dysfunctional government was tottering from one crisis to another. Tony Blair was a fresh faced leader who captured the imagination of the country. Major had started the disastrous denationalisation of Britain's railways. The Spice Girls dominated the charts, along with Oasis and the Fugees. The IRA ended a ceasefire, with bombings that devastated London docklands and Manchester. The country mourned the victims of the massacre at Dunblane school in Scotland. And the inventor of the jet engine Frank Whittle died aged 89. I imagine Frank Whiittle would be excited by the online revolution, which has had an even greater impact on the world than the jet age.  

PS: Apologies for using the terms internet and web interchangeably in this post. I do know the difference...