Money is a mirror. When we are happy, it dances, sings and races round the world. When we are frightened, it flees, trembling, seeking a place to hide. When we are sad, it sinks into dark, melancholy pools of mistrust. We are, according to Stephen D King, now sad and money lies inert, indolent.
Those who once gazed most confidently in the mirror of money, the middle classes, dare not look. Their pensions have shrunk; their children cannot afford a home; their hard work, their talents and their qualifications earn them next to nothing compared to the City shysters, while their small businesses pay taxes that are gleefully evaded by foreign multinationals. They are, according to David Boyle, dying.