A group of some of Britain’s best-known cultural figures has launched a new multi-million-pound investment platform aimed at backing early-stage businesses, positioning itself as a modern, creator-led alternative to traditional angel investing.

The initiative, called The Artists Collective, brings together high-profile names including Maya Jama, Jack Whitehall, Roman Kemp, Daniel Kaluuya and Tom Grennan, who will invest their own capital into promising UK and European start-ups.

The collective has been quietly backing businesses for several months and has already invested in around 20 early-stage technology companies, with individual deals typically ranging from £50,000 to £300,000.

Unlike traditional pitch-led TV formats such as Dragons’ Den, the model focuses on long-term collaboration rather than one-off publicity. Founders gain not only funding but access to the artists’ commercial networks, audiences and brand-building expertise, assets increasingly valued by consumer-facing and digital-first businesses.

The Artists Collective was established by brothers Fergus Bell and Ruari Bell, founders of The Players Fund, which has built a reputation for working with elite athletes as angel investors.

Ruari Bell, managing partner at The Artists Collective, said the aim was to give artists a structured way to invest responsibly and founders access to support that goes beyond capital.

“Artists want a trusted home to invest together, learn together and support founders where it actually counts,” he said. “We’re pairing capital with targeted support that drives tangible results, rather than short-term promotional noise.”

The collective invests at Seed and Series A stage, with a focus on AI, B2B software, cybersecurity, fintech, healthtech and media businesses. While the primary focus is on the UK and Europe, the group has already co-invested alongside major global venture firms including Andreessen Horowitz, Accel, SV Angel and Seedcamp.

Investments are made through the artists’ personal portfolios, with fund administration and due diligence handled by The Players Fund team.

Participating artists are expected to support portfolio companies through introductions, partnerships and commercial opportunities, particularly in marketing, distribution and brand strategy, areas where traditional investors may have limited reach.

The launch mirrors a wider trend seen in the US, where sports and entertainment figures such as Serena Williams and LeBron James have built substantial investment portfolios by backing start-ups early and leveraging their personal brands to accelerate growth.

For UK founders, the rise of artist-led capital reflects changing dynamics in venture funding, where distribution, cultural relevance and audience access are increasingly as valuable as balance-sheet strength.

While comparisons to Dragons’ Den are inevitable, insiders stress that The Artists Collective is designed as a professional investment platform rather than an entertainment product, albeit one that is well placed to harness platforms such as TikTok to surface new entrepreneurial talent.

As traditional funding routes remain tight for early-stage businesses, particularly outside London, initiatives like this could play a growing role in shaping the next generation of UK scale-ups.

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Celebrities launch TikTok-era investment collective to back next generation of founders

For a while now, net zero has been treated as someone else’s concern. A corporate issue. A boardroom problem. Something for listed companies with sustainability teams, glossy ESG reports and the time, and money, to worry about long-term targets.

For sole traders, freelancers and self-employed founders, it has often felt safely distant. Something to watch from the sidelines while getting on with the real business of earning a living.

That distance is shrinking fast.

As 2025 draws to a close, there are growing signs that parts of UK business are quietly retreating from their climate commitments. Targets are being pushed back. Language is being softened. Pledges that once felt non-negotiable are suddenly being framed as “aspirational”. The pressure of high costs, political uncertainty and fragile growth is taking its toll.

But if larger companies easing off net zero is worrying, for sole traders it should be a flashing warning light.

Because when the tide goes out, it’s the smallest businesses that feel it first.

Why “i’m too small to matter” no longer holds

For years, many sole traders have assumed sustainability was optional. No shareholders to answer to. No annual report. No scrutiny beyond clients and HMRC.

That assumption is now outdated.

More and more organisations,  particularly larger businesses, are being asked to account for the environmental impact of their entire supply chain. Not just what they manufacture or sell, but who they work with, who they hire and how those partners operate.

That includes freelancers, consultants, contractors, creatives and tradespeople.

Carbon awareness is fast becoming part of basic commercial hygiene, alongside insurance, data protection and financial compliance. It doesn’t require perfection, but it does require intent. If you can’t demonstrate that you’re at least making an effort to reduce your footprint, someone else will, and they’ll be easier to justify to procurement teams, compliance departments and risk committees.

In other words, sustainability is becoming part of employability.

The pressure is real – but so is the risk of retreat

It’s easy to see why some sole traders feel tempted to step back. Energy bills remain volatile. Clients are watching costs closely. Margins are thin. When you’re running a business alone, juggling tax, admin, sales and delivery, climate commitments can feel like an extra burden you didn’t sign up for.

But abandoning carbon neutrality in 2026 wouldn’t be an act of realism. It would be a strategic misstep.

Net zero isn’t a trend that peaked and faded. It’s a structural shift driven by economics as much as policy. Energy markets are changing. Finance is repricing risk. Customers are making choices based on values as well as price. None of that reverses simply because the headlines move on.

Waiting for “certainty” before acting is a familiar trap, and a costly one. It’s like waiting for the perfect moment to start saving for retirement. By the time it arrives, you’re already behind.

Net zero, for sole traders, was never about grand gestures

One of the reasons sustainability feels intimidating is the assumption that it demands dramatic, expensive change: electric vehicles overnight, solar panels on every roof, complex audits and endless paperwork.

In reality, for most sole traders, net zero has always been about direction rather than transformation.

It’s about being thoughtful with energy use. Choosing renewable tariffs where possible. Reducing unnecessary travel. Working digitally rather than printing by default. Being mindful about suppliers, waste and efficiency. Offsetting what genuinely can’t be avoided.

These aren’t headline-grabbing moves. They’re the kind of incremental decisions sole traders make all the time to stay competitive.

And often, they make financial sense. Energy efficiency lowers bills. Fewer journeys save time and money. Leaner operations reduce waste. Sustainability, approached sensibly, tends to align neatly with being well-run and resilient.

When you are the brand, reputation is everything

For sole traders, reputation isn’t an abstract concept. It’s personal.

Clients don’t just buy your services; they buy you, your judgement, your reliability, your values. Quietly walking away from climate commitments sends a signal of short-term thinking at exactly the moment clients are looking for reassurance and stability.

By contrast, being able to say, calmly and without fanfare, “I run my business responsibly” builds trust. It differentiates you in crowded markets. And it reassures clients who are themselves under pressure to demonstrate progress.

This isn’t virtue signalling. It’s risk management.

Holding your nerve doesn’t mean doing everything

Sticking with net zero in 2026 doesn’t require radical overhaul. It requires honesty, proportion and consistency.

It means understanding your footprint, taking reasonable steps to reduce it, communicating clearly with clients, and resisting the temptation to quietly drop commitments when times get tough.

Most of all, it means rejecting the idea that sustainability is something you’ll “come back to later”. Later has a habit of never arriving.

If 2025 has shown signs of retreat, 2026 should be the year sole traders do the opposite, not because it’s fashionable, but because it’s commercially sensible.

Net zero isn’t a corporate badge of honour. It’s a signal that you understand risk, opportunity and the direction of travel.

For businesses that aren’t limited, don’t have buffers, and can’t afford reputational missteps, that understanding may be one of the most valuable assets you own.

Holding your nerve now isn’t idealism.

It’s good business.

Read more:
Net zero isn’t just for big business – why sole traders must hold their nerve in 2026

If you ran a micro‑business in 2025, a sole trader or an embryonic start‑up, you probably spent the year feeling as if you were cycling up Box Hill with a sack of bricks strapped to your back.

Taxes rose, prices rose, confidence faltered, and yet there were also glimpses of opportunity in artificial intelligence, renewable power and a mercifully calmer labour market. It was a year that made you say “wow”, though not always for the right reasons.

The big issue was the tax burden. Rachel Reeves’s autumn Budget from 2024 continued to reverberate. The British Chambers of Commerce found that by December 63 % of firms were worried about taxes, and only 49 % expected their turnover to increase. Employer National Insurance contributions went up and have hit small firms disproportionately because they cannot spread costs across large payrolls.

Many entrepreneurs shelved hiring plans and froze investment; the BCC predicts that the economy will grow by only 1.2 % in 2026. Even those focusing on exports faced headwinds: 62 % of exporters to the United States expected Donald Trump’s proposed tariffs to hurt them, and over 54 % of exporters still struggled with EU trading rules.

At the macro level the economy limped along. The Office for National Statistics reported that GDP grew just 0.1 % in the third quarter, with production actually shrinking. Real household disposable income fell 0.8 % and the saving ratio dropped to 9.5, hardly a climate conducive to small business sales. Inflation did ease; the Bank of England noted CPI inflation at 3.2 % in November and cut the Bank rate to 3.75 %, with expectations that it will fall towards 3 % in early 2026. But the bank also warned that GDP growth was stalling and forecast zero growth in the last quarter of 2025.

For sole traders, the cost of labour remained a pressing concern. The ONS’s Business Insights and Conditions Survey showed that 30 % of trading businesses planned to raise prices in January 2026 because of higher labour costs, and a third cited economic uncertainty as the primary challenge. As a hairdresser, café owner or freelance designer you may have considered raising your prices or cutting hours simply to stay afloat.

There were also some very visible casualties among larger SME peers. The high street continued its slow collapse: Bodycare closed all 147 stores, making 1,500 staff redundant; Amazon Fresh shut its 19 till‑free supermarkets; Beales, Beaverbrooks, Claire’s and New Look all downsized or entered administration. Forbes Burton estimated that more than 120,000 jobs were affected by business closures. If you depended on footfall from a local shopping centre, those closures hurt.

Yet 2025 wasn’t all doom. Small businesses in the green and digital sectors enjoyed remarkable tailwinds. Britain’s wind turbines generated a record 23,825 MW in early December, supplying nearly half of the country’s electricity. Solar output broke records, with 14 GW on the grid in July and total generation up 32 % in the first half of 2025.

For electricians fitting solar panels, consultants specialising in ESG reporting or start‑ups developing energy‑efficiency software, this boom created an expanding market. On the export front the UK’s defence industry sold more than £20 billion of kit, including frigates for Norway and Typhoon jets for Turkey. That brought supply‑chain opportunities to small manufacturers and sub‑contractors.

Artificial intelligence was perhaps the single most talked‑about opportunity. A survey by the BCC and Intuit found that 35 % of SMEs were using AI in 2025, up from 25 % the year before. Another 24 % planned to adopt it; only a third had no plans.

B2B services were leading the way, with 46 % adoption, while just 26 % of manufacturing SMEs used AI Most used AI for content creation or administrative work – generating social media posts, invoices or proposals.

Tools like OpenAI’s ChatGPT and image generators allowed sole traders to operate with the marketing reach of a larger firm, as long as they invested time in learning them. Tech heavyweights noticed: Nvidia promised £500 million to build NScale, a cloud platform that will deliver 120,000 GPUs in the UK, roughly 100 times the computing power of our current fastest supercomputer. Synthesia raised £146 million and Oracle pledged £3.9 billion. All of this points to cheaper, faster AI services in the years ahead.

Business groups do warn that the external environment will remain tough in 2026. The CBI upgraded its GDP growth projection to 1.3 % but said that the improvement is largely due to short‑term government spending. It noted persistent weakness in private demand and predicted that business investment would remain subdued. Rising labour and energy costs and a complex tax system continue to strangle growth. The Guardian reported that the CBI’s private‑sector growth indicator fell to −30 %, signalling a downturn across all sectors. Job vacancies shrank for a fifth straight month. Meanwhile, the strike wave that began in 2022 continued to disrupt supply chains. NHS doctors planned another walkout, universities were striking over pay, and rail workers threatened a national strike. For a sole trader reliant on trains to deliver goods or on childcare services to free up your workday, these disruptions are more than a headline; they’re a day’s trading lost.

On the brighter side there are some reasons for optimism. The OECD believes growth will pick up slightly to 1.2 % in 2026 and that inflation will fall to 2.5 %. The Halifax predicts house prices will rise by 1–3 % next year, which could encourage homeowners to loosen their purse strings. The government’s Budget included a £150 reduction in household energy bills from April 2026 by shifting some renewable obligations onto the Treasury. Combined with falling mortgage rates, that could lift consumer spending a little. A December Purchasing Managers’ Index reached 52.1, indicating the strongest growth in new service‑sector business in over a year. Productivity rose 1 % in the first half of 2025, and some analysts think AI adoption is finally nudging British firms to invest in efficiency.

If you are running a small business in 2026, what should you do? First, embrace digital tools. Free or low‑cost AI platforms can help with marketing, customer service and even product design. Second, keep an eye on energy costs, solar panels or energy‑efficiency upgrades may qualify for subsidies and cut your bills in the long run. Third, watch for government support: the SME Digital Adoption Taskforce has been advocating for funding and training, and the Warm Home Discount has been expanded. Fourth, build resilience into your operations. Industrial disputes and supply‑chain disruptions are becoming structural; flexible working arrangements and diversified suppliers will reduce your vulnerability. Finally, remember that behind the gloom there is a long‑term shift towards a greener, more digital British economy. If you can survive the bumps in the road, the occasional “wow” moments, there is real scope for small, agile firms to thrive.

Read more:
“Wow” – what a year for British small businesses

It’s a curious thing, this sense of waiting for a Budget. For most, it’s an exercise in mild anxiety – a check to see whether wine duty is up again or whether you can still afford to fill the tank. But for business owners in London right now, the wait for Rachel Reeves’ first full Budget on 26 November feels less like a nervous twitch and more like a death row countdown.

Charlie Gilkes, who co-founded Inception Group and runs some of London’s most imaginative bars – Mr Fogg’s, Bunga Bunga, the kind of places where post-pandemic optimism briefly came alive again – summed it up with alarming accuracy: “It feels like waiting on death row, waiting until the very last moment to let us know whether she will grant a stay of execution.”

And you can see his point. Reeves’ Budget, which has been rescheduled, delayed, and wrapped in more mystery than a Bond villain’s plot, is arriving under the kind of cloud that usually means someone’s about to pay – and it’ll probably be London.

For weeks now, the rumours have been circulating through Westminster corridors like wasps around a picnic: a wealth tax here, a mansion tax there, a shake-up of partnerships, a business rates “super multiplier”. Each idea lands like another nail being gently tapped into the coffin of the capital’s competitiveness.

The problem is not that the government wants to raise money – everyone knows the country’s finances look like a student overdraft in week one of term. The problem is who they’re going to shake down to do it. Because when politicians say “we all need to contribute,” what they often mean is “London can pay.”

Let’s put this in perspective. London generates £618 billion a year in GDP – roughly 22 per cent of the UK total. Add the South East, and you’re close to half. The capital and its surrounds contribute nearly 30 per cent of all income tax and more than 30 per cent of business rates. It’s the engine room of the UK economy, the bit that keeps the lights on while politicians from every party take turns kicking it in the shins.

And yet, Reeves’ team seem ready to push through reforms that will disproportionately batter the capital’s businesses. The “super multiplier” for properties with rateable values over £500,000 – a neat way of saying “we’ll tax your London office more because it looks expensive” – could mean rates as high as 58p in the pound.

To call that punitive would be an understatement. It’s an electric shock to every business with a W1 postcode. It doesn’t matter that these companies are already shelling out eye-watering sums for rent, staffing and utilities – the Treasury still wants its slice, preferably before the till opens.

David Jones of Avison Young pointed out the obvious but crucial truth: business rates are a direct overhead. They don’t come out of profit; they come out of existence. You pay them whether you’re making money or not. It’s the fiscal equivalent of being asked to chip in for your own executioner’s new axe.

And then there’s the wealth tax carousel. Reeves’ team is said to be looking at removing the capital gains exemption on homes worth more than £1.5 million. That might sound like it targets the super-rich, but in London that’s not a mansion – it’s a family home with a kitchen extension and a decent postcode. Roughly 11 per cent of London properties sit above that threshold, compared to 2 per cent elsewhere.

James Evans of Douglas & Gordon hit the nail on the head: “In many neighbourhoods, £1.5 million is far from a mansion.” Quite. It’s a three-bed terrace in Clapham with peeling paintwork and a leaking skylight. If that’s “wealth,” then Britain’s definition of luxury needs a serious reality check.

Add to that the possible 1 per cent annual levy on homes over £2 million, and you’ve got a policy cocktail that would make even Mr Fogg wince. These aren’t just taxes; they’re deterrents – neon signs flashing “London: Closed for Business” to anyone thinking of investing, relocating, or even staying put.

And let’s not forget the white-collar crowd. Reeves is reportedly eyeing changes to how partnership income is taxed, which could hit the capital’s law firms and consultancies squarely in the solar plexus. Partners who earn seven figures might not be your first sympathy vote, but when they leave – and they will leave, because Dubai, New York and Singapore all smile more kindly on their tax codes – the ripple effect will hit everything from sandwich shops to spin studios.

Charlie Gilkes isn’t just speaking for himself. He’s speaking for a city that’s been through hell these past few years – from lockdowns that gutted hospitality to staffing crises, inflation, rent hikes and endless policy tinkering. What London needs is stability, predictability, a sense that the rules won’t be rewritten every six months. What it’s getting instead is a Treasury that seems to view its success as a problem to be solved.

It’s a funny kind of masochism that defines our politics: punish the productive, milk the metropolitan, and then act surprised when the rest of the country runs dry.

London doesn’t want special treatment. It just wants recognition that when you squeeze the capital, the whole of Britain feels the pressure. The trains built in Derby, the fabrics woven in Huddersfield, the wine poured in Soho – they’re all part of the same chain. Cut off the top, and the bottom collapses.

So yes, as Reeves sharpens her red pen and business owners sit counting the days until the 26th, it does feel like waiting on death row. But perhaps, just perhaps, the Chancellor will look up at the gallows, take a deep breath, and decide that execution isn’t quite the growth strategy Britain needs right now.

Until then, we wait – strapped in, chin up, praying for a last-minute reprieve.

Read more:
Waiting on Reeves: London entrepreneurs face the gallows

Television dramas have long had a fascination with the legal world. From Rumpole of the Bailey and Kavanagh QC to Silk, The Split, and perhaps most memorably This Life, the profession is often portrayed as a chaotic cocktail of high-stakes cases, late nights, tortured personal relationships, and constant ethical dilemmas.

These portrayals capture the emotional intensity that legal work can bring, but they also create myths. The truth is often more grounded and, importantly for new lawyers and business leaders alike, more sustainable.

This Life and the Truth About Starting Out

Of all the legal dramas, This Life made one of the deepest cultural impressions, particularly on a generation of lawyers entering the profession. First aired in the mid-1990s, the series followed five young solicitors starting their careers while navigating messy relationships, self-doubt, and ambition.

What it got right was the emotional uncertainty that can accompany those early years: the pressure to learn quickly, adapt fast, and prove yourself. But it also portrayed a version of law that was relentless and all-consuming, which doesn’t have to be the case.

Many regional law firms today offer a more measured introduction. Junior lawyers are supported with manageable caseloads, mentoring, and time to grow. It’s possible to start your legal career with balance, not burnout.

My Legal Journey — and the Choice to Work Differently

I grew up in the Cotswolds and trained at BPP Law School in London before qualifying at a London firm. While the experience gave me a strong technical grounding, I realised early on that I wanted a career with more balance. One that wouldn’t demand I sacrifice wellbeing or family life.

I later joined Goughs, a regional firm where I could work on complex legal matters while living in the countryside and raising a family. Over time, I’ve progressed to Partner level, focused on private wealth and estate planning. Work that’s intellectually challenging, commercially significant, and invariably emotionally sensitive.

That level of progression simply wouldn’t have been possible in a large City firm. In many big practices, hierarchy can be rigid, and client access is heavily restricted in the early years. Instead, I was trusted early on with complex matters, encouraged to develop commercial instincts, and supported by senior colleagues who genuinely invested in my growth. It accelerated both my experience and my confidence — not exhaustion.

My work focuses on complex wills, wealth preservation, tax mitigation, estate planning, and agricultural estate matters, often advising high-net-worth individuals on intricate, multi-generational issues. This is serious legal work, with national significance, often encountering emotional weight. Many of the clients I work with have long-standing relationships with the firm, in some cases spanning generations. Families and businesses return to seek advice across many areas of law, from land and property to succession planning, family arrangements, and trusts. That kind of continuity reflects trust and the importance of getting it right over time.

A Career Built for Balance

Where you choose to work shapes more than just your career — it influences your wellbeing, your values, and your long-term resilience. I work hard, but not at the expense of what matters most. I have time with my young children, time outdoors in a natural, healthy environment, and space to decompress and reflect.

This lifestyle brings clarity, energy, and perspective, the opposite of the stress and fragmentation that often comes with city living. It’s a life I’ve chosen intentionally, and one that Goughs has supported every step of the way.

The Role of Meditation in Professional Resilience

Meditation is another essential tenet of my daily life, and one that I believe plays a powerful role in long-term professional resilience. I practise Transcendental Meditation (TM), a method developed by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and more recently championed by film director David Lynch.

Each day, I rise at 5am and begin with Wim Hof breathing exercises, followed by 20 minutes of TM. I repeat the practice again in the evening, creating two points of stillness and clarity within otherwise busy days. In TM, a mantra is used to maintain focus and presence during meditation. This practice fills me with calmness, confidence, and self-assurance, qualities that are vital in legal work, especially when navigating emotionally charged or high-value matters.

I was introduced to TM by my father-in-law, a very senior business leader who attributes much of his success to the discipline and clarity meditation brought him. It’s a practice that I believe has immense potential within the professional world. TM trainers offer corporate programmes, and I think workplaces should consider meditation not as a ‘wellness perk’ but as a strategic investment in performance and resilience.

Lessons for Business Leaders: Managing Pressure Without Sacrificing People

The pressures commonly associated with the legal profession—such as long hours, high expectations, and complex client dynamics—are not unique to our sector. Many business leaders will recognise the same stress points in their own teams.

Three patterns in particular that stand out and need to be mitigated are:

• Burnout: Professionals juggling deadlines, client demands, and performance metrics often push too far, for too long.
• Perfectionism: The need for precision, particularly in regulated sectors, can create a culture of anxiety and overworking.
• Imposter Syndrome: Even high-performing individuals can struggle with self-doubt, a silent but potent source of stress.

These issues aren’t inevitable. They can be designed to be prevented with the right culture and leadership.

What Healthy Culture Looks Like

In my experience, people thrive when mental health is taken seriously, not as an add-on, but as a core part of how the organisation functions. That means having systems, support, and leadership that recognises people as people, not just productivity units.

When wellbeing is embedded, not performative, it builds trust. That trust shows up in better retention, stronger teams, and more open conversations.

What the Modern Law Firm Can Teach Every Business

Whether you’re running a legal team, a creative agency, or a tech startup, the modern workplace requires smarter leadership. Here are four takeaways from how the legal profession is evolving:

• Prioritise structure and culture over optics
  Don’t be fooled by appearances — the slickest offices or biggest names don’t always deliver the best outcomes, for staff or clients. Sustainable performance comes from clarity, fairness, and internal trust.
• Normalise mental health conversations
  Don’t wait for a crisis. Invest in systems, people, and leadership practices that keep wellbeing on the radar every day. Cultural change starts with consistent visibility, not one-off gestures.
• Reward people based on impact, not hours
  Clients don’t care how long someone sat at their desk; they care whether their problem was solved. Smart leaders measure outcomes, not presenteeism.
• Encourage autonomy
  People do their best work when trusted to shape their careers and manage their own balance. The most resilient professionals aren’t micromanaged; they’re supported and empowered.

Advice to New Lawyers or Anyone Starting Out or Again

Whether you’re qualifying into law, changing sectors, starting a new business, or just beginning your career, remember: your environment matters.

Look for a workplace or make sure to develop a workplace that:

• Supports your development through structure and mentorship
• Values wellbeing alongside performance
• Encourages balance rather than celebrating burnout
• Invests in you as a whole person, not just your hours

You don’t have to replicate This Life’s chaos to succeed in law, or any profession.

Phillip Bolton is a Partner at Goughs Solicitors, Head of the Private Wealth Team, Deputy Head of the Private Client Department, and leads the firm’s Corsham office. He is a Legal 500–recommended lawyer with a focus on complex wealth, estate, and tax planning for high-net-worth individuals and family businesses.

Read more:
From This Life to The Split: rethinking the lawyer’s life – beyond courtroom portrayals

It’s not often you see a supermarket make national news for not letting someone work for free. Usually the outrage runs in the other direction—“greedy corporations exploiting unpaid labour” and so on.

But today’s piece in The Telegraph about Waitrose and Tom Boyd, a 27-year-old man with severe autism, has managed to flip that script entirely. And in doing so, it has revealed something rather telling about the way big companies like to wrap themselves in the language of “inclusion” while quietly stripping the humanity out of it.

Tom, by all accounts, was a model volunteer. For four years, nine hours a week, he stacked shelves at the Cheadle Hulme branch. He turned up on time, was loved by staff, and—most importantly—he belonged. His mum, Frances, says he’d given more than six hundred hours of his life to that store. That’s not a “trial shift” or a “placement”. That’s a commitment longer than most marriages. And then, the moment she dared ask if he could be paid, Waitrose said no, and shut the whole thing down.

Now, if you’ve ever dealt with a big corporate HR department, you can almost hear the cogs whirring. Alarm bells, legal risk, safeguarding, health and safety. Someone in Bracknell probably got a “risk alert” email saying “URGENT: volunteer exceeding hours threshold, potential classification as employee.” So they did what corporates always do when confronted with something messy, human and potentially emotional: they pulled the plug.

This, I think, is what people mean when they talk about “the system”. It’s not some faceless cabal—it’s a spreadsheet somewhere, with a column that says “non-employees doing employee work = bad optics.” It’s the reflexive desire to tidy away anything that doesn’t fit the model. And in doing so, they managed to break the heart of a man who, according to his mother, only ever wanted to contribute—to belong.

Waitrose insists it’s investigating. They issue the usual boilerplate: “We work hard to be an inclusive employer… we partner with charities… we make reasonable adjustments…” All very fine. But if you need a PR statement to convince people you’re kind, you’ve already lost.

A Question of Value

The uncomfortable truth is that Tom Boyd was doing exactly what the supermarket assistant job description says: keeping the shelves full, products in the right place, the aisles tidy. The difference is that he wasn’t getting £12.40 an hour for it. He wasn’t even asking for that—his family said they’d accept two hours a week of paid work. Just something. Recognition. A sense that his contribution mattered.

But Waitrose couldn’t find room for that in the model. Apparently, you can sell “Essential Waitrose” beans at £1.20 but can’t accommodate an autistic man who’s been giving you free labour for years.

The irony is painful. In an age where every corporate press release bangs on about diversity, equity and inclusion, here’s a man who lived the spirit of inclusion far more genuinely than any policy ever could. He didn’t need a “neurodiversity awareness” training session; he needed a job. And the company, instead of seeing an opportunity to make good on its lofty slogans, treated him like a potential liability.

Waitrose isn’t uniquely wicked here. This is modern corporate Britain all over: risk-averse, image-obsessed, allergic to emotion. Somewhere along the way, kindness got corporatised. It’s been turned into a metric, a compliance box. “Inclusion” is a PowerPoint slide. “Compassion” is a campaign hashtag. And when an actual human being like Tom comes along—real, awkward, imperfect—they don’t know what to do with him.

So they hide behind “process”. They quote “policy”. And they convince themselves that they’re doing the right thing because the equality legislation file says so. The result? A man who once found purpose in stacking tins of tomatoes now sits at home, bewildered, while the store he loved continues to peddle organic quinoa and ethical olive oil under the banner of good living.

It didn’t have to be like this. Imagine the alternative headline: “Waitrose creates first supported employment role for man with autism.” Imagine the PR gold. The viral posts. The outpouring of goodwill. A small, practical act of inclusion, instead of the cold bureaucratic one we got.

I used to be associated with the UK’s first new-build dedicated school for children and young adults on the Autism spectrum, so I speak with experience when I say that there was a dozen different ways that Waitrose could have handled this and the way that they have just does not hold a candle to their so-called John Lewis Partnership, ‘partner’ benefits, which does include such things as paid parental leave and support for working families.

They could have given Tom a badge. A payslip. A Christmas card signed by the team. They could have said: “Tom, you’re one of us.” Instead, they told his mum the store was being “cleaned” so he wouldn’t be upset when they sent him away. The cruelty of that euphemism—“cleaned”—is almost Dickensian. It’s the kind of lie you tell a child about a dead pet.

This story touches something deeper than corporate policy. It’s about the meaning of work itself. For many of us, a job isn’t just about money. It’s about structure, community, identity. For someone like Tom, that’s magnified a hundredfold. The act of showing up, being useful, being part of something—that’s dignity. And we’ve built a world where that sort of quiet dignity has no line on the balance sheet.

Frances Boyd’s heartbreak is palpable not because her son was denied pay, but because he was denied belonging. She knows that his “limited language” doesn’t mean limited feeling. She knows how much it mattered to him to have colleagues, a uniform, a role. And she knows that behind the green aprons and organic lemons, there’s a company that forgot what kindness looks like when it isn’t printed on a marketing brochure.

I don’t think Waitrose meant harm. That’s the saddest part. They thought they were doing the “proper thing.” The compliant thing. But doing the proper thing isn’t always doing the right thing. Sometimes decency requires bending a rule, writing a small cheque, taking a risk.

They told The Telegraph: “We are sorry to hear of Tom’s story, and whilst we cannot comment on individual cases, we are investigating as a priority.”

Tom Boyd’s story is a reminder that business isn’t about policies—it’s about people. It’s about the small acts that don’t make the quarterly report but define a company’s soul. Waitrose, for all its premium polish and “inclusive employer” copywriting, has shown us what happens when compassion meets compliance—and compliance wins.

If this is what “doing the right thing” looks like in 2025, maybe we all need to ask whether the moral till’s coming up short.

Read more:
Waitrose’s kindness gap: how a supermarket lost its humanity

Former Deputy Prime Minister Sir Nick Clegg has warned that the current wave of valuations across the artificial intelligence sector is “crackers”, arguing that many AI businesses have yet to demonstrate viable paths to profitability despite the billions pouring into machine learning.

Speaking at The Times Tech Summit, Clegg said that even the world’s leading AI firms — including so-called “hyperscalers” developing large-scale models — are struggling to show how their capital expenditure will translate into sustainable returns.

“I think there’s certainly a correction coming in valuations,” he said. “These valuations do seem pretty crackers. I don’t see any business model yet, even of the leading AI hyperscalers, that can recoup that capital expenditure. Some of the AI labs that don’t have a particularly good business model will be very exposed in a market correction.”

Clegg’s comments add to growing concerns from economists and regulators that the AI boom may be inflating a bubble similar to the dotcom era. The International Monetary Fund’s chief economist recently drew parallels to the early 2000s internet crash, which wiped $5 trillion from markets, while the Bank of England has cautioned against a potential “sudden correction” in AI-related valuations.

Investors have poured tens of billions into foundation model developers and AI infrastructure providers, betting on long-term dominance in generative and enterprise applications. But analysts warn that high compute costs, slow commercial deployment and unclear monetisation models are creating tension between hype and profitability.

Clegg, who stepped down this year as Meta’s president for global affairs after six years with the company, also used his appearance to criticise Britain’s heavy dependence on American technology infrastructure.

“I think it’s pretty difficult to assert anything other than that we are a vassal state of American technology,” he said. “We are wholly dependent on every level of the stack for technology from a country where the geostrategic interests are no longer aligned in the same way they have been for the last 30 years.”

He warned that the UK’s lack of domestic AI infrastructure and homegrown capability left it in a “perilous state”, particularly amid widening political rifts between the United States and Europe.

Clegg’s intervention reflects a wider unease in Silicon Valley and global markets as AI development enters its first period of scrutiny since the 2022–23 hype cycle. While some companies — including OpenAI, Anthropic and Google DeepMind — continue to secure massive funding rounds, investors are beginning to demand clearer paths to revenue growth and operational sustainability.

Analysts expect 2026 to mark a turning point for the sector, with a likely market correction separating commercially resilient players from speculative bets. For now, Clegg’s warning serves as a reminder that even amid rapid innovation, the AI gold rush may be running ahead of economic reality.

Read more:
Nick Clegg: AI company valuations are ‘crackers’ and ripe for correction

It was one of those small domestic moments that tells you everything you need to know about the modern British service industry. I was visiting my parents, both octogenarians, both long past the stage of bothering to shop around for anything,  when an envelope from the AA thudded onto the doormat. My mother opened it with the slight suspicion that all letters now require, only to find the annual renewal notice for their breakdown cover.

“Two hundred and sixty pounds thirty-eight,” she said, frowning at the figure as if it were a medical diagnosis. “Though that’s apparently cheaper than last year – it was £280.25 – and they’ve given us a discount of £107.25.” She seemed reassured, which is precisely how the AA likes it.

Then my eye caught a line in bold type: ‘Thank you for your 64 years of loyalty’.

Sixty-four years! That’s longer than most marriages, and certainly longer than any of the call centre staff at AA Insurance have been alive. My stepfather has been a paying customer since the Beatles were still playing in Hamburg. If loyalty were a virtue the AA truly valued, he’d have a gold card, a free tow truck, and a man in a yellow jacket stationed permanently outside the house.

But no. The letter was a masterpiece of corporate doublespeak – a thank you note wrapped around a quiet mugging. £260.38 for a service that, as it turns out, could be had for a third of the price if you knew where to look.

Being the dutiful son (and, frankly, unable to resist a little consumer sleuthing), I fired up the laptop. Three minutes on the AA’s own website later, I had a quote for exactly the same cover: £97.64. “Introductory offer,” it said. “Full price £162.43.”

So, £97.64 for a new member, or £260.38 for a customer of sixty-four years. You don’t need a degree in behavioural economics to see what’s going on here. The so-called “discount” on the renewal was a magician’s trick: look at this £107 off! – while your wallet quietly disappears.

It’s a swindle dressed in the polite language of British customer service. And my parents, like so many others of their generation, would have paid it. Because that’s what loyal customers do. They trust. They assume that six decades of prompt payment and polite correspondence entitles them to fairness. But in the world of modern subscriptions and annual renewals, loyalty isn’t rewarded, it’s monetised.

The British have always had a sentimental attachment to loyalty. We like to think that staying with the same insurer, bank or utility company means something. It’s a vestige of that post-war mindset where you had your man from the Pru, your chap at the bank, and your account with the AA. You stuck with them and they looked after you.

But that social contract has long since been ripped up. Today, loyalty is treated as a sign of weakness. Companies like the AA rely on inertia,  on the quiet assumption that most customers, especially the elderly, will simply renew whatever number appears on the letter.

Meanwhile, the marketing department pours its energy into wooing the new, the fickle, the flighty, those who’ll take their “introductory discount” for a year, cancel at renewal, and start again under another email address. The whole business model has become a revolving door of introductory offers and loyalty penalties.

It’s not just the AA, of course. Every industry plays the same game. Broadband providers, insurers, even the streaming platforms. The longer you stay, the more you pay. It’s a perverse inversion of what loyalty once meant. It’s like being charged extra for ordering the same pint every night at your local.

What’s really galling is how clever it all is. The renewal letters are written to sound reassuring, trustworthy, a little paternal even. They thank you for your custom, list your “discounts”, and refer vaguely to “enhanced cover” you probably never asked for. They hope you’ll glance at the total, shrug, and write the cheque.

In my parents’ case, it was only luck, or filial nosiness, that stopped them being charged nearly triple what the policy was worth. And there’s something morally wrong about that. It’s one thing to overcharge the inattentive; quite another to quietly exploit a generation that built your business in the first place.

Imagine if the AA sent out a letter saying: “Dear Mr X, as one of our longest-standing members, we’re delighted to offer you the same price we give to new customers.” Now that would be loyalty. But of course, that would mean voluntarily surrendering profit. And in the boardroom logic of today’s Britain, that’s heresy.

There’s a wider moral here for all businesses, especially those that like to boast about their heritage. True loyalty is built on mutual respect, not on tricking your oldest customers into overpaying.

We’re entering an era where trust is the scarcest commodity. Consumers are savvier, angrier, and far less forgiving than they used to be. Social media ensures that one story of a pensioner being overcharged can go viral in hours. And yet, the temptation to milk existing customers remains irresistible – it’s easy revenue, and it rarely makes the news.

But brands that behave this way are mortgaging their reputation for short-term gain. Because once people cotton on, as they inevitably do, the damage is irreversible. Sixty-four years of loyalty can vanish in sixty-four seconds.

In the end, I cancelled my parents’ renewal and signed them up anew. The process took less time than boiling the kettle. My mother was delighted. My stepfather, ever the gentleman, just shook his head. “So much for loyalty,” he said.

Quite. The AA may get them back on the road when the car breaks down, but when it comes to customer loyalty, it’s the company itself that’s stranded on the hard shoulder – hazard lights flashing, engine sputtering, wondering where all its good will went.

We asked the AA for a response and an AA spokesperson said: “Our pricing reflects the service offered. The new member price is discounted, but doesn’t provide the same member benefits.

“We would welcome the chance to talk to this member to look at their renewal and see what they are comparing it to online.” My response to  this, is sorry AA, but it is exactly the same service for exactly three times the cost.

Read more:
The AA’s loyalty problem: sixty-four years and still taken for a ride

Japanese investors have poured almost £118 million into Greater Manchester over the past year, in a fresh sign of the region’s growing international profile — but business leaders say Whitehall must match that confidence with long-term support for regional growth.

New figures show a surge in Japanese investment in the North West, led by companies such as Astemo, Daikin and Mizkan, which have expanded their presence or established new operations in the area. The wave of funding underscores Manchester’s growing appeal as a global hub for advanced manufacturing, innovation and green technology.

The region now hosts more than 25 Japanese firms, including NGK, Hitachi, Shimadzu, Sharp, Dentsu, Brother and Sun Chemical, reflecting deepening commercial ties between Japan and the North of England.

“While London dominates the headlines for productivity, international businesses are increasingly betting on Manchester,” said Ed Foulkes, managing partner at law firm Clarke Willmott in Manchester. “This highlights the city’s potential and the need for more balanced national support.”

Foulkes, whose firm advises major UK and international clients across manufacturing, energy and infrastructure, said the Japanese vote of confidence in Manchester demonstrated how regional economies can compete globally when they receive sustained investment and attention.

“Attracting investment like this shows that regions outside London can compete on the world stage,” he said. “With targeted infrastructure and government backing, the North West could secure the next wave of international business and innovation.”

He added that Japanese investment was not only bringing capital but also strengthening local skills, research and development, and supply chains, supporting Greater Manchester’s transition into an innovation-led economy.

“The confidence shown by Japanese companies should encourage other international investors to consider Manchester as a strategic base in the UK,” he said. “Companies are already showing confidence — now it’s time for the government to match it with strategic support.”

Greater Manchester continues to cement its position as the UK’s most successful destination for foreign direct investment outside London, topping national rankings for the third time in five years in 2024.

Analysts point to a mix of factors behind the city’s success: its world-class universities, innovation hubs in advanced materials and AI, and strong transport and logistics links make it a magnet for global manufacturers and technology firms.

The region’s export relationship with Japan has also deepened in recent years. According to official trade data, Greater Manchester exported £99 million in goods to Japan in 2022, alongside £151 million in service exports in 2021 — spanning professional services, digital industries and life sciences.

This economic partnership has been bolstered by the UK–Japan Comprehensive Economic Partnership Agreement (CEPA), which came into force after Brexit, and Japan’s membership of the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership (CPTPP), further strengthening trade routes for British exporters.

Despite this momentum, regional leaders have warned that central government must do more to support Manchester’s growth trajectory. While the area benefits from devolution through the Greater Manchester Combined Authority (GMCA) and Mayor Andy Burnham’s leadership, local businesses have called for additional investment in infrastructure, skills, and transport links to sustain international confidence.

Foulkes said the government’s “levelling up” rhetoric must now translate into real outcomes.

“Japanese businesses are placing big bets on Manchester’s potential,” he said. “The government must now make sure that domestic policy — from transport and housing to R&D funding — supports that same level of ambition.”

With the region’s growing reputation for science, technology and green industry, and international interest continuing to rise, business leaders believe Manchester is entering a pivotal decade.

If the government matches foreign investors’ enthusiasm with equal commitment, Foulkes said, “the North West could define the next chapter of Britain’s industrial future.”

Read more:
Japanese investors bet on Manchester — now UK must follow

A senior industry figure has called on the Government to take robust retaliatory action against the European Union’s new trade restrictions on British steel, warning that they could devastate the UK’s manufacturing base.

Simon Boyd, managing director of Dorset-based structural steel company REIDsteel, urged ministers to impose reciprocal tariffs to protect UK producers, manufacturers and supply chains after Brussels announced plans to slash tariff-free quotas for British steel exports.

The EU’s new measures will halve the UK’s tariff-free quota for structural steel exports and impose a 50% tariff on all shipments exceeding that limit, as part of a wider package designed to curb imports of Chinese steel.

“The total EU market for structural steel is eight million tonnes per annum, of which the UK is currently granted a tariff-free quota of 108,000 tonnes — less than 2% of the market,” Boyd said.

“Conversely, the UK market is 800,000 tonnes per annum while EU producers enjoy a tariff-free quota of 680,000 tonnes, equivalent to 85% of the UK market. Hardly fair trade.”

Boyd, who earlier this year campaigned to save British Steel’s blast furnaces at Scunthorpe, said the proposed changes would leave British exporters “virtually shut out” of the European market while allowing EU producers near-unrestricted access to the UK.

“All UK producers will be impacted by this change in policy,” he said. “Not only will exports be hit, but we could see a flood of imported steel if we don’t tighten our own trading measures.”

He called for the Government to “react boldly” by either negotiating an exemption from the EU’s anti-dumping measures or threatening equivalent counter-tariffs to restore balance.

“The EU may need to prop up its own ailing steel sector and fight off Chinese dumping, but this cannot be at the expense of the UK,” he warned. “There is no time to lose.”

According to industry body UK Steel, the sector directly employs 36,800 workers and supports a further 46,000 jobs in its supply chain. It contributes £1.7 billion directly to the economy, £2.2 billion through its supply network, and adds £3.1 billion to the UK’s balance of trade.

Industry leaders fear that without decisive action, the EU’s new tariffs could accelerate the decline of Britain’s heavy industry and undermine the Government’s ambition to rebuild domestic manufacturing.

Read more:
Government urged to get tough with EU over new steel tariffs

Let’s get one thing straight: business is not an Olympic sport. No medals. No referees. No level playing field. It’s not drug-tested either, and you can forget about fair play.

The idea that commerce is some noble amateur pursuit where everyone lines up at the same starting line, toes behind the white paint, and waits for the gun is a comforting delusion. Out here, in the mud and chaos of modern busines, it’s survival of whoever’s got the better kit, the smarter coach, and the secret stash of performance enhancers that no-one else has worked out how to get hold of yet.

And right now, that secret stash is artificial intelligence.

There’s an enduring British fondness for the idea that if you just work hard, play fair, and put in the graft, you’ll win out in the end. Lovely in theory. Utterly laughable in practice. Anyone who’s ever tried to run a small business knows that it’s like trying to sprint uphill through treacle while Amazon and Apple whizz past on hoverboards powered by other people’s data.

The big players have teams of analysts, consultants, and developers all optimising every click, every purchase, every breath their customer takes. They’ve built their own Olympic training camps with altitude tents and nutritionists and shiny machines that make the rest of us look like we’re still using a fax.

And yet – here’s the twist – the gap is closing. Because, for once, the performance-enhancing substance that levels the field isn’t locked behind a corporate paywall. AI is available now, to everyone, and it’s legal, cheap, and astonishingly effective when used properly.

Think of AI not as the 12th man cheering from the sidelines, but as your 10th, 11th, 12th and 20th employee. The one who doesn’t need sleep, doesn’t call in sick, and doesn’t ask for a raise. The one who remembers everything, analyses faster than you can blink, and can spin out content, customer replies, financial models or product ideas while you’re still buttering your toast.

For years, the big breakthroughs were about infrastructure. Cloud computing cut costs and freed small firms from the tyranny of on-premise servers. SaaS platforms eliminated the need for entire IT departments. Suddenly you didn’t need a team of developers in a windowless room just to get a basic CRM running.

But AI? AI is the rocket fuel. The TNT. The caffeine shot to the jugular that lets a small business move like a giant. It’s the difference between a post-war racing car and a modern Formula 1 machine – both technically cars, yes, but one will still be cornering while the other’s already halfway round the next lap.

From Admin Assistant to Strategic Advisor

The beauty of AI is that it scales across everything. A café owner can use it to forecast demand and cut waste, while a marketing agency can generate entire campaign strategies before lunch. The accountant who once spent all night building spreadsheets now gets the same insight in five minutes flat.

And let’s be honest – the notion that AI will “replace” humans is the least interesting thing about it. Of course it will replace the dull bits. The repetitive, life-sucking admin that nobody misses. What matters is what you can do with the time and headspace it gives back.

You can serve customers better. Build faster. Think longer-term. Give a level of service the Dalai Lama would nod approvingly at, because your systems are actually listening to your clients instead of losing their emails in a spam folder.

There’s always a chorus of sceptics who say, “Oh, we’ll see how it pans out.” The same people who thought websites were a fad and email would never replace the fax. They talk about AI “maturing,” as if it’s a wine that’ll be better in five years. Newsflash: the people using it now will have built entirely new business models by the time you’re still swirling your glass and sniffing for notes of oak.

Small businesses that adopt AI today won’t just get more efficient – they’ll become more ambitious. The micro-brewery will start exporting. The artisan shop will go global. The consultant who once handled five clients can now manage fifty, because her virtual assistant is quietly doing the logistics while she focuses on the high-value work.

Of course, someone will object that it’s all a bit unfair – that using AI is like doping. But again, this isn’t sport. There’s no governing body, no World Anti-Doping Agency for the self-employed. Nobody’s taking your gold medal away because you used an algorithm to spot a trend before your rival did.

The ethics here aren’t about “cheating.” They’re about using every tool available to serve your customers, your team, and your sanity better. If your competitors are juicing up on automation, insight, and instant data while you insist on staying pure with spreadsheets and Post-it notes, that’s not moral integrity. That’s self-sabotage.

The great thing about this particular drug is that it rewards curiosity more than cash. You don’t need to be a billionaire to get started. Most AI tools cost less than a round of drinks and deliver a measurable return before you’ve finished the pint. The only barrier is the mindset that says, “This is for someone else.”

Use it to draft. To plan. To analyse. To dream bigger. Test, refine, repeat. The magic isn’t in the machine – it’s in what you do with it. But like any performance enhancer, it only works if you actually take it. Sitting there admiring the vial won’t win you the race.

So stop pretending business is a polite 400-metre jog. It’s a street fight. And if someone offers you a completely legal, side-effect-free, performance-enhanced boost that could turn your scrappy start-up into a medal contender – you’d be mad not to take it.

Because when the dust settles and the doors are blown clean off, the only question that matters will be: did you have the guts to take the shot?

Read more:
Business is not an Olympic sport, so invest today in that performance-enhanced boost

Rumour has it that Rachel Reeves is limbering up for November with a Budget that will make the taxman’s quill squeak like a stuck pig. Property, pensions, profits, pasties — all grist to the Exchequer’s mill.

The Treasury is leaving no stone unturned, no pocket unpicked, no cupboard unopened. The only thing, one suspects, that remains miraculously safe from her fiscal scythe is Larry the Cat’s supper.

Cat food, so far, has escaped. But give it time. If Reeves wakes up one morning and thinks Felix is a luxury good, then Larry may be forced to reacquaint himself with the vermin of Whitehall.

Which would be, let’s face it, the first proper day’s work he’s done in a decade.

The mood music is grimly familiar. Reeves is billed as Britain’s most hawk-eyed chancellor since Gladstone, scrutinising every allowance and relief with the intensity of a headmistress checking pockets for contraband. She talks of “closing loopholes” and “fiscal responsibility”, which translates as: if you earn it, spend it, save it or feed it to your cat, I want a slice. There is a whiff of the Victorian workhouse about the whole thing — the sense that leisure, comfort, and small mercies are indulgences for which the State must extract a fee.

The thought of Larry’s pouch of Sheba being clobbered with 20% VAT is only half a joke. Reeves hasn’t said it. But given the way she’s nosing through the nation’s shopping basket like a customs officer at Dover, it might only be the fact that she’s scared of the animal-loving electorate that keeps Purina safe from the Chancellor’s paw.

Larry, then, becomes the perfect stand-in for the rest of us. He lives in the lap of political luxury, adored, photographed, never held accountable for his failure to deliver on the “mouser” part of his job title. And yet even he is only one Treasury brainstorm away from being told to pull his weight. The day the food bill doubles is the day Larry starts catching mice again.

And so it is with us. Once pampered, now fleeced, the British taxpayer is being nudged towards self-sufficiency by stealth. First you taxed our booze, then our cars, then our pensions, and now our every side-hustle. Tomorrow it will be our pets, the next day our plants, and eventually our patience.

The truly comic element is not that Reeves might be tempted to tax pet food, but that it has come to feel plausible. When a government makes you believe even the moggy’s supper is at risk, you know you’re in the realm of fiscal parody. It’s like imagining air being metered. Please insert £1 to continue breathing.

If Reeves could work out how to slap a duty on belly rubs or a surcharge on purring, you sense she’d do it before breakfast. The only thing stopping her is the optics of being seen to shake down a cat who has a bigger fanbase than most cabinet ministers.

And yet, strip away the feline froth, and the point is clear: this scattergun approach to taxation is not sustainable. You cannot tax your way to prosperity any more than you can slim by raiding the fridge at midnight. What Reeves needs — but seems reluctant to risk — is growth, investment, something genuinely bold. Instead we get a Budget that looks like the frantic contents of a handbag tipped out on the kitchen table: receipts, half-chewed mints, and a few coins scavenged from the lining.

Larry’s food may survive unscathed this time, but the message is unmistakeable: the Treasury has its nose in our cupboards, its paws on our wallets, and its eye on the cat’s dish. Heaven help us when they start eyeing the litter tray.

Read more:
Reeves’ Budget: is Larry’s cat food the last refuge?

Jeremy Hunt has accused Rachel Reeves of dragging Britain into “stagnation and decline” by raising taxes, warning that the Chancellor’s policies risk smothering the entrepreneurial drive the country needs.

Writing for Conservative Home, the former Chancellor said it was now “all but nailed on” that Reeves will raise taxes by £30bn in November’s Budget — pushing the overall increase in Britain’s tax burden to £70bn in just 13 months. He argued that while ministers focus on who the losers will be — pensioners, homeowners, savers — the greater danger lies in the long-term drag on economic growth.

Hunt pointed to OECD data showing that between 2010 and 2019, countries with lower public spending such as the US, South Korea and Australia grew on average 2% faster than high-spending nations such as Finland and Denmark. He argued that high taxation discourages investment, crowds out private capital and ultimately stifles “animal spirits” — the entrepreneurial energy John Maynard Keynes once said was essential for capitalism.

“Simply put, people work harder in countries with lower taxes,” Hunt said, citing data showing workers in lower-tax OECD economies put in 260 more hours a year than those in high-tax countries. He warned that Britain’s welfare system undermines incentives to work, with some claimants projected to earn more from benefits than full-time employees on the national living wage.

The Tory MP drew comparisons with the US, where Mississippi has pursued a decade of phased tax cuts. He claimed the policy had transformed the state into the fastest-growing in America, lifting wages and investment while reducing poverty. “The poorest state in America now has a higher output per head than we do,” he wrote.

Hunt, who raised taxes himself as Chancellor to steady markets after the Liz Truss crisis, said those hikes were only meant as a temporary necessity. He contrasted his approach — cutting national insurance and introducing “full expensing” for business investment — with Reeves’s decision to permanently increase borrowing and taxation.

“Countries with lower taxes tend to grow faster,” Hunt concluded. “I know which I’d prefer for the UK.”

Read more:
Jeremy Hunt warns Reeves: soaring taxes will kill UK’s ‘animal spirits’

As social media continues to weave itself into the fabric of daily life, the algorithms that drive engagement have come under fire for their potential to foster addictive behaviours.

With research linking these algorithms to increased anxiety and feelings of inadequacy, the question arises: should we regulate their use? The Liberal Democrats are now calling for cigarette-style warnings on social media apps.

This conversation is not only vital for user well-being but also presents an opportunity for businesses to adopt responsible marketing practices that prioritise mental health. Mariangela Caineri Zenati, Marketing Manager at social media management platform Loomly, offers her expert insight on how championing transparency and promoting positive content will allow brands to engage their audiences ethically while navigating the complexities of the digital landscape.

“The debate surrounding the legality of addictive algorithms in social media has gained significant traction in recent years, particularly in light of their profound implications for mental health and overall well-being. As social media platforms increasingly rely on sophisticated algorithms to maximise user engagement, the potential for addictive behaviours has come under scrutiny.

“Research highlights that these algorithms can create dependency-like behaviours, reminiscent of substance addiction. A recent study revealed that the instant gratification derived from likes, shares and comments can trigger dopamine release, reinforcing compulsive behaviours among users. This is particularly alarming for younger demographics, who are often more susceptible to these influences.

“The Royal Society for Public Health’s #StatusofMind report underscores this concern, identifying platforms such as Instagram and Snapchat as being linked to increased feelings of inadequacy, anxiety, and loneliness among young users. This report indicates that these platforms rank as the most detrimental for mental health, highlighting the urgent need for more responsible practices.

“The pervasive nature of these algorithms can contribute to rising rates of anxiety and depression among users. The #StatusofMind report also calls for social media companies to implement educational warnings and promote healthier online interactions: this raises important questions about the ethical responsibilities of businesses that utilise social media marketing strategies.

“As businesses increasingly turn to social media for marketing, they have a unique opportunity to approach these platforms responsibly. Companies can prioritise user well-being by promoting positive content, fostering supportive online communities and ensuring transparency in their advertising practices; for instance, brands can engage in campaigns that encourage mental health awareness and provide resources for users facing challenges. This way, brands can align themselves with ethical marketing practices while simultaneously building trust and loyalty among their audience.

“Responsible social media marketing involves understanding the impact of algorithms on user behaviour. Businesses should be mindful of how their content may influence users and strive to create a balanced digital experience; this could involve diversifying content types, avoiding sensationalism and steering clear of tactics that exploit users’ vulnerabilities for engagement.

“The potential for addiction necessitates a critical examination of the legal and ethical frameworks surrounding social media algorithms. Businesses must play a proactive role in promoting responsible marketing practices, which can help mitigate the negative effects of these algorithms while enhancing user experience. Addressing these issues is vital for creating a more positive online landscape, ultimately benefitting both users and brands alike.”

Read more:
Beyond Engagement: Why It’s Time to Rethink Social Media’s Addictive Algorithms

Nicki Bull Bisgaard, Group Chairman of PayTech Group, has long advocated for the use of technology to enhance business financial management. Nowadays, small, and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) face unprecedented challenges.

Unpredictable cash flows, limited access to credit, and the need to make data-driven decisions often put smaller businesses at a disadvantage compared with larger corporations. PayTech Group acknowledges that Artificial intelligence (AI) is now reshaping this landscape, introducing precision banking solutions that deliver hyper-personalized, predictive insights tailored to each SME’s unique financial ecosystem.

Precision banking leverages AI to provide SMEs with actionable intelligence that goes beyond simple account statements or generic advice. By analyzing transactional data, market trends, and cash flow patterns, AI systems can anticipate financial challenges before they arise. For example, predictive models can detect when a business might face a short-term liquidity issue, enabling proactive measures such as adjusting payment schedules or securing alternative financing. This level of foresight allows SMEs to operate with a level of strategic insight that was previously the domain of large enterprises.

Hyper-personalization is at the heart of precision banking. Unlike traditional banking models, which offer standardized solutions, AI-driven platforms assess each business’s financial behavior, industry dynamics, and growth objectives to deliver customized recommendations. Expense management tools powered by machine learning can identify inefficiencies, suggest cost optimization strategies, and even provide real-time alerts when spending deviates from projections. Predictive lending capabilities further enhance financial stability, allowing banks to offer credit lines or loans aligned precisely with each SME’s risk profile and anticipated cash flow needs.

The benefits of precision banking extend beyond operational efficiency. With AI, SMEs can uncover revenue growth opportunities that may have gone unnoticed. By analyzing patterns in customer behavior, sales trends, and market conditions, AI platforms can suggest optimal times for expansion, highlight untapped markets, and recommend targeted investment strategies. These insights enable business leaders to make informed decisions with confidence, allocate resources strategically, and minimize the risks associated with growth initiatives.

AI-driven precision banking also transforms the relationship between SMEs and financial institutions. Banks that offer hyper-personalized, predictive services can strengthen client engagement, build loyalty, and differentiate themselves in a competitive market. The insights generated by AI allow financial institutions to design tailored products and services that meet the specific needs of each SME, creating a mutually beneficial ecosystem where both the business and the bank thrive.

As the technology evolves, the capabilities of precision banking are set to expand even further. Future applications may include real-time scenario modelling, allowing SMEs to simulate the financial impact of strategic decisions, such as hiring, investment, or pricing adjustments. Automated advisory tools could integrate internal data with external market intelligence, providing continuous guidance that supports both short-term operational needs and long-term strategic planning.

The adoption of AI-powered precision banking is not just a technological upgrade – it represents a fundamental shift in SME financial management. By providing predictive insights and hyper-personalized recommendations, precision banking empowers small businesses to act strategically rather than reactively. This enhanced financial intelligence enables SMEs to navigate market volatility, optimize operational efficiency, and compete effectively on a global scale.

Moreover, the wider economic implications are significant. SMEs are a major driver of employment and innovation, and by equipping them with AI-driven tools, precision banking helps strengthen economic resilience and growth. Businesses that harness these insights can make smarter investment decisions, scale sustainably, and maintain agility in the face of uncertainty, ultimately contributing to a more robust and dynamic marketplace.

In conclusion, precision banking powered by AI is transforming the way SMEs manage finances, shifting the paradigm from reactive management to proactive, strategic decision-making. By combining predictive insights, hyper-personalization, and actionable intelligence, AI is enabling small and medium-sized businesses to operate with the sophistication and foresight traditionally reserved for larger corporations. The adoption of these solutions marks a new era in SME financial management – one in which technology, insight, and strategy converge to drive sustainable growth and long-term success.

Read more:
Precision Banking: How AI is Empowering SMEs to Make Smarter Financial Decisions

UK private schools grappling with declining pupil numbers in the wake of VAT being applied to fees could turn to Chinese investors for financial support, according to audit and advisory firm Blick Rothenberg.

The firm’s partner, Winnie Cao, said that while the tax change has priced some British families out of independent education, strong demand from Chinese parents is opening new avenues for investment.

She noted that Chinese investors are drawn to the longstanding prestige of UK schooling, with geopolitical tensions limiting opportunities to expand foreign-owned schools in China itself. “Now that these schools cannot expand in China, sending their children to the UK is often becoming parents’ first choice,” Cao said. Britain’s reputation as a safer alternative to the US, where gun crime and strained US-China relations weigh on decision-making, is also bolstering interest.

For independent schools under pressure, Chinese-backed capital could provide a financial lifeline as international students replace those lost domestically. However, integration challenges remain: balancing foreign ownership with British management, resolving cultural differences, and ensuring schools continue to serve local communities. Some institutions, Cao cautioned, may be reluctant to cede control to overseas investors or risk diluting their local identity.

Read more:
Chinese investors eye UK private schools as VAT on fees drives out domestic pupils

The imposition of 100% tariffs on all imports from China and India would create an unprecedented shock to global trade, according to Dr Jonathan Owens, Senior Lecturer in Operations and Supply Chain Management at the University of Salford.

Talking to Business Matters Dr Owens warns that such a move would severely disrupt supply chains, drive up costs, and have far-reaching geopolitical consequences.

Both countries are integral to the global economy. China, the world’s largest exporter, dominates in electronics, machinery, textiles, automotive parts and consumer goods. Its manufacturing base is deeply embedded in the supply chains of multinational corporations. India plays a crucial role in IT services, pharmaceuticals, textiles and chemicals. Few global alternatives can match the scale and depth of their expertise.

Initially, some businesses might absorb the higher costs by compressing margins or delaying price changes. But Dr Owens notes this is only a short-term response. Over time, increased costs from tariffs and supply chain disruption would inevitably be passed on to consumers.

Industries with fast product cycles – such as electronics, clothing and consumer goods – could see price rises within months. For sectors dependent on seasonal stock, the impact might be felt in the next product cycle. Meanwhile, industries with longer, more complex supply chains – particularly automotive and digital hardware – could experience compounded cost increases where multiple tariffs are applied at different stages.

Supply chain shifts are slow to stabilise

Some firms would attempt to mitigate the impact by sourcing from new suppliers, redirecting supply chains, or shifting production to other regions. However, such changes are medium- to long-term strategies. Transitioning production is complex and costly, with limited viable alternatives to China’s manufacturing scale or India’s IT and pharmaceutical capacity.

The timeframe for global supply chains to adjust would therefore span months to years, during which consumers and businesses alike would face sustained disruption.

Tariffs on China and India would also trigger knock-on effects across other markets. As businesses reprice goods and redirect sourcing, ripple effects could spread to industries not directly reliant on Chinese or Indian supply chains. Customers may seek cheaper alternatives, while competing exporters could increase their own prices in response to shifting global demand.

Dr Owens suggests the situation could “irritate customers” as once-affordable products quickly rise in price, undermining consumer confidence and household budgets.

With tariff retaliation a likely outcome, the risk of a broader trade war would be high. Reciprocal measures from Beijing and New Delhi could further restrict flows of goods, services and raw materials, with particularly damaging consequences for sectors such as agriculture, automotive, technology and pharmaceuticals.

Ultimately, while the immediate impact would be higher prices for consumers, the longer-term implications would be the destabilisation of global supply chains and heightened geopolitical tensions. Businesses and governments would need to adapt strategies quickly to avoid systemic risks in a deeply interconnected global economy.

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Global supply chains face severe disruption if China and India hit with 100% tariffs

The separate tax controversies involving Premier League footballers and former deputy prime minister Angela Rayner should serve as a “wake-up call” about the importance of taking sound, professional advice, a senior tax expert has warned.

Steven Martin, senior tax manager at Hampshire-based accountancy and business advisory firm HWB, said the two cases – though very different in scope – highlight the serious financial, legal and reputational consequences of inadequate or incomplete guidance.

“While they differ, as one concerns Stamp Duty only and the other is about wider tax planning and investment strategy, they both underline why trusted, reliable guidance is more crucial than ever,” Martin said.

He added: “Missteps, even unintentional, can have serious consequences. Sound advice isn’t just about minimising tax; it’s about ensuring compliance, protecting assets and making informed, ethical decisions in an increasingly scrutinised financial environment.”

The so-called V11 case saw a group of former Premier League players lose fortunes after investing in tax-avoidance schemes dressed up as film funds and US property ventures. Many of the ventures collapsed, leaving players saddled with significant tax liabilities. Some were pushed into bankruptcy, while others faced lengthy legal battles with HMRC.

“These were persuasive, high-risk investments presented by advisors without the appropriate expertise,” Martin said. “The players relied on assurances without fully understanding the risks.”

By contrast, the Angela Rayner case involved a much narrower issue – Stamp Duty Land Tax (SDLT). Following legal review, she was found liable for the higher, second-home rate of SDLT on her Hove property, resulting in an underpayment of around £40,000. The fallout from the case ultimately led to her resignation from government last week.

“This was a case of insufficient or inappropriate guidance on a specific area of tax law, particularly around trusts,” Martin said. “It illustrates how even a seemingly straightforward transaction can carry risks if advice lacks depth or understanding of the client’s full circumstances.”

While the two controversies differ in context, Martin said they both point to the same conclusion: “unqualified or incomplete advice in areas of complex tax or investments can be perilous.”

He stressed that individuals should always work with regulated, qualified professionals – and seek multiple perspectives when dealing with complex matters.

“Trusted advisors not only save money by ensuring correct decisions upfront, they also protect reputations,” Martin said. “Misplaced trust can mean the difference between a secure retirement and financial ruin.”

Read more:
Rayner and footballers’ tax troubles are a ‘wake-up call’, adviser warns

Lord Alan Sugar has become the latest high-profile business leader to attack remote working, insisting that young people “just want to sit at home” and need to get their “bums back into the office.”

Speaking to the BBC, the 77-year-old entrepreneur and star of The Apprentice said workplace culture had suffered in the years since hybrid and flexible policies were introduced during the pandemic.

“I’m a great advocate of getting them back to work,” Sugar said. “The only way an apprentice is going to learn is from his colleagues. It’s small things, like interaction with your more mature colleagues, that will tell you how to do this, how to do that. That is lacking in this work-from-home, Zoom culture.”

Sugar, whose property group Amsprop owns a large portfolio of central London office buildings, said he recognised that some roles could be exceptions. “Software writers who get up at three o’clock in the morning with some kind of brainstorm,” he noted, might be better off at home, as well as people with disabilities.

His intervention comes as the debate over the future of work continues to divide corporate Britain. Official data from the Office for National Statistics shows that as of October, 28 per cent of the workforce is hybrid – splitting their time between home and the office. Another 44 per cent commute every day, while 13 per cent are fully remote. Many respondents to the ONS survey said hybrid work improved their rest, exercise and wellbeing.

The Labour government is preparing to legislate to make hybrid working a right for employees unless their employer can demonstrate it is unreasonable. The Employment Rights Bill will extend flexible working options across the economy, although many of Britain’s largest firms are already moving in the opposite direction. Amazon, JP Morgan and others have ordered staff back to offices full-time, arguing that face-to-face contact boosts collaboration and productivity.

Landlords have warned that the hybrid trend has made commercial properties harder to lease and less lucrative. Sugar’s comments underline the concerns of those invested in Britain’s office sector.

His intervention follows that of fellow business veteran Lord Stuart Rose, the former chairman of Marks & Spencer and Asda, who earlier this year declared that working from home is not “proper work” and has set the country back “20 years” in productivity and wellbeing.

For Sugar, the problem is most acute for younger workers and apprentices, who he says risk missing out on informal learning opportunities. “They’ve got to get their bums back into the office,” he repeated, warning that Britain’s work culture is at risk of permanent change if remote working becomes the norm.

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Lord Sugar: young people need to get their ‘bums back into the office’

Britain is “at the edge of a crisis” and Labour must “change tack” to revive the faltering economy, according to one of the country’s most respected business leaders.

Lord Stuart Rose, the former boss of Marks & Spencer and Asda, said “we should all be worried about the state of Britain” and called for “radical action” to restart growth and create jobs.

His stark warning came just a day after Sir Jim Ratcliffe’s Ineos revealed it had stopped investing in Britain altogether in protest at Labour’s tax hikes, diverting billions of pounds of capital to the US instead.

The criticism from two heavyweight figures piles pressure on Chancellor Rachel Reeves, who is already facing accusations that her £40bn programme of tax rises has derailed the economy.

Speaking on Times Radio, Lord Rose declared: “I believe we’re genuinely at the edge of a crisis. If we don’t take some radical action and take notice of what’s going on, we’re going to find ourselves in a very difficult spot.”

Rose said Labour had failed to deliver on its promise of making growth the government’s number one mission. “There isn’t a direction of travel,” he argued. “There is no travel. We’re actually standing still in a lay-by while we decide what to do.”

With the next Budget not due until 26 November, he warned Britain was “stuck for three months waiting with real anxiety” over what level of new taxes Reeves might impose.

Turning to Labour’s flagship Employment Rights Bill, Rose suggested the timing was wrong, saying the legislation would make it harder for firms to hire. “We’ve had a very flexible labour force. Why make it harder now?” he asked.

He also took aim at what he called a “sick note culture” after figures from the Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development showed UK staff are now taking almost two weeks off ill each year — the highest in 15 years. “We need a little bit of grit around the place,” Rose said. “This nation needs everybody to lean in.”

The intervention echoes growing unease in the business community. Ineos Energy boss Brian Gilvary told The Telegraph this week: “We have stopped investing in Britain. Our future investment will not be in the UK.”

Ineos has already closed its century-old Grangemouth oil refinery in Scotland, cutting more than 400 jobs, and warned its petrochemicals plant there is also at risk. The company operates key North Sea assets, including the Forties Pipeline System which carries 30 per cent of the UK’s oil to shore.

Gilvary cited Labour’s extension of the windfall tax on oil and gas profits, which raised the effective rate on producers to 78 per cent, as proof that Britain has become “one of the most unstable fiscal regimes in the world”. He contrasted that with the United States, where Ineos has ploughed £2.2bn into new projects and where, he said, policy stability underpins energy security.

Sir Jim, whose wealth is estimated at £17bn and who recently became a co-owner of Manchester United, warned earlier this year that Labour was “squeezing the life out of our abundant energy reserves in the North Sea” and that Britain risked increasingly frequent blackouts.

The backdrop has fuelled speculation that Reeves may need to raise another £20bn–£30bn in the autumn to meet her fiscal rules. Economists have even floated comparisons with the Labour government of 1976, when Britain was forced into a bailout by the International Monetary Fund.

The Chancellor has pledged not to raise income tax, VAT or employee national insurance, leaving business levies as her main lever. But business groups, from the British Retail Consortium to the CBI, have warned that piling costs onto employers risks choking off growth just as the economy flatlines.

Conservative critics seized on Rose’s intervention. Claire Coutinho, the shadow energy secretary, said: “Sir Jim Ratcliffe is right — sky-high energy prices and crippling carbon taxes are causing the death of British industry. Labour must put growth and jobs ahead of its obsession with Net Zero.”

With the autumn Budget looming, Labour faces a delicate balancing act: keeping markets calm, meeting its fiscal rules, and responding to mounting anger from both employers and voters who feel squeezed.

As Lord Rose put it bluntly: “If you have no growth, you can’t create wealth. If you can’t create wealth, you can’t provide the services people want. That’s the real problem.”

Read more:
Starmer and Reeves have taken Britain to ‘the edge of a crisis’, warns ex-M&S boss Stuart Rose

While the Conservatives stumble in search of relevance, Nigel Farage’s Reform UK has seized the spotlight as Labour’s true challenger. Forget Kemi Badenoch’s protestations—Keir Starmer’s real battle is against populist fire, not Tory embers.

Let’s be perfectly candid: the serious bits of politics, those that demand formidable talent and intellectual gusto, are beginning to look less like a battle between Labour and the Tories, and more like a punch-up between Sir Keir and Nigel Farage’s Reform. It’s as though our sat-nav of British politics has decided to detour from the predictable “Conservative vs Labour” road and veer dangerously towards “populist clown car vs cautious earnestness”.

According to that stirring Bloomberg opus—let’s call it the canny Adrian Wooldridge dossier—it’s Farage and Reform UK, not whichever Rishi-less rump remains of the Conservatives, who occupy the true mantle of Opposition. And he’s quite right to suggest as much. Labour’s uneasy incumbency doesn’t need a nostalgic Tory defeat so much as it needs something radical—some spark—to truly galvanise. And lo! That spark has arrived in the form of a party that revels in grievance, culture wars, and incendiary sloganeering, wrapped in a Union Jack, and slapped firmly across the headlines.

Now, I’ll confess: I had my doubts. The Tories, apparently toothless though they seem, have had the fare of a timeshare spoon to sage electoral mischief. But the rise of Reform is not a mere fill-in-the-gap phenomenon; it is real opposition. Despite their relative parliamentary modesty, Reform UK have capitalised on summer disquiet and Labour’s taciturn approach to dominating narrative—hardly the mark of a party content with being mere theatre, rather than a serious panto villain.

Let’s not mince words. Labour’s summer motto seems to have been: “If we speak less, we might survive the lighting strike.” Meanwhile, Reform threw itself into our unguarded skies with a barrage of immigration rhetoric, welfare us-against-them framing, and a creeping mastery of the media soundbite  . Populist politics at its, er, most refined.

And yet, forgive me if I bristle when Kemi Badenoch, whispering in between tweets, suggests otherwise. Kemi, dear, pull up a chair. Everyone with a functioning moral compass—and a toe dipped into the latest polling—knows that Reform UK, not your current Conservative ensemble, are Labour’s chief electoral challenge. Polling isn’t speculation; it’s reflection. As The Financial Times and others warn, business leaders are worried Labour might cede political ground unless they reassert themselves swiftly.

There is something deliciously ironic about a party once derided for being a “clown show” now being viewed as the firm bedrock of Opposition. And yet, there it is. Reform’s ascendant narrative means Labour can no longer weaponise nostalgia for the Conservatives. Nor can it lazily allude to “the right-wing” as if it were a hazy abstraction. This isn’t an argument about ideological purity—it’s about electoral reality.

There’s more: Farage’s party has won symbolic victories. A dramatic by-election gain in Runcorn and Helsby overturned a Labour majority that seemed comfortably etched in stone—a mere six-vote margin, mind you, but enough to give boarding-up instructions to Labour HQ. And in local elections, Reform surged ahead, even gaining control of several councils, leaving the Tories gasping for relevance. That’s not just noise—it’s institutional presence.

Now, critics of my little diatribe might argue Reform lacks substance beyond the anguished slogan. They may point to Labour’s campaign for a wealth tax and a more egalitarian metaphorical reframing of national grievances—not to mention the argument, from voices like Polly Toynbee, that reforming electoral systems is Labour’s real legacy in waiting . Or that speaking truth to populism requires elevated ideas rather than shouting back.

Yet the nurse never argues the pain away. When the drizzle turns to rain, you need an umbrella – or in this case, a powerful counter-narrative. And yes, Labour is trying: a cupboard reshuffle here, a communications failure patched there . But it might want to recalibrate from “methodical cautiousness” to “competent ferocity” before Farage has swept Britain into enough local government offices to call himself a shadow Prime Minister.

There’s a final twist in this jolly tale: I suspect Labour might, if all goes disastrously, end up thanking Reform – because nothing sharpens your strategy like an opponent who refuses to be politely ignored, and instead yanks your complacent trousers down in broad daylight.

So Kemi, I recommend you empty your irony-laden snark of “he’s no threat”, toss in the washing machine with some humility, and acknowledge that yes – Farage’s Reform is the real opposition to Starmer, right now. And in politics, real is what matters.

Read more:
Sorry Kemi, but Farage’s Reform is the real opposition to Starmer

After weathering a decade-long financial crisis, Greece has re-emerged as a magnet for global wealth and investment and is now a Continent-defying pioneer of economic growth.

Central to this transformation is the country’s ability to attract high-net-worth individuals – particularly through the Golden Visa program – which has positioned Greece as a top destination for millionaire migration.

Introduced in 2013, Greece’s Golden Visa scheme offers residency to non-EU nationals who invest at least €250,000 in real estate. This has opened the door for a diverse range of international investors, driving significant investment and capital into the Greek economy. The economic ripple effect these investments have had has been profound. Meanwhile, the real estate market has had a vital injection of liquidity, with formerly stagnant neighbourhoods experiencing a surge in development, opportunity and local employment.

According to a recent study by Henley & Partners, in 2024 alone, 1,200 millionaires chose to settle and work in Greece. By contrast, countries like the UK are forecasted to lose a record 16,500 millionaires this year – in part due to unfavourable tax reforms to the non-domiciled status. Greece – with its more favourable position for wealthy innovators and now well established political and economic stability provided by the New Democracy government -is a pivotal strategic base for European business.

The broader global context further enhances Greece’s appeal. As countries like Spain close their golden visa program and Italy doubles its flat tax on foreigners to €200,000, Greece offers a rare combination of tax efficiency, residency benefits, and quality of life. Investors – especially from the United States, which accounted for 36% of foreign investment in 2023 – increasingly see Greece as a gateway to the European market, with business-friendly reforms and pro-investor governance under the New Democracy administration.

Greece now has 64,700 millionaires in total, including 105 ultra-high-net-worth individuals with assets over $100 million and eight billionaires. According to Forbes, the number of millionaires in the country has increased by 14% over the past decade, a period which aligns with Greece’s record growth figures and improved investment climate. This is no coincidence.

Under the innovation-friendly leadership of Kyriakos Mitsotakis, Greece has seen its wealth spread, changing the lives and opportunities of families and businesses across the country. Wealthy newcomers have brought industry specific acumen, new business networks, and vital capital. Greece’s startup ecosystem for instance – supported by government initiatives such as Elevate Greece – has blossomed. In 2024, 63,000 new businesses were registered – a 11% increase from the previous year – boosting the economy and job creation. The startup sector has reached a valuation of $8.2 billion, with over $1 billion in annual capital inflows, proving that millionaire migration can catalyse long-term economic growth and opportunity for all.

This is a vote of confidence in Greece, which will only continue to grow. As a lawyer specialising in Foreign Direct Investment and an academic, examining the motivation of investment migration, we are increasingly seeing people move to Greece with intergenerational benefits in mind. This is compounded by recent legislation authorising the establishment of private universities. This will help Greece’s economy in the short term, but more importantly, will help diversify society and enhance the skills of the population, fostering talent within the country.

At a time when geopolitical uncertainty and economic unease are pushing the global elite to seek new opportunities around the world and new locations for investment, Greece stands out. It offers not just a favourable lifestyle, but most importantly, stability, opportunity, and a now well-established economic environment. Millionaires are not merely visitors to our country—they are a key component in Greece’s long-term economic future.

Read more:
Christina Georgaki – Greece as a Magnet for Global Wealth

Piers Linney has always been ahead of the curve. A former venture capital lawyer and M&A banker turned entrepreneur, investor and Dragons’ Den panellist, he has built his career on spotting trends before they become mainstream.

His ventures have spanned cloud computing, AI innovation and leadership, and today, through Implement AI, the company he co-founded, he helps businesses prepare for the new reality of artificial intelligence.

For Linney, the phrase “AI-first” is more than a buzzword. He describes it as part of a continuum that stretches back centuries, when humans were always “first”, using tools to support them but ultimately doing the hard cognitive work themselves. That balance, he argues, is shifting. With the advent of large language models and diffusion models, AI is starting to take the lead role, transforming the way we interact with technology.

“We’ve entered an era of AI-assisted work, where employees and organisations can be supercharged in their productivity,” he says. “Unlike the move to cloud computing, which gave companies years to adapt, this wave of change is happening almost overnight. If you wait, you won’t be disrupted by AI itself – you’ll be disrupted by rivals who know how to use it.”

One of the biggest debates surrounding AI is the question of bias. Because the models are trained on human content, from across the internet and social media, they inevitably carry some of our own prejudices. Linney acknowledges the challenge but sees AI as part of the solution rather than the problem.

“Bias is real, and it’s inherited from the data,” he admits. “But unconscious bias is also a huge factor in human decision-making, particularly in recruitment. Carefully designed AI systems can strip away those prejudices and make choices based on objective data. Over time, AI will evolve into what I call a ‘ruthless optimiser’, making decisions that are more data-driven, transparent and less prone to human flaws.”

Yet AI is not only a tool for innovation. It is also being seized upon by criminals. Linney, who recently addressed a global cybersecurity firm, is clear that the threat is growing more sophisticated by the day.

“We’re moving beyond AI-designed malware to a point where the malware itself is AI,” he warns. “It can adapt, hide and pursue its own objectives autonomously. That raises the stakes dramatically. It’s not the science-fiction scenario of humanoid robots we need to worry about, but AI-enabled cybercrime destabilising economies, draining people’s finances and even targeting governments. The cybersecurity arms race is only just beginning.”

If businesses are to harness the opportunities of AI while guarding against its risks, Linney believes leadership must start with clear governance. Every company, regardless of sector, needs an AI policy — but, he stresses, it cannot sit in isolation.

“AI has to run through the business, touching HR, training, compliance and data security,” he explains. “Industries like healthcare and finance will face stricter rules, but every sector needs boundaries for how staff use AI, how data is managed, and how risks are controlled. The missing piece is training. Research shows that almost a third of employees are already using AI at work without their employer knowing — what we call ‘Shadow AI’. That’s a risk, but with the right framework it’s an enormous opportunity.”

From his vantage point, AI is not a distant future but an immediate revolution. Companies that act decisively will, in his words, be “supercharged” — those that don’t may find themselves overtaken by competitors who understood the AI advantage early.

Read more:
The AI advantage: Piers Linney on how forward-thinking businesses will outpace the rest

Outdated business credit scoring models are shutting out promising UK startups from crucial funding, according to Swoop Funding chief executive Andrea Reynolds, who is urging a cultural and systemic rethink to match the realities of modern entrepreneurship.

Reynolds said the legacy systems used by lenders are “inherently biased towards more mature businesses” and fail to account for the unique profiles of early-stage companies.

“Historically, credit scores were designed for established firms with long track records, steady cashflow and detailed accounts,” she explained. “That works for mature companies, but it fails new businesses that simply haven’t had time to build that kind of footprint.”

This “thin-file” problem, where startups have little or no formal credit history, means many innovative firms are deemed unscorable or too risky — and are denied access to debt funding.

Attempts to modernise scoring through AI, open banking and alternative data are under way, but Reynolds said data quality, transparency and the risk of “new forms of bias” remain obstacles. “When innovation outpaces infrastructure, it’s startups that pay the price,” she added.

Swoop Funding is advocating for change on two fronts: practical steps to help founders build their credit profiles early, and systemic reforms to credit models. On the practical side, Reynolds recommends opening a business bank account, registering a company phone line, taking out a business credit card, and establishing supplier credit lines — all while keeping personal and business finances separate and paying on time.

She also champions the government’s Startup Loan Scheme, which offers low-interest borrowing and mentoring, but warns that cultural perceptions around debt must shift. “Many entrepreneurs, particularly women and under-represented founders, still view business borrowing through the lens of personal debt — when in reality, capital for a business is an investment that can generate returns.”

Reynolds argues that scoring systems must adapt to the “messy, iterative” nature of startups by factoring in real-time performance, creating separate models for pre-revenue firms, and rewarding strong founder behaviour and growth signals.

“If we want to fuel economic growth, we need a funding infrastructure that recognises potential, not just paperwork,” she said. “Capital isn’t just about cash flow, it’s about confidence — and right now too many brilliant founders are being excluded from the very system designed to support them.”

Read more:
Traditional credit scoring is locking out UK startups, warns Swoop Funding CEO

I’ve been to Los Angeles many times over the years — for work, for pleasure, and occasionally for that curious hybrid of both that journalists tell their accountants is “business travel”. I’ve always loved the place: the optimism in the air, the palm-lined streets, the sun-washed hills rolling down to the Pacific.

But this time was different. The hills were scorched. The air was acrid. Driving into Altadena, I was met not by the familiar suburban hum but by the sight — and smell — of destruction. Houses gutted. Trees reduced to brittle, blackened bones. A haze that clung to the lungs.

The Altadena fires had not just burned through land. They’d burned through lives. People who had built homes, memories, and futures there now stood in the ash, holding nothing but what they’d managed to carry out in the scramble to safety.

And it wasn’t just the physical damage. It was the mood. Conversations were quieter, eyes heavier. You could feel the shared trauma — the knowledge that the place they loved could, at any moment, be taken again.

I was so moved by what I saw that I did something I rarely do on the road: I stopped, set up my phone, and recorded a short video for the EV Powered YouTube channel. Standing there in the still-smouldering aftermath, I spoke about the urgency of action on climate change. You can watch it here: EV Powered – LA Fires.

And yet, despite the unarguable evidence — the rising temperatures, the worsening storms, the lengthening wildfire seasons — there are still those who stand before cameras and insist that climate change is some elaborate hoax. In the US, Donald Trump has made a sport of it. His casual dismissal of climate science has been a defining theme of his politics, playing to the crowd but abandoning the planet.

It’s a dangerous luxury, this denial. It allows leaders to dodge difficult policy decisions, to swerve the costs of action, to keep the machine humming exactly as it always has. But it comes at the expense of people like those in Altadena, and the farmers in Oxfordshire, and communities everywhere that are already paying the price in floods, droughts, fires, and food shortages.

And climate denial is not confined to the MAGA circuit. In Britain, we too have our own chorus of sceptics — some in the press, some in the pub, and some, regrettably, in positions of real influence, and then there is Reform UK’s very strong opinion on the topic. They cloak themselves in the language of “common sense”, as though ignoring a problem is somehow more practical than solving it.

This is where my LA trip connected in my mind to my previous column on Jeremy Clarkson. Clarkson is no Trump — he’s not campaigning to roll back environmental protections, and he’s done more to educate the public on the realities of farming than any politician I can name. But when he waves away the link between extreme weather and climate change, it feeds the same complacency that lets fires burn hotter, seas rise faster, and communities like Altadena bear the brunt.

Here’s the hard truth: the cost of action is high, but the cost of inaction is ruinous. Businesses know this — supply chains are disrupted by floods, crop yields are hit by droughts, insurance costs soar with every “once-in-a-century” disaster that now happens every other year. Whether you’re running a farm in Chipping Norton or a logistics hub in California, climate change is a line on your P&L whether you acknowledge it or not.

The lesson from Altadena is not simply that wildfires happen. It’s that they are happening more often, more intensely, and in places that didn’t used to burn. And unless we accept the link to our changing climate — and act accordingly — they will keep happening.

Flying home, I thought about the people I’d met there. Not activists, not lobbyists, not political operatives — just residents, trying to rebuild. They don’t have the luxury of debating whether the climate is changing. They are living in the aftermath of the answer.

If there’s one thing the business community can take from this, it’s that leadership means facing reality, even when it’s inconvenient. We can’t keep treating climate change as someone else’s problem, or tomorrow’s problem, or — worst of all — not a problem at all. Because by the time the flames are at your door, it’s too late to deny they’re real.

Read more:
From Altadena to Westminster: climate denial is a luxury we can’t afford

Oh, Jeremy. We all adore him, the pompous baritone, the deadpan wit, and that slightly feral Yorkshire charm. Plus the man who taught the world that farming wasn’t just admiration-worthy, it was uncomfortably gruelling.

Clarkson’s Farm splendidly ripped back the curtain on rural toil, reminding us that to put food on the table is to wrestle with mud, weather tantrums, bureaucracy, and occasionally a minuscule orchestra of pigs. It is delightful and infuriating, and undeniably educational.

But—and there’s always a but—when Clarkson waves away the weather troubles as unrelated to climate change, I’m forced to clutch my tea and think: “Oh, come on now.”

Let’s be clear: one can love Clarkson for his comedic misadventures, his honest fascination with arable reality, and his big, bonkers personality, while still scolding him for what borders on wilful denial.

His unwavering dismissal of any connection between extreme weather and climate change—particularly when crops are drowning one minute and the next cooking under an unprecedented heatwave—is frankly bonkers. The phrase “it’s just weather, why make a fuss?” might work as a gag on Top Gear, but in the muddied fields of Diddly Squat, it’s an unforgivable dodge.

Clarkson’s Farm is, in reality, a gift to public understanding. It’s the sort of documentary that has converted metropolitan pesticide-phobes into defunct-subsidy ponderers and brake-lights watchers into early risers gauging rainfall. It is the most unfiltered, unpretentiously riveting showcase of British farming there is, and for that, Clarkson deserves not just applause, but maybe a medal—or at least a free pint at his pub, The Farmer’s Dog.

The very idea that he sneers at climate change while simultaneously portraying its effects—and then blithely disconnects them—feels, to put it politely, like telling the vicar to stop worrying about sermons because “it’s just words.”

To be fair, Clarkson seems, in recent times, to have eased off. In a surprise u-turn, he’s admitted that shrugging off global warming was part of an exaggerated persona—“a joke” staged for shock value—rather than a deeply held conviction  . If this is indeed the case, bravo for the epiphany. Farming, as he’s now well aware, is not a sitcom; it’s a power‑soaked education in geology and long-term planning, where weather isn’t seasonal angst—it’s existential risk.

And what a year on Diddly Squat it’s been. A TB outbreak, a harvest that’s been nothing short of catastrophic, and the dramatic failure of some 400,000 beetroot seeds—of which two grew—sound like satire, but they’re the grim reality of natural volatility and mounting climate stress.

Add in the revelation that most farms don’t make a profit, that many farmers work moment to moment, reinvesting every pound to stay afloat—often without even making their own wage—and it’s clear: this is about more than crumbling onions and drowned seeds  .

Clarkson might well argue that the sleuthing of journalists or politicians can’t match the visceral awareness born of daily farm life. And he’s quite right. There’s no carbon calculator or policy paper that will ever tell the story of a flooded field with the same visceral punch as an old bloke in a hi‑viz jacket stomping through mud, grumbling about yet more rain when everything’s already sodden. That’s television—no, that’s modern life—made palpable.

But ignoring the link between that “funny farm weather” and our shared, warming planet is, to borrow Clarkson’s own language, “a fucking nightmare”  . The struggle between farms and climate isn’t a coincidence—it’s systemic. Clarkson’s willingness to stare that truth down, with that same blunt honesty he brings to power harvester misfires, would elevate Clarkson’s Farm from great television to essential cultural reckoning.

So here’s my toast to Jeremy: May you continue to farm with furious passion and accidental finesse. But if you’re going to nudge climate change off the podium with a flippant shove, you’ll have to parry the feral glare of every farmer—and pretty much every sane viewer—who knows the weather isn’t just a performance. It’s a warning.

Read more:
Why Clarkson’s Farm should tackle climate change – before the business of farming crumbles

Molly McDonald, founder of Blue Door Productions and a seasoned YouTube content specialist who has worked with Red Bull, KSI and the BBC, has praised YouTube’s latest efforts to clamp down on mass-produced, low-quality AI content, calling the move a vital step in protecting human creativity and authentic storytelling.

The platform is rolling out new monetisation rules that restrict revenue opportunities for creators who rely solely on AI-generated content. The update, set to take effect this month, signals a shift in favour of “meaningful human input”such as creative editing, commentary, and original scripting.

“YouTube’s new policy helps guard against the risk of AI use because it ensures human responsibility and oversight,” said McDonald.

“Reducing AI-generated content supports those who truly power the platform – real people crafting original work.”

While the video-sharing giant is not banning artificial intelligence outright, it is drawing a firm line: content must feature substantive human involvement to be eligible for ad revenue.

McDonald, whose production agency has worked across high-profile branded and influencer content, agrees with this distinction.

“AI is a great tool for the industry – it can aid scriptwriting, support editing workflows, and even generate supplementary content,” she said.

“But it’s important we don’t become dependent on it. Mass automation would inevitably lead to low-quality output that damages the very fabric of the creative economy.”

She warned that a flood of “AI slop” – low-effort, auto-generated content – would erode trust, reduce engagement, and ultimately hurt both viewers and professional creators.

The policy changes are part of a wider push by YouTube to retain its position as a platform for authentic voices, especially as generative AI tools become more accessible and widely adopted.

“The bottom line is, the human experience cannot be replicated,” McDonald said.

“What connects with audiences is emotional depth, nuance, authenticity – all of which only real people can create. That’s what builds trust and cultural value.”

She added that YouTube’s commitment to protecting that authenticity is not just a safeguard for the present, but an investment in its future.

“By protecting authenticity in its content, YouTube is actually future-proofing its own success.”

The move comes amid growing concerns that AI-generated content is flooding major platforms, undermining quality and user trust. YouTube’s monetisation guidelines follow similar trends seen on platforms like TikTok and Instagram, where brands and advertisers are increasingly seeking genuine, human-made content.

While the debate continues around where to draw the line between AI-assisted and AI-dependent content, creators like McDonald say the focus must remain on elevating originality and storytelling, rather than chasing automation at scale.

Read more:
“YouTube is future-proofing itself”: leading producer backs AI crackdown to protect creative jobs

The cancellation of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert is not, as CBS executives would desperately like us to believe, a “purely financial decision.” It is, quite transparently, the ceremonial sacrifice of satire on the altar of political appeasement and corporate consolidation.

Yes, late-night ratings have slipped. Yes, ad revenue is tighter than an intern’s skinny jeans at a Soho House party. But let’s not pretend Colbert was dead wood. His was the highest-rated late-night show in its slot. Emmy-winning. Critically lauded. Socially vital. And very much still watched — I know, because I watch it religiously. Not sure I’ve missed an episode in over a year. Hell, I even went to a taping the last time I was in New York.

In a year when American networks have spent billions on bloated reboots no one asked for and IP cash-ins so lazy they make Love Island look like Shakespeare, we’re supposed to believe that the network couldn’t find the budget for one of the most popular talk shows on American television?

No. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.

What happened?

Paramount, CBS’s parent company, was trying to finalise a merger with Skydance Media. But the Federal Communications Commission, chaired by a Trump appointee, had the deal under review. A spurious Trump lawsuit against CBS was hanging over everything like a fart in a lift. So they paid up. $16 million to the president and, coincidentally, soon-to-be-founder of the Trump Presidential Library & Golf Superstore. The lawsuit was laughable — claiming a 60 Minutes interview with Kamala Harris had been maliciously edited. Spoiler: it hadn’t. But CBS paid anyway.

That’s not metaphor. That’s the scent of compromise disguised as corporate prudence. Trump wanted money. The FCC, chaired by Trump’s man Brendan Carr, was delaying Paramount’s merger with Skydance Media. And then, as if by magic, a deal was struck, the FCC smiled, and Colbert — that cheeky, persistent thorn in the Trumpian posterior — was told he’d be off the air come May.

How wonderfully coincidental.

And Donald, never one to let subtlety get in the way of smugness, took to his rickety digital pulpit on Truth Social:

“I absolutely love that Colbert got fired. His talent was even less than his ratings.”

“I hear Jimmy Kimmel is next. Has even less talent than Colbert!”

He wasn’t done.

“Greg Gutfeld is better than all of them combined, including the Moron on NBC who ruined the once great Tonight Show,” referring to Jimmy Fallon, who must be nervously counting down his own commercial breaks now.

The president of the United States is openly celebrating the removal of his political critics from network television. No nuance, no shame. Just straight-up banana republic behaviour. And CBS is letting it happen.

Colbert himself saw it coming. Three days before CBS dropped the axe, he went after the $16 million settlement live on air. “As someone who has always been a proud employee of this network, I am offended,” he said. “I don’t know if anything – anything – will repair my trust in this company. But, just taking a stab at it, I’d say $16m would help.”

The crowd laughed. CBS board members did not.

Senators Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders weren’t laughing either. Warren posted, “CBS canceled Colbert’s show just THREE DAYS after Colbert called out CBS parent company Paramount for its $16M settlement with Trump – a deal that looks like bribery.” Sanders was blunter: “Do I think this is a coincidence? NO.”

Let’s not forget, satire has always been uncomfortable — it’s meant to be. But in Britain, we understand that discomfort was part of a healthy democracy.

Did Margaret Thatcher, no fan of dissent, ever phone the BBC and demand that Ben Elton be pulled off the air for his relentless “Mrs Thatch” tirades on Friday Night Live? No. She rolled her eyes and got on with it.

Did John Major ask for Spitting Image to melt down his dead-eyed puppet with the greying underpants? No. He probably winced, but understood that being lampooned is part of the job. If you can’t take a latex satire to the chin, you’re in the wrong line of work.

But Trump? Trump doesn’t do satire. He doesn’t even do irony. His skin is thinner than a Ryanair seat cushion and twice as easy to tear. And so, rather than rolling with the punches, he’s throwing elbows — at networks, at comedians, at newspapers, at anyone who doesn’t flatter his ego.

And with Colbert off-air, who’s next?

This isn’t just the end of a show. This is the end of an era. Colbert didn’t just fill a chair behind a desk — he held a mirror to power, to hypocrisy, to puffed-up politics and the empty suits who manipulate them. He took the absurd and made it art. He made you laugh while making you think, which is increasingly dangerous currency in a world dominated by clickbait, culture wars, and billionaires with fragile egos.

Colbert began in satire — not the fluffy late-night banter of falling asleep with Fallon but the hard stuff: The Colbert Report, his creation of a right-wing pundit who was somehow more believable than the real ones. He gave us “truthiness” before we knew how badly we’d need it. And when he moved to The Late Show, he didn’t neuter himself — he sharpened the blade.

So yes, this is personal. Not just for the 200 staffers soon out of a job. Not just for viewers like me, who tuned in for comfort and clarity and cleverness. But for anyone who still believes journalism — in whatever format — should punch up, not shut up.

What’s next? More of Trump’s wish list being fulfilled under the guise of economic restructuring? Will Jon Stewart be next for the guillotine? (“Shameful,” he said of the settlement.) Will NPR be shuttered because Trump doesn’t like vowels?

And now, as the stage lights dim and the applause fades, the future of satire feels uncertain.

Or does it?

Because while the suits in broadcast boardrooms pretend this is about balance sheets, over on YouTube — where the only approval required is a “Like” button — audiences are flocking. In fact, someone else has already made the leap: Piers Morgan, that perennial marmite of British broadcasting, has quietly – well it was a quiet as Morgan gets – shifted his Uncensored show from linear TV to YouTube, where it reaches more people, with less interference, and no need to pander to a regulator or advertiser with cold feet.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? Trump — the man who cut his teeth on reality TV, who turned CNN into a hate-watch for the MAGA faithful — may have just accelerated the future of television. By bullying broadcasters into silence, he’s made online freedom more attractive, more necessary.

Late-night satire might be dying on CBS, but it’s thriving elsewhere. Jon Stewart. Hasan Minhaj. Sarah Cooper. Even amateur YouTubers with a microphone and a sense of decency are picking up the mantle. The audience hasn’t disappeared — it’s migrated.

So maybe The Late Show is ending. But the idea of the late show — the honest, punch-up political comedy show — might just be evolving.

And as for Colbert? Don’t bet against him. The man once played a right-wing pundit in character for nine years without breaking once. He’s not afraid of a fight. He’s just lost his stage. For now.

So here’s my suggestion, Mr Colbert: light up a YouTube channel, Dust off all the covid-era tech. Call it The Even Later Show. Stream it straight from your living room. No censors. No FCC. No overlords with shareholder nerves. Just you, your writers, your desk — and your audience, who are very much still here, very much still watching. Plus if Morgan is believed you might even earn more!

And this time, the only cancellation that matters is the one your subscribers can control.

Read more:
Colbert gets cancelled – and with him, satire itself

Labour should be worried. That’s not to sound like a gurning tabloid—we’re better than that—but the early signs are far from reassuring.

Since April, when the non‑dom knockouts arrived and Chancellor Rachel Reeves scrapped the centuries‑old offshore loopholes, stories have been piling up: wealthy directors departing, shell‑companies relocating, ultra‑rich heirs re‑domiciling elsewhere. A Financial Times investigation found that nearly a third of non‑dom clients are now decamping to UAE, Italy or Switzerland. Henley & Partners has predicted a loss of 16,500 millionaires this year alone—evacuating around $92 billion in investable assets.

That’s the headline. But is it the full story? Dozens will always shuffle off, and some early sell‑offs were likely opportunistic, triggered by panic‑selling in overheated London markets. Indeed, in 2017 when Osborne tightened non‑dom rules, there was a spike—but by 2019 emigration had fallen back below pre‑reform levels. That suggests the real economic damage comes not from those who’ve bolted already, but from those still sitting on the fence, ready to skedaddle at the next tax trumpet.

So, what might Rachel Reeves do? Reports suggest she’s already reconsidering charging inheritance tax on offshore holdings after ten years of residence—the element deemed most punitive. Expect softening. The Treasury is apparently exploring “tweaks without backtracking” to stem capital flight. In plain English: make it slightly less unpalatable, so the bleats from Mayfair aren’t quite so loud.

One might say: why worry about millionaires offloading handbags and primary residences when ordinary UK voters are left draped in austerity? The hard truth is that non‑doms aren’t merely sitting ducks; many are significant investors, philanthropists and employers. Some weigh in with a hefty £400,000 annually in tax contributions and average asset investment of £118 million. The FT warned that a mass exodus could burn a hole in public finances and shutter growth strategies  .

That said, losing a tranche of “wealth parkers”—those who simply stash foreign money in London—might be a blessing. New Statesman’s Will Dunn points out that many non‑doms contribute little in economic substance; they can afford swanky flats but don’t generate domestic employment. Their departure could, perversely, free up homes for productive buyers and ease the supply bottleneck—an upside indeed.

Labour’s dilemma is this: it promised fairness (“those with the broadest shoulders…” etc.) and scrapping non‑dom was a powerful symbol. But symbols aren’t budgets. If the revenue is illusory—if exits exceed estimates and the tax base shrinks—this tightrope act looks reckless. The Office for Budget Responsibility’s projected £33.8 billion revenue gain over five years could quickly unravel  . Worse still, if wealthy high‑flyers vanish, office windows darken, venture capital freezes and the party is left with empty coffers and failing pledges.

Reeves now faces pressure on two fronts: to stand firm and close loopholes, and to not frighten capital. Early indicators suggest she’ll settle somewhere in between—curtail non‑doms in principle, soften key elements in practice. That may mollify non‑doms enough to stay, yet to Labour’s own base it will look like a climb‑down. And paralysis is worse than policy—because inaction portends shrinking receipts and yet more austerity.

So how worried should Labour be? Quite. Even if a full‑scale exodus doesn’t come to pass, the uncertainty, headline scares and wavering reforms haven’t been kind. And against that backdrop, whispers of a wealth tax—on assets over £10 million at two per cent—only add fuel to the flight fantasy  .

Perhaps the answer is not simply hammering the wealthy, but offering carrots: adjustment periods, phased implementation, exit taxes, residence bonds. A meaningful immigration route linked to investment, as others have suggested. But this requires imagination—and a sense that Labour is still in the game.

In short: Labour should worry, but not panic. Instead of reversing, they must recalibrate. The non‑dom rebellion isn’t a political crisis unless treated as one—by shutting down the exodus without sacrificing the underlying principle of a fairer tax system. Reassurance, clarity and nuance are key—anything less invites both rich people and public trust to take flight.

Read more:
Flight of the non-doms: how worried should Labour be about the super‑rich leaving the UK?

It says a lot about the state of modern music that the most hyped tour of 2025 is led by a band who last made a decent album when Blair was still in Downing Street.

Oasis have reunited for a £100 million world tour that sold out faster that you could say “Don’t Look Back in Anger”, then there is Sting, a man who’s now into his seventies, still touring the world with more grace than most 30-year-olds can muster after a pub lunch, and you’ve got to ask: where are the next generation of greats?

Not just stars, you understand. We’ve got plenty of those—shiny, streaming-friendly, hashtag-driven stars who can dance, duet, and disappear in under a year. I mean artists. Icons. People you’ll still be playing when your hair’s gone grey and the Bluetooth speaker has replaced the record player. Because when you look at the current Top 40, what you see is a conveyor belt of catchy choruses with the shelf life of supermarket sushi.

Now, I should declare my bias. I’m a lifelong lover of jazz. Proper, vinyl-scratched, soul-drenched jazz. And much of that passion, I owe to one man: Robert Elms. For years, his midday show on BBC Radio London has been my cultural North Star. To most black-cab drivers, he is London. “Mr London,” they call him, and rightly so. The man practically soundtracked the capital’s soul.

He was the first to champion artists like Amy Winehouse and Jamiroquai, long before record execs were convinced the public had the stomach for them. And yes, he’s the same man credited with coining the name Spandau Ballet, a band whose best suits and worst haircuts are permanently stitched into the fabric of the ‘80s. But as traditional radio listening dwindles—particularly among younger audiences—we’re losing the gatekeepers, the tastemakers, the people who could spot a genius in a smoky bar and get them on the air the next morning. No TikTok algorithm can do that.

This lack of long-term thinking is the rot at the heart of today’s music machine. Labels now chase virality over vision. Artists aren’t nurtured—they’re churned. We’ve moved from careers to campaigns. And while that might boost short-term streams, it doesn’t make legends.

Of course, there are flickers of hope. Eddie Piller, the man behind Acid Jazz Records, remains a keeper of the flame. He discovered and launched Jamiroquai, a band that brought style and soul to the mainstream when it badly needed both. Now he’s championing Nick Corbin, back with New Street Adventure.

I genuinely think that Corbin is a rare talent in today’s landscape—honest songwriting, velvet vocals, and a live show that actually means something. If the world were fair, he’d be headlining Glastonbury. Instead, you’ll find him on stage at 9.30pm, somewhere in Camden, for £12 a ticket and a pint in a plastic cup.

And what of the others? Olly Murs, that affable X Factor graduate, is still clapping along, still charming daytime TV audiences and provincial arenas. Sam Fender, the critics’ pick to inherit the Springsteen mantle, is perhaps the best bet we’ve got—a gritty voice, big choruses, and lyrics that occasionally rise above the pub-poster politics. But will he be doing this in 30 years? Will his songs still soundtrack weddings, break-ups and boozy karaoke sessions? Too early to say.

The truth is, we’re living in a music culture of disposability. The Top 40 albums of 2025—according to the Official Charts Company—are filled with names who, talented as they may be, feel fleeting. Tracks are written for clips, not for concerts. Verses are designed to land on social media before they land on stage. And with attention spans now shorter than the average bass solo, we’ve trained audiences to swipe, not stay.

What we’re really missing is longevity. The kind that used to be cultivated through gigs, independent radio, late-night TV performances, and—yes—passionate presenters like Robert Elms. He played the songs no one else would. He had the ear to hear brilliance before it charted. Now, with legacy media being strangled by cuts and algorithms, we’re watching that entire ecosystem fade away.

And as it fades, so too does the route for new talent. Without the Elmses of the world, how many future Amy Winehouses or Jamiroquais are we losing to the scroll?

So yes, I’ll be at the Oasis tour, with the overpriced merch and a tear in my eye when the first chorus of “Live Forever” kicks in. And yes, I’ll admire Sting’s stamina as he glides across the stage like a tantric Peter Pan. But I’ll also be wondering: when today’s headliners hang up their guitars and holograms take their place, who will be left with the weight, the artistry, and the staying power to replace them?

Read more:
Where is the music industry going?

You’ll hear a lot of nonsense these days about “British jobs for British people”, as though talent stops at Dover and genius requires a passport. I’m here to tell you—rhetorically, floridly, perhaps even provocatively—that if we carry on down that road, the only thing we’ll be exporting is our future.

Because here’s the cold, unapologetic truth: some of the best companies in Britain right now weren’t started by blokes from Bromley or lasses from Loughborough. They were built—boldly, brilliantly—by immigrants. Entrepreneurs who came here with no old-school tie, no Oxford college affiliation, no seat at the Garrick. Just vision, stamina, and a burning need to build something better.

Take Revolut, the digital bank that made high-street banking look like dial-up internet. Started by Nikolay Storonsky (pictured), born in Russia and schooled in physics and hustle, Revolut tore through the crusty layers of traditional finance like a chainsaw through suet. Or Monzo—built with help from a multicultural team whose mission wasn’t British tradition, but global innovation.

Then there’s ElevenLabs, the AI voice tech company that’s gone from zero to warp speed in less time than it takes HMRC to answer a phone call. Co-founded by Piotr Dąbkowski, who’s Polish, and Mati Staniszewski, who is—whisper it—also not from Guildford. They’re building the future of media from a country still arguing about Radio 4.

And Synthesia. God bless it. A startup so cool, even the Americans are jealous. An AI video platform used by companies all over the world—led by a team of immigrant founders whose collective ambition makes the Houses of Parliament look like a village fête. They didn’t come here for the weather or the late trains. They came here to build something. And thank God they did.

Now, imagine for a moment if we’d told them all to bugger off at passport control. “Sorry mate, can’t let you in. We’ve got a lad in Swindon with a Raspberry Pi and a dream.” Ludicrous, right? But that’s the direction we’re drifting in. A little more visa red tape here, a little more rhetoric about “taking back control” there—and suddenly, the UK becomes a nation of heritage rather than a hub of invention.

I’m not saying British-born entrepreneurs don’t deserve praise. They do— many of them are sensational. But if we want to build a truly great entrepreneurial economy, it’s not about geography. It’s about gravity. The UK must become a gravitational centre for the best minds in the world. The brightest thinkers. The hungriest founders. The wildest dreamers. Not just the ones born within the sound of Bow Bells.

We don’t win by narrowing the gate. We win by making the UK the best bloody place on Earth to start a company. That means generous and intelligent visa schemes. That means startup tax incentives with real teeth. That means investment channels that don’t require your uncle to be in the House of Lords. And it means—crucially—a culture that doesn’t sneer at ambition or treat innovation like an awkward dinner guest.

If you ask me, the Home Office ought to be handing out platinum-tier welcome packs at Heathrow. “Welcome to Britain, here’s your Innovator Visa, a coffee, and directions to the nearest co-working space.” Let’s treat entrepreneurs the way we treat Premier League footballers: as indispensable imports that raise the whole game.

Instead, we get Nigel-from-Twitter banging on about “taking our country back”, while the most talented people on the planet quietly buy one-way tickets to Berlin, Austin, or Dubai.

Do you know what makes Silicon Valley what it is? Not just code and venture capital. It’s the constant influx of people who don’t give a monkey’s about status quo. People with accents, ambition, and absolutely no sense of when to quit. Sound familiar? It should. That’s the same spirit that built the UK’s best startups.

And yet, for all our history of trade and talent, empire and enterprise, we now seem more interested in walling ourselves off than inviting brilliance in. It’s short-sighted, self-defeating, and stupid. Like unplugging your router because the internet’s “a bit foreign”.

The truth is, we’re in a global arms race for innovation. AI, biotech, climate tech—it’s all moving at warp speed. If we want to be in the room where it happens, we need to open the door.

And no, this isn’t about immigration versus opportunity. It’s about immigration as opportunity. About recognising that talent is our last competitive advantage in a world where supply chains are broken, politics is polarised, and interest rates are doing the Hokey Cokey.

So let’s be bold. Let’s be a magnet for ambition. Let’s stop pretending that greatness wears a particular passport and start building a Britain that says to every global innovator: “Yes. Here. Now.”

Because if we don’t, the Revoluts and ElevenLabs of the future won’t be British. They’ll be Belgian. Or Balinese. Or based in Boston.

And we’ll be left here, proud and poor, wondering why all our best ideas now come with a return address in Zurich.

Read more:
We must make Britain the best place to build companies for the world’s best talent

I’m all for a bit of back-patting. Especially when it’s well deserved, and even more so when the hand doing the patting is someone else’s.

So when Press Gazette – the hallowed trade rag of media geeks and PR doyennes – recently ran a lovely write-up on the growth of Capital Business Media, I was delighted. Beaming, in fact. There’s something satisfying about seeing your company’s hard graft recognised in print (or pixels), nestled among the news of who’s made substantial redundancies, who’s pivoted, and who’s just hired a former TikTok influencer as their new head of strategy.

But then came the kicker. The buzzkill. The frustrating, fingers-on-a-blackboard twist in the tale: the piece was behind a paywall.

Now, I get it. Journalism isn’t free. Reporters need to be paid. Publishers need to keep the lights on. And websites – even the ones with clunky UX and a cookie banner the size of a duvet – need revenue. But when your shiny new bit of PR, lovingly pitched, massaged, and nudged into a slot by your PR team, is suddenly visible to… well, about 37 subscribers and a bloke named Colin who still has an RSS reader… it all feels a bit, well, pointless.

The actual growth that the Press Gazette piece on Capital Business Media was talking about came about directly because we do not use paywall’s – and never will –  on any of our websites, and Press Gazette could most probably make themselves more revenue but not using one.

Because PR – real, strategic, value-generating PR – is about more than egos. Or at least, it should be. It’s about reach. Visibility. Shaping the conversation. A great media hit should do more than sit on your mum’s fridge door. It should drive traffic, get people Googling you, earn you a bit more swagger in the pitch meeting.

But when it’s locked behind the “Subscribe now for £14.99 a month (or £149.99 a year)” barricade, the value begins to erode. Not immediately, and not always fatally, but in a death-by-a-thousand-clicks sort of way. The headline teases. The intro loads. Then—bam. The wall comes down like a guillotine. And the potential impact? It vanishes into the digital void.

And this isn’t just me having a sulk because my feature couldn’t be screen-grabbed and paraded across LinkedIn like a new baby photo. This is a broader issue facing the entire PR industry. If the holy grail of coverage – the big-name title, the high-profile platform – can only be seen by those who already live and breathe media, then what’s the real ROI for the client?

Will businesses keep paying four or five figures a month to get coverage they can’t properly leverage? Will CMOs sign off on budgets to secure placements in titles their customers, partners, and stakeholders can’t even read without creating yet another login and parting with a tenner?

There’s an uncomfortable truth here. One that PR firms – especially the big, glossy ones with exposed-brick offices and scented reception desks – might not want to admit: the value of PR is increasingly in visibility, not just placement. And visibility, in a post-paywall world, is getting harder to quantify.

As a company we come at media ownership at a slight different angle to others, as I used to be a partner in a highly successful Cardiff based PR company and we are in the process of launching a new digital coverage company The Content Crafting Company and the entire premiss will be to work with non-paywall media outlets.

Yes, there’s still cachet in a Financial Times mention. A Times write-up can still lend serious clout. But if your audience is entrepreneurs, SMEs, or anyone under 35 who thinks paying for news is a crime against the internet, then your impact is limited.

We live in an age where LinkedIn posts, podcast appearances, and cheeky YouTube shorts get more engagement than some magazine articles. I’ve seen company founders go viral with a single raw, self-shot iPhone video explaining their mission – reaching more eyeballs than a full-page spread in a national broadsheet could ever hope to.

That’s not to say traditional media is dead. Far from it. But the model is creaking. It’s not built for the distribution-hungry, scroll-happy, SEO-driven landscape we now operate in. And PR firms, frankly, need to adapt. Because clients are starting to ask better questions. Not just “Can you get us in The Guardian?” but “How many people will see it? How many will click? Can we share it freely? Will it help with our Google ranking?”

If the answer to all those is “no”, or “only if they pay for the privilege”, then PR – the good kind, the strategic kind – needs to find new ways of proving its worth. That might mean a shift towards owned media. Thought leadership. Influencer outreach. Or yes, even paying to boost your own press coverage on social.

I’m not here to slate paywalls. They’re a necessary evil in a world where journalism has been gutted by ad models, clickbait, and social media giants. But let’s not pretend they don’t complicate the picture for PR.

As for that Press Gazette article? It was nice. It was flattering. It was a professional moment of pride. But when I tried to share it with a potential client and he replied, “Mate, I’d love to read it but I’m not subscribing just to see your face”, I had to laugh.

Because if a brilliant bit of coverage falls in the forest, and no one’s there to click on it – did it ever really happen?

Read more:
Yes, it’s great to get PR coverage – until it’s locked behind a bloody paywall

There’s something about the buzz in the room on the night of the Lloyds British Business Excellence Awards that’s hard to describe. It’s not just about the champagne or the sparkle, though there’s certainly plenty of both. It’s something deeper.

As Sarah Austin, Awards Director, Lloyds British Business Excellence Awards, explains, it is the sense that, for one night, British businesses of all sizes, from all sectors, get the recognition they so richly deserve.

In a world of 24/7 hustle, where teams are often running at full tilt and achievements can be quickly swept aside in the rush to meet the next deadline, business awards are one of the few moments where we can hit pause, take stock, and say — “we did that.” And that’s not just good for morale. It’s good for business.

I’m proud to lead the Lloyds British Business Excellence Awards — widely regarded as the UK’s largest and most prestigious business awards. As former Chancellor Jeremy Hunt rightly put it, “The BBEA is the great renaissance of Great British business.” And having seen first-hand the transformational impact these awards can have — not just on the winners, but on every company that chooses to put itself forward — I can tell you with absolute certainty: entering a business award can be a game-changer.

Recognition matters — inside and out

Let’s start with your team. Your people are your most valuable asset, and the past few years have pushed them harder than ever. Recognising their dedication with an independent stamp of excellence isn’t just a pat on the back — it’s a public declaration that their hard work is paying off. When employees see the company they’ve built or supported being recognised on a national stage, it ignites pride, boosts motivation, and reinforces a shared sense of purpose. The UK is globally known for its sensational talent , let’s put us on the global stage.

But awards do more than energise your workforce. They send a strong message to your customers, your suppliers, and your stakeholders. When a business is shortlisted — or better still, wins — it signals that you’re operating at the top of your game. That matters in the boardroom. It matters in the marketplace. And it matters in your supply chain.

In fact, we hear time and again from entrants that even making it to the finalist stage opens new doors. Whether it’s landing a game-changing contract, attracting investment, or becoming a partner of choice in a crowded field, awards can add weight and credibility that no marketing campaign can match.

The process is the prize

Still unsure? Here’s another reason to enter: the process itself is a gift.

To submit a strong award entry, you need to take a step back and reflect. What have you achieved? Where have you made a difference? What lessons have you learned? In the day-to-day whirlwind, there’s rarely time for this kind of strategic stocktake — yet it’s incredibly powerful.

Time and again, our applicants tell us that preparing their entries helped them clarify their goals, refine their messaging, and spot opportunities for improvement. Some even say the act of entering was more beneficial than the win itself. That’s the magic of a well-designed awards programme — it helps you tell your story better, internally and externally.

It’s not just for the big players

One of the biggest myths I encounter is that awards are only for huge companies with corporate PR teams and glossy brochures. Not so.

The BBEA is open to businesses of all shapes and sizes — from early-stage disruptors to high-growth SMEs and household-name giants. We have categories that celebrate sustainability, purpose-driven leadership, customer excellence, and innovation, to name just a few. If your business is making waves in any of these areas, there’s a category for you.

What we care about is impact, not headcount. Ambition, not advertising budgets. We want to celebrate those quietly changing the game, those doing the right thing, those striving — day in, day out — to make a difference.

Time is running out — don’t miss your chance

So here’s the call to action: if you’ve ever thought about entering a business award — or even if you haven’t — this is your moment. You have just 17 days left to enter the Lloyds British Business Excellence Awards 2025, and I cannot urge you strongly enough to seize the opportunity.

This isn’t just another trophy for the cabinet. It’s a chance to shine a light on what makes your business great. It’s a platform to celebrate your people, to raise your profile, and to join a prestigious community of excellence that spans every sector and region of the UK.

So be part of the renaissance. Celebrate what you’ve built. Champion your team. And show the world what British business can really do.

Entries close in just 17 days — don’t miss out. Visit www.britishbusinessexcellenceawards.co.uk to find your category and start your journey.

Read more:
Why business awards are more than just trophies — they’re catalysts for growth

A growing number of British professionals and entrepreneurs are preparing to leave the UK to escape what has been branded Labour’s “stealth tax bombshell”, according to independent financial advisory firm deVere Group.

The warning comes as new figures suggest nearly two million workers will be dragged into higher tax brackets by the end of the decade, due to the continued freeze on income tax thresholds. But deVere says those projections could fall short — because many of those affected are already plotting their exit.

“There’s a major assumption at play here — that people will simply accept being pushed into higher brackets without taking action,” said Nigel Green, deVere’s CEO. “That’s not what we’re seeing. On the contrary, the appetite to move abroad and legally restructure finances has soared since Reeves’ first Budget and the momentum is not slowing.”

The Office for Budget Responsibility (OBR) has estimated that fiscal drag — where inflationary wage growth pulls more people into higher tax bands — will generate £8.9 billion for the Treasury. But Green suggests that forecast overlooks a critical factor: mobility.

“Relocation is no longer the preserve of the ultra-wealthy. Remote working, global hiring and dual citizenship have significantly lowered the barriers,” he said. “We’re now seeing more middle-income professionals considering their options abroad, particularly in higher cost regions like the south-east.”

According to internal deVere data, client relocation consultations have risen by 36% in the south-east since January, with Italy, Portugal, Switzerland and Dubai among the most popular destinations. These jurisdictions offer favourable regimes, including flat tax options or exemptions on foreign income.

“A skilled Londoner earning 50% above the median salary now faces £2,700 more in annual income tax than two years ago — a rise of nearly 25%,” Green said. “For families already squeezed by mortgage and childcare costs, it’s proving a tipping point.”

Green argues that the government is misjudging the resilience of its tax base. “That £8.9 billion figure depends on a static population and passive taxpayers. Neither of those assumptions holds true,” he said.

“People, entrepreneurs, capital — they all move. Tax policy doesn’t operate in a vacuum.”

The warning follows growing political pressure over the use of frozen thresholds as a way to raise revenue without increasing headline tax rates. Labour’s continuation of this policy, introduced by the Conservatives, has led to accusations of a stealth tax raid on working families.

“Governments betting on bracket creep as a stealthy source of cash may need to rethink the maths,” Green added. “The real story isn’t just how much more tax Brits will be forced to pay — it’s how many will quietly leave before they do. That £8.9bn figure? It’s already shrinking.”

Read more:
UK stealth tax hike risks exodus of high earners, deVere warns

The thing about Rachel Reeves—apart from the ironed hair, the thousand-yard stare and the curious knack for speaking in spreadsheets—is that for someone who claims to be building economic stability, she’s remarkably good at causing chaos.

The sort of chaos that isn’t loud and fast and wrapped in flashing lights, but a slow, calculated, exchequer-shaped car crash. With every tax tweak and fiscal fiddle, the Chancellor seems less like a guardian of growth and more like a reverse Robin Hood—robbing not the rich to feed the poor, but hammering the hopeful to satisfy the ideological.

Let’s start with the millionaires, because of course we should. They’re the villains in the modern morality play, aren’t they? The hedge-funders, the tech bros, the Notting Hill set with unearned six-packs and actual pensions. But here’s the thing: they’ve gone. Vanished. Left faster than a party donor in a non-disclosure scandal. Spain, Portugal, the UAE—take your pick. Anywhere with sunshine and fewer punitive taxes on the fruits of your own bloody graft.

Capital gains? Hiked. Dividend taxes? Squeezed. Non-dom status? Dead. You can feel Rachel’s satisfaction radiating from the red dispatch box—“Look, I’ve made the system fair!” But fair to whom, exactly? Not to the rest of us who rely on those millionaires for investment, for job creation, for risk capital. You can’t build a booming economy while running a “For Sale: One Prosperous Nation, Owner Fled” sign in the City.

And then there’s the private school VAT debacle, a policy so proudly self-sabotaging you’d think it was dreamed up during a particularly long wait on hold with HMRC. Because nothing says “levelling up” like adding 20 per cent to school fees, causing a mass exodus from the independent sector and dumping thousands of bewildered middle-class children into a state system that can’t afford to mend the loos, let alone fund a Latin department.

We’re now in a situation where overstretched comprehensives—already juggling teacher shortages, dilapidated buildings and half-a-dozen TikTok-inspired behavioural epidemics—are being asked to accommodate pupils who were doing fine where they were. Because their parents, often two-job families scraping everything to give their kids a chance, suddenly can’t make the numbers work. So in one fell swoop, Reeves has created more pressure on state education and ensured that the very notion of aspiration has been subject to VAT.

And let’s not forget the little guys. The small businesses, the freelancers, the self-employed who, in the dreams of policy wonks, are seen as plucky start-ups in Shoreditch lofts, but in reality are your plumber, your dog groomer, your mum’s mobile nail technician. These people don’t have tax loopholes or offshore accounts. They don’t “max out their ISA” or play currency arbitrage on a second screen. They just want to make a living. And now, thanks to Reeves’s drive to close “the tax gap,” they are treated with the same suspicion as a Russian oligarch buying a Belgravia townhouse in crypto.

Every “crackdown” on self-employment, every tightening of IR35, every demand for real-time tax data is a signal: you are not to be trusted. And who gets hurt? Not the CEOs, not the multinationals with lawyers by the dozen. It’s the part-time bookkeeper in Bolton, the roofer in Romford, the events planner in Epsom. All of whom are now expected to carry the burden of fiscal fairness while HMRC plays hide-and-seek with the people who owe actual millions.

It’s one thing to talk about redistribution. It’s quite another to perform an economic exorcism on the country’s productive classes. Reeves doesn’t seem to realise that prosperity isn’t a finite pie to slice ever more thinly, but a delicate ecosystem. You scare off the high earners, overtax the employers, kneecap the educational ladder and shackle the self-employed, and you’re not left with equality. You’re left with inertia.

The Labour line is that all of this is necessary. A little pain now for stability later. But the pain always seems to be in the same place. It’s never Whitehall. Never the unions. Never the quangos or the consultants or the eye-wateringly wasteful procurement contracts. No. It’s families. Workers. People who run corner shops and send their kids to modest private schools because the local comp has had five headteachers in four years and is best known for a viral video involving a hamster and a Bunsen burner.

The tragedy of Reeves’s approach is not that it’s radical—it’s that it’s regressive. A kind of fiscal performatism designed more to tick boxes in a Guardian editorial than to encourage the next generation of wealth creators. She’s playing to the crowd, but the crowd isn’t watching. It’s working, or emigrating, or wondering if it’s time to switch the business to Dubai and homeschool on Zoom.

There was a moment, not long ago, when Labour could have genuinely claimed to be the party of the working ambitious. Of the kid from Leeds who wanted to start a coffee chain or build an app. But now? Now they look like the party of “No.” No to incentives. No to innovation. No to keeping what you earn. A party suspicious of success and hostile to the ladders that help you get there.

Every Chancellor has to make tough decisions. But Reeves has confused toughness with punishment, and prudence with paranoia. With every tax, she’s not just balancing the books. She’s burning the blueprint for growth. And once you’ve lost that, no amount of fiscal rules will bring it back.

Read more:
With every tax, Rachel Reeves does more damage

The new UK-US trade deal, announced with fanfare as a major step in transatlantic economic relations, offers little benefit to the UK’s automotive sector, according to the audit and tax experts at Blick Rothenberg.

The deal — officially titled the General Terms for the United States of America and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland Economic Prosperity Deal — will reduce tariffs on British car exports to the US from 27.5% to 10%. However, Robert Salter, Director at Blick Rothenberg, argues the agreement merely limits the damage caused by President Trump’s previous protectionist policies and does not open new market opportunities.

“While a 10% tariff is clearly better than the 27% imposed under President Trump, it’s important to remember that under the previous administration of Joe Biden, UK car imports faced only a 2.5% tariff,” said Salter.

The 10% tariff will apply only to the first 100,000 vehicles imported into the US each year. The UK exported approximately 101,000 vehicles to the US last year, meaning the agreement effectively caps growth.

“This limit means that the UK automotive sector cannot expand exports to the US without being hit with higher tariffs,” Salter explained. “All the deal does is preserve the status quo — it doesn’t help the sector grow.”

He added that, while the agreement might safeguard existing jobs and exports, it does not create any meaningful new commercial advantages or incentives for investment in UK automotive production for the US market.

Salter also questioned the broader economic value of the deal, calling it a limited framework that falls short of delivering macroeconomic gains.

“While the agreement might provide a foundation for more meaningful trade terms in other sectors, this deal by itself will not deliver significant wins for the overall UK economy,” he said.

The comments contrast with more optimistic reactions from some corners of government and industry following the deal’s announcement, which included tariff relief for UK steel and certain other exports.

The Society of Motor Manufacturers and Traders (SMMT) previously welcomed the deal for removing “an immediate threat” to exports, but experts like Salter warn that this should not be confused with progress.

“This is a damage-limitation agreement,” Salter concluded. “It prevents further harm — but it’s not a trade win in the way it’s being presented.”

As the UK looks to boost exports and grow its manufacturing base, Salter urged policymakers to pursue more ambitious, sector-specific trade terms — particularly in high-value export industries like automotive, aerospace, and green technology.

With domestic car production under pressure and trade competitiveness increasingly vital, the latest deal may have bought the UK some time — but not the breakthrough the automotive sector needs.

Read more:
US trade deal is not a win for UK automotive industry

The UK and Canada’s FinTech industries are poised to benefit from closer collaboration following the re-election of Mark Carney, according to leading audit, tax and advisory firm Blick Rothenberg.

Melissa Thomas, Head of the firm’s Canada desk, said Carney’s pledge to prioritise economic ties with “reliable allies” such as the United Kingdom could open the door to deeper cooperation between two of the world’s leading FinTech hubs: London and Toronto.

“Toronto and London are world leaders in the FinTech sector,” Thomas said. “Initiatives like the Canadian Technology Accelerator (CTA) programme — which in 2024 supported Canadian firms engaging with the UK FinTech market — demonstrate strong appetite for collaboration, which Mark Carney is no doubt aware of.”

Carney’s return to public office signals a shift in Canada’s global trade strategy, with increased focus on diversifying economic relationships beyond its traditionally dominant US trading partnership. Thomas said that the FinTech sector is well placed to drive that strategy, offering innovative solutions to modernise financial infrastructure and ease cross-border business.

“But to do this,” she added, “they will need a helping hand from programmes like CTA to foster meaningful connections and support rapid scaling.”

Carney’s deep understanding of both economies is expected to ease regulatory cooperation. As a former Governor of both the Bank of Canada and the Bank of England, he brings rare insight into the UK’s financial ecosystem and a proven ability to manage macroeconomic shifts — including Brexit.

“This experience could help to smooth regulatory cooperation between the UK and Canada, which would aid the fostering of new FinTech investment partnerships,” Thomas said.

She also pointed to the momentum from the successful 2021 UK-Canada Free Trade Agreement, which guaranteed 99% tariff-free access for goods. Since the UK left the EU, bilateral trade between the two nations has increased by more than 60%.

With both countries looking to expand their digital economies and build future-proof trade relationships, Carney’s re-election could serve as a catalyst for a new era of FinTech collaboration between Canada and the UK.

Read more:
UK and Canada’s FinTech sectors set to benefit from Mark Carney’s re-election

It started, as all great things do these days, with a streaming binge. Somewhere between insomnia, jet lag, nostalgia, and a desperate need for a bit of idealism in a very unideal world, I found myself rewatching The West Wing, and then The Newsroom. And then bits of A Few Good Men, The Social Network, even that short-lived, overambitious love letter to television, Studio 60, having watched a taping of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert in New York.

Before I knew it, I was deep in the Sorkinverse — half-preaching the Bartlet doctrine to Bruno the Spaniel,  and half-wondering why no one in real life ever has an epiphany at 90 miles an hour over a White House staircase.

And it hit me — the reason these monologues still rattle in my skull, the reason I rewind them like old C90’s, is the same reason I return, time and time again, to Shakespeare.

Because in their own utterly different, perfectly precise ways, both Aaron Sorkin and William Shakespeare do the same thing: they put the human soul on a stage, hand it a mic, and let it speak until the walls shake.

That’s why I’m writing this. Not as a TV critic or a frustrated playwright, but as someone who genuinely believes Sorkin is the Bard of our times — swapping swords for subpoenas, and soliloquies for Senate smacks.

Now, I can already hear the English professors howling into their quills. “Sorkin? That caffeinated chatterbox with a West Wing fetish?” Yes. Him. The king of walk-and-talk. The maestro of monologue. The man who gave us Jack Nicholson’s “You can’t handle the truth!” and Jeff Daniels’ brutal verbal exorcism of American exceptionalism in The Newsroom. Say what you like, but the man writes.

And crucially, like Shakespeare, Sorkin has given us characters that don’t just talk — they testify.

Shakespeare had Hamlet’s “To be or not to be,” Macbeth’s “Is this a dagger?” and Lear’s primal wails on the heath. Sorkin has Colonel Jessup, finger jabbing at the bench, roaring, “You want me on that wall!” He has President Bartlet standing alone in the National Cathedral, soaked to the skin, screaming in Latin at God. He has Zuckerberg, stone-faced across a conference table, delivering one of the iciest put-downs in legal history: “If you guys were the inventors of Facebook, you’d have invented Facebook.”

I mean, come on.

If Shakespeare was the master of poetic introspection, Sorkin is the laureate of caffeinated conviction. His soliloquies aren’t whispered into the void. They’re blasted across courtrooms, newsrooms, and corridors of power. They don’t just ponder mortality or fate — they punch bureaucracy in the face, then drop the mic and stride off with perfect posture and a billowing trench coat.

Take The Newsroom. The pilot opens with what can only be described as an intellectual ambush. Jeff Daniels, wearing the haggard face of a man who’s read too many poll results and seen too many idiots on Twitter, lets rip with a monologue so sharp it practically perforates the American flag.

“We stood up for what was right… we reached for the stars… we aspired to intelligence…”

It’s Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar crossed with The Economist. And it’s bloody brilliant.

Then there’s President Bartlet in The West Wing, grieving the death of his secretary Mrs Landingham — a woman who had, let’s be honest, more moral compass than half his Cabinet — and taking on God Himself in a deserted cathedral. The lighting is gothic, the rain torrential, and the president is pissed.

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”

You don’t get that in Love’s Labour’s Lost.

And that’s the thing. Sorkin, like Shakespeare, understands that the most important theatre isn’t always in palaces or parliaments — it’s in the hearts of flawed, furious people trying to do the right thing while the world insists otherwise.

He gives us characters who burn with purpose. Sam Seaborn, the quixotic speechwriter, practically combusts with idealism every time he opens his mouth. In one episode, he blurts out:

“Education is the silver bullet. We don’t need little changes, we need monumental ones.”

He’s like Henry V, if Henry had access to a Princeton debate team and a MacBook Pro.

Of course, Shakespeare had his flaws. Longwindedness, for one. (Seriously, Bill, just get to the stabbing.) And Sorkin? Well, he has his. The verbal pyrotechnics can occasionally tip into theatrical gymnastics. The characters all sound a bit… Sorkiny. Like they’ve all gone to the same Ivy League dinner party and decided never to leave.

But even that sameness has its purpose. Sorkin doesn’t write people so much as he writes ideas wrapped in hair and tailored suits. And just like the Bard, he’s unashamedly didactic. He’s not here to reflect life as it is. He’s here to pitch life as it should be — rational, decent, and marginally better educated.

And yes, there’s ego. Mountains of it. But find me a playwright who doesn’t believe they’ve got something important to say, and I’ll show you someone who ends up writing for Emmerdale or Corrie…

Sorkin is at his best when he’s angry — but it’s a hopeful anger. A righteous indignation that still clings to the belief that a well-constructed argument, delivered at 90 miles an hour, might actually change something. And in this glacial, bureaucratic circus we call modern democracy, that’s no small miracle.

So yes, Sorkin is our Shakespeare. Not because he writes in iambic pentameter, but because he gives language weight. Because he understands that sometimes, one man talking into the abyss can still shift the ground beneath your feet.

And look, I get it. Sorkin’s not perfect. He’s not subtle. He’s not modern in the minimalist sense. But he is — indisputably — ours. Our generation’s bard. Less codpiece, more cable news. Less Tempest, more West Wing. But every bit as necessary.

And if you still don’t believe me, just watch the final scene in A Few Good Men again.

“You can’t handle the truth!”

It’s not just a line. It’s a challenge. A gauntlet. A tragedy in twelve syllables.

And like all great writers, Sorkin dares you to handle it — with both hands, and maybe a side of fries.

Read more:
Sorkin is the new Shakespeare — only with better suits and fewer dead kings

I had the rare luck to be in New York on the opening weekend of George Clooney’s stage adaptation of Good Night, and Good Luck a few weeks ago.

Yes, that George Clooney. Silver fox. Espresso salesman. Occasional director of films watched mostly by other directors. And now, it seems, Broadway dramatist. I’ll admit: I wasn’t expecting brilliance. But I was expecting at least a flicker of fire – and in that, Clooney didn’t disappoint.

The production, based on the 2005 film he directed, itself based on the righteous television crusade of CBS newsman Edward R. Murrow against the creeping poison of McCarthyism in 1950s America, is tight, slick and worryingly relevant. For a play set in a world of monochrome television screens, chain-smoking men in boxy suits and studio backrooms filled with cathode hum, it lands with the force of a modern slap across the face.

Because what struck me most as I left the theatre and walked into the honking chaos of Times Square – dodging tourists, bins, and overpriced pizza slices – wasn’t just the nostalgia for a time when journalism had guts. It was the inescapable realisation that somewhere between Murrow’s smoky sign-off and the arrival of TikTok news, we lost the fourth estate. Or if we didn’t lose it, we bloody well gave it away.

And look – I know this sounds like the usual hand-wringing of a middle-aged media junky (guilty), pining for the golden age of Woodward and Bernstein, and a press corps that didn’t get its political insight from someone’s Instagram story in a Pret. But it’s not just sentimentality. There has been a slow, grinding erosion of journalistic integrity, curiosity, and – frankly – courage. And it didn’t start with Twitter.

It started with fear. Fear of being shut out. Fear of losing access. Fear of being labelled “biased”, “fake news”, or – worst of all – “not impartial”. And so instead of asking the questions that matter, the British press (and I’ll include myself here) too often settled for the pantomime of the Westminster lobby, the Sunday spin cycle, and the weary ritual of ministers “doing the rounds” with their talking points on breakfast telly, unchallenged.

Take the Covid Inquiry. A moment – finally – for those in power to be held to account. For decisions that cost lives to be unpacked, explained, exposed. But what have we had? Carefully crafted apologies. The odd emotional wobble. And a press pack that largely reported it all like a dull episode of The Thick of It. Where was the outrage? The ferocity? The sense that this might actually matter?

The same applies to our relationship with MPs, councillors, police commissioners, NHS Trust heads, and all the rest of the laminated-card-wielding brigade of local power. Once upon a time, a backbench MP caught with his hand in the till or trousers round his ankles would be chased down the street by a horde of hacks demanding answers. Now we email their press officer and wait two weeks for a line that’s been “signed off”.

Clooney’s play reminded me of something more dangerous than apathy. It reminded me of complicity. Murrow wasn’t just speaking truth to power – he was speaking truth to his peers. “We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home,” he warned. And though he was talking about Communism and witch-hunts and the paranoia of a post-war America, you could just as easily apply that to our current predicament.

Because when journalists stop asking difficult questions, or worse, stop being allowed to, democracy falters. People tune out. Trust vanishes. And into that vacuum comes the conspiracy theorist, the populist YouTuber, the self-appointed truth-teller with a ring light and a Patreon page. And they thrive not because they’re more accurate, but because they sound angry – and anger, in the absence of integrity, is what people are left with.

I am as guilty as everyone here, and I accept that as on a different level, pre-Capital Business Media, between  1999-2004 we owned a local newspaper and magazine group which owned titles in London Docklands, West Essex and Cambridge and we did go soft of local investigations of planning decisions and restaurant reviews to name just two for purely commercial reasons. Like all media, from the CBS of Murrow to our Docklands News advertisers pay staff’s mortgages, rents and school fees so you need to be careful to not bite off the hand that feed you.

I’m not saying we need to turn every local paper into a remake of Spotlight. But maybe – just maybe – we need a bit more Murrow in the mix. A bit more discomfort. A bit more risk. And yes, perhaps a bit more George Clooney. Because for all his Hollywood gloss and obvious earnestness, what Clooney has done – whether he meant to or not – is to remind us of the stakes.

He’s reminded us that journalism, when it works, isn’t about access or awards or being first on X (née Twitter). It’s about scrutiny. It’s about saying what no one else will, at the moment it matters most. It’s about the courage to be unpopular – to lose friends, jobs, advertising revenue – in the pursuit of something bigger than yourself.

So yes, Good Night, and Good Luck does still have a point. A sharp one. It points directly at the vacuum where our national conscience used to be. And it dares us to fill it again – not with opinion or noise, but with truth.

Whether we will… well. That’s the real drama, isn’t it?

Read more:
The slow death of the fourth estate – and why George Clooney’s Broadway revival hits harder than he thinks

A strategically vital British manufacturer teetering on the brink, thousands of jobs in jeopardy, and a government reluctant to intervene. It may sound like the story of British Steel in 2025—but more than fifty years ago, the same narrative played out with another great British name: Rolls-Royce.

In the early 1970s, the luxury car and aerospace firm—then one of Britain’s largest employers—was facing financial collapse, largely due to cost overruns on the RB211 engine contract with US aerospace firm Lockheed. Despite knowing that the project’s schedule and budget were unrealistic, the company pushed forward, encouraged by the then technology minister Tony Benn.

By early 1971, with development costs nearly double the original estimates and government support drying up, Rolls-Royce entered receivership. The Conservative government under Edward Heath, just months into office and ideologically opposed to state interference, was forced to act. It nationalised the engine-making part of the company to prevent the collapse of a business deemed essential to the UK’s defence, exports, and prestige.

Newspapers at the time praised the government’s pragmatism: “A new government has not been blooded until it has discovered that the national interest is more important than its own political preference or prestige.”

That sentiment rings true again today, as Sir Keir Starmer’s government takes emergency action to keep British Steel’s Scunthorpe plant running. But if ministers are looking for a precedent that shows nationalisation can work—if done with discipline and strategic foresight—they could do worse than study the Rolls-Royce playbook.

Heath’s rescue was not a doctrinaire nationalisation. Rolls-Royce (1971) was structured as a private company, slimmed down and positioned for re-privatisation. As Heath later reflected in his memoirs:

“The government’s actions had avoided a massive wave of redundancies, safeguarded our defence and international interests, and put the company on a secure long-term footing.”

Support even came from an unlikely ally—President Nixon. Aware of the implications for the global supply chain, he persuaded the US Congress to refinance the Lockheed contract, recognising the importance of preserving Anglo-American industrial cooperation.

A key part of the turnaround was the return of legendary engineer Sir Stanley Hooker, who revived the troubled RB211 engine project. Whether newly appointed interim executives Allan Bell and Lisa Coulson can replicate such a feat at British Steel remains to be seen.

Of course, the parallels have limits. Rolls-Royce in 1971 was a technological leader and a major defence supplier. British Steel, by contrast, has been plagued by years of underinvestment, volatile commodity pricing, and crippling energy costs—compounded now by President Trump’s aggressive tariffs on imported steel.

But the core question remains the same: when a strategically important industry is in freefall, can a targeted form of nationalisation stabilise and ultimately renew it?

There are reasons to be cautious. The Department for Business and Trade, now tasked with oversight, has little recent track record in managing nationalised assets beyond the smaller Sheffield Forgemasters, acquired in 2021 to protect naval supply chains. British Steel is a far more complex undertaking—larger, costlier, and more politically sensitive.

Energy costs remain one of the thorniest issues. Unless the government addresses the systemic pricing disadvantage faced by UK heavy industry compared to its European and global peers, any rescue risks being little more than a short-term fix.

Yet there is more than British Steel’s future riding on this decision. Calls are growing louder for other failing utilities—most notably Thames Water—to be brought into public ownership. If the British Steel intervention falters, the case for wider strategic nationalisations could be irreparably damaged.

The story of Rolls-Royce reminds us that nationalisation need not be a dead end. With a clear structure, skilled leadership, and international collaboration, a failing company can be turned around. The lesson for Starmer’s government is that the success of such interventions rests not on ideology, but execution.

Read more:
Rolls-Royce’s 1970s rescue offers a blueprint for British Steel’s survival

There was a time, not so long ago, when America was the greatest country in the world.

Not just because it said so on the telly, not because it could nuke you from space, or because every high school film ended with a slow clap and a national anthem. No — because it led. With ideas, with invention, with democratic ideals (however hypocritically applied), with a swagger that came from real cultural capital, real global respect. America didn’t just show up to the party — it built the damn house.

But not anymore

And I don’t say this with glee. I’m not some sanctimonious Brit revelling in Uncle Sam’s decline while sipping tepid tea in a London kitchen. I say this because facts matter. Because rhetoric isn’t reality. And because under President Donald J. Trump — not once, but now twice elected as Commander-in-Chief — the United States has taken a chainsaw to its global reputation, its domestic integrity, and its long-term prospects.

Let’s be clear: America hasn’t been ‘great’ in the aspirational, post-war, Statue-of-Liberty sense for a while. But this time, it feels terminal. It’s not just decline. It’s wilful decay.

The environment? A joke. Trump’s ghoulish love affair with coal has been re-consummated. In a flurry of pen-strokes that would’ve made a 19th-century industrialist swoon, he reopened the gates to coal-fired power plants. Actual coal, like it’s 1902 and we’re all still clapping at the lightbulb. His executive order gutted environmental protections that were already on life support, essentially telling the EPA to sit down and shut up while we choke on soot.

Meanwhile, while the rest of the developed world sprints towards renewables, the U.S. is trying to mainline fossil fuels through a rusty IV drip. All while the Colorado River dries up, wildfires turn into seasonal events, and Miami starts to look like Atlantis.

But maybe that’s just optics, right? So let’s follow the money

Trump’s tariff tantrum — sorry, strategy — has laid waste to international trade. The man has slapped 10%, 20%, sometimes 50% tariffs on everything from Chinese electronics to EU steel, Japanese cars to Korean microchips. The goal? “Bring manufacturing home.” The result? A global trade war that’s got American businesses stockpiling foreign goods like doomsday preppers while prices spiral and consumer choice shrivels.

Even AI — the very sector that could give America a 21st-century edge — is being throttled. Tariffs on the microprocessors, rare earth metals, and servers required for cutting-edge AI have forced U.S. firms to contemplate relocating R&D overseas. Imagine voluntarily handing the AI crown to Beijing because you wanted to punish Huawei. That’s what’s happening.

And what does Trump do? He brags. About the “billions” pouring into the Treasury from tariffs. As if we’ve forgotten that tariffs are just taxes with a passport. The American consumer pays for those billions, Donny — not Xi Jinping. Target shoppers are paying for your trade war.

Then there’s the moral rot

Trump’s executive orders have surgically dismantled diversity, equity and inclusion policies across federal agencies. Not trimmed. Not restructured. Erased. Gone are initiatives designed to level playing fields, improve representation, and — dare we say it — bring America into the modern age.

He’s gone further still, launching a frontal assault on transgender rights. Under the guise of “restoring biological truth” — a phrase that could’ve been nicked from an Orwell novel — he’s reversed federal protections for trans individuals in employment, healthcare, and education. In 2025. In America. The supposed land of the free. Unless, of course, you don’t fit a narrow, white, hetero-normative mould.

But the most stomach-turning development? The sudden halt of foreign aid under a 90-day “review.” Aid to Africa. To Latin America. To parts of Europe still clawing back from conflict and catastrophe. Trump calls it a realignment. The State Department calls it a pause. But make no mistake: it’s abandonment. From the country that once airlifted hope. That once promised to be the world’s emergency exit in times of crisis. Now, it’s just another door slammed shut.

And yet — the man remains popular. His rallies are Woodstock for the wilfully ignorant. He’s turned politics into vaudeville, diplomacy into dogfighting, and the Oval Office into a green room for Fox & Friends. And America, bizarrely, keeps clapping.

So no, America is not the greatest country in the world. Not anymore

Not when it criminalises compassion. Not when it treats knowledge like a threat and science like an opinion. Not when it confuses bullying with strength, isolationism with sovereignty, and nostalgia with policy.

Greatness is about more than flags on lawns and missiles on standby. It’s about vision. Inclusion. Progress. It’s about leading not because you can, but because others want to follow you.

And right now? Nobody’s following.

America may still be powerful. It may still be rich. But greatness — true greatness — requires moral authority, cultural curiosity, and the humility to evolve.

That America? The one that built the Marshall Plan, funded the Moon landing, and gave us Maya Angelou and Miles Davis?

It’s a memory.

And if Trump gets his way — it’ll stay that way.

Read more:
America is not the greatest country in the world anymore

President Donald Trump’s sweeping new tariffs on car imports could reshape global trade routes — and push the UK into pole position as the most important export market for Germany’s automotive industry.

That’s the opinion of leading audit, tax and business advisory firm Blick Rothenberg.

With a 25 per cent tariff on all German car imports to the United States due to take effect on 2 April, German manufacturers may look to strengthen ties with the UK, which already ranks as the second-largest buyer of German vehicles worldwide.

Viktor Gottschlich, Senior Manager and German Desk Deputy at Blick Rothenberg, said: “With the looming 25% tariffs on German car imports to the US, the UK might become the most important export market for German car makers.”

The UK currently accounts for 11.3 per cent of German car exports — just behind the US at 13.1 per cent. But with the US market potentially becoming far less profitable under the new trade barriers, the UK may become a preferred partner. “German-made cars would generally not be subject to UK tariffs, making the UK an attractive alternative,” Gottschlich noted.

German manufacturers already have a strong footprint in the UK, owning iconic British brands like Bentley and Mini. Expanding export operations and strengthening supply chains to and from the UK could help German automakers cushion the blow from a less viable American market.

The impact could also extend to the classic car sector. Gottschlich warned that the term “finished vehicles” — as used in Trump’s tariff announcement — may be broad enough to include vintage and collector cars. “US Borders and Customs may not be permitted to distinguish between classic and new cars — which currently attract a 2.5% duty. The 25% tariff could be added on top of existing duties, representing a significant cost increase for classic car businesses,” he said.

Blick Rothenberg believes that deepening engagement with the UK market — for both new and classic cars — presents a practical and potentially profitable path forward for German carmakers amid the unfolding US trade war.

“Increased engagement with the UK market seems sensible for German businesses to compensate for a potentially bumpy US car market,” Gottschlich concluded.

Read more:
Trump’s car tariffs could make UK top export market for German auto industry, says Blick Rothenberg

The government’s 2025 spring statement has come under fire from the CIPD, the professional body for HR and people development, which warns that the Chancellor’s plans risk undermining business productivity and job creation by failing to address the real workplace challenges faced by employers.

While the Chancellor announced increased funding for defence and infrastructure, CIPD Head of Public Policy Ben Willmott said the statement lacked meaningful support for businesses and failed to tackle the growing cost and complexity of employing staff in the UK.

“While the Chancellor highlighted welcome support for key sectors such as defence and plans to boost investment in infrastructure and housing, there was no recognition of the need to provide more support for employers,” said Willmott.

He warned that recent government moves — including national insurance hikes and the forthcoming Employment Rights Bill — have added costs and regulatory burdens to businesses at a time when they need greater flexibility and support.

“We now need to see the Government back businesses by setting out how it will work with employers to address these challenges and boost productivity, as together these measures stand to undermine business investment in workforce training and employment,” he said.

CIPD data has shown that regulatory uncertainty and rising employment costs are already having a chilling effect on hiring and investment, particularly in skills development. Willmott urged the government to ensure that new regulations under the Employment Rights Bill do not unintentionally deter recruitment — especially of young people and those who need additional support to thrive at work.

“If the Government wants to see more people in work, then there must be jobs for them to go to. It’s important that new regulations don’t deter employers from hiring staff,” he said.

The CIPD also called for a clear implementation plan for the Employment Rights Bill, including additional funding for ACAS and the employment tribunal system, to cope with a likely rise in claims once new rights come into effect.

On skills, Willmott called for urgent action to benefit everyday economy sectors that employ millions across the UK. This includes fast-tracking consultation on the proposed Growth and Skills Levy to give businesses the tools they need to upskill their workforce and tackle labour shortages.

He also urged the government to support the forthcoming recommendations from the Keep Britain Working review — particularly on improving access to occupational health services for SMEs, helping more people stay healthy and in work.

“The Government has been quick to introduce costs, but now is the time to back British businesses,” Willmott concluded. “This means real investment in skills, genuine engagement with employers, and a practical approach to regulation — all essential for driving long-term economic growth and keeping people in good jobs.”

Read more:
CIPD: Spring statement fails to support employers, risking productivity and jobs

The government’s pledge to invest £300 million in HMRC over the next five years to close the UK’s tax gap has been branded “wholly insufficient” by a leading tax expert, who warned that without a long-term strategy and systemic reform, the country’s complex tax system will continue to hinder progress.

Nimesh Shah, CEO of audit, tax and business advisory firm Blick Rothenberg, said the investment — which forms part of the Chancellor’s spring statement — “won’t scratch the surface” of tackling the UK’s widening tax gap, which now stands at a record £40 billion.

“The government’s claims of a three-fold return on this investment in additional tax revenue seem incredibly ambitious,” Shah said, “especially given that HMRC has faced repeated criticism from both the government itself and the Public Accounts Committee.”

He noted that despite successive waves of funding over the past decade — including £1.4 billion in the past three years alone — the tax gap has remained stubbornly around 5 per cent of total revenues, even as overall tax receipts have grown. “The result is that the absolute value of the tax gap has never been higher,” he said.

Shah argued that Britain’s tax burden, now at its highest level in 50 years, is being undermined by HMRC’s continued inefficiencies and a lack of focus on effective collection. “It’s fine for the government to increase taxes as it sees fit, but without accountability and operational reform at HMRC, the gap will continue to grow,” he warned.

As part of the Chancellor’s plans, the government announced 500 new HMRC compliance officers and 600 additional staff in debt management, along with promises to modernise tax systems through digitisation and partnerships with businesses. But Shah remains sceptical: “These plans sound sensible on paper, but HMRC’s customer service is at an all-time low. Phone lines are closing, taxpayers can’t access the right information, and there’s a long way to go before we can have confidence in these projected returns.”

He believes the root of the issue lies in the complexity of the UK’s tax code — the longest in the world — and argues that HMRC is simply unable to keep pace with the volume of new legislation introduced each year.

“The government needs a proper strategy on tax and the future direction of HMRC,” Shah said. “Piecemeal investments and bold claims of revenue returns do not inspire confidence. A future Chancellor focused on true reform would take a step back and develop a long-term, sustainable strategy — because history shows that throwing more money at HMRC alone won’t address the problem.”

Read more:
Throwing more money at HMRC won’t fix Britain’s £40bn tax gap, warns leading tax expert

It’s a strange thing, the way we form connections with voices. Proper, deep-rooted, personal connections. The kind that feel like friendship, even though the other person has no idea we exist. The kind that, when news breaks of their passing, leaves us unexpectedly bereft—as though a part of our own personal history has just been snatched away.

That’s exactly how I felt when I heard that former F1 team boss Eddie Jordan had died this morning. I never met the man, never stood in a paddock and shook his hand, but for the past year or so, I’ve had him in my ears week in, week out.

His podcast with David Coulthard, Formula For Success, was part of my routine. That distinctive Irish lilt, the playful jabs, the slightly rogue opinions—he was as much a fixture in my week as my Yorkshire Tea in the morning. And now he’s gone.

But it doesn’t just feel like a public figure has died; it feels personal. And that got me thinking—why is it that voices, specifically those on radio and podcasts, feel so much more intimate, more emotive, than anything we watch on screen?

Growing up, the biggest influence on my musical taste wasn’t an older sibling as I didn’t have one, a cool cousin, they just tried to subvert my choice of football team, or a particularly progressive music teacher, sorry Mr Powell. It was Robert Elms. His show on GLR (or BBC London, or whatever incarnation the station was in at any given time) soundtracked my GCSE ‘revision days’ and has been a companion ever since. Robert is the reason I’m a jazz obsessive, the reason I’m a member of Ronnie Scott’s, the reason I first heard Amy Winehouse—long before Frank was even a glint in a record exec’s eye. He had met her father in a sauna, as you do, and invited her on the show. One listen and I was hooked.

And before that? Before I had the excuse of ‘revising’ with the radio on? There I was, an 11-year-old, sneaking a radio under the covers at my grandparents’ house, listening to Steve Allen on LBC. Back then, it was less political and more just… soothing. A familiar voice in the dark, shaping thoughts, sparking curiosity, and making me feel part of something bigger than myself.

Compare that to television. I watch a lot of it. Too much, probably. But if one of my favourite TV personalities or actors were to suddenly pass away, and there are far too many to name check, I wouldn’t feel that same pang. I might be sad, I might reflect on their best performances and dive down a Youtube rabbit hole on their work for an evening, but I wouldn’t feel like I knew them. There’s a certain detachment with TV. Even with the most brilliantly written characters, the most charismatic presenters, there’s always a screen between us.

But audio? Audio is different. It’s direct. It bypasses all the visual noise and speaks straight to the brain. It’s there in your ear, shaping the way you think, the way you feel. And because it lacks the distraction of visuals, it forces you to truly listen.

And it’s not just me. Think about the power of radio in times of crisis. Think about Churchill’s wartime broadcasts, the way people clung to every word as though it was a personal reassurance, not a national address. Think about the shipping forecast—still listened to religiously by thousands who have never set foot on a boat, or know where either Dogger or German Bight are. There’s a romance to radio, a directness to podcasts, a kind of intimacy that screen-based media just can’t replicate.

Maybe it’s because a voice in your ear feels like a one-to-one conversation, whereas TV and film are always a performance. Maybe it’s because we consume audio in moments of solitude—walking, commuting, lying in bed—whereas TV is more often a shared, passive experience. Or maybe it’s because when you listen to someone long enough, week after week, year after year, their voice becomes a fixture in your life, as familiar and comforting as a friend’s.

That’s why Eddie Jordan’s passing hit harder than I expected. It’s why losing a radio presenter or a podcaster often feels like losing a mate. It’s why I’ll keep tuning into Robert Elms for as long as he’s on air, and why I’ll always treasure the nights spent under the covers with a crackly old radio, absorbing the world through sound alone.

Because audio isn’t just background noise. It’s connection. It’s companionship. And in a world where screens dominate, it’s a reminder that sometimes, the most powerful stories aren’t seen at all—they’re simply heard.

Read more:
Eddie Jordan made me feel like I knew him: why voices on radio and podcasts move us more than TV ever can

The UK government’s decision to integrate artificial intelligence into public sector operations has raised concerns over potential job losses, particularly within the civil service. However, leading software consultancy Scott Logic has argued that the adoption of AI will drive efficiency and open up new opportunities rather than eliminate roles.

The civil service workforce has expanded significantly in recent years, now exceeding 540,000 employees. Much of this growth has been attributed to the creation of taskforces for Brexit and Covid-19, as well as a response to long-term underinvestment in technology. According to Scott Logic, AI can help rebalance workloads by handling complex and repetitive administrative tasks, such as managing global compliance requirements. This, in turn, would free up civil servants to focus on delivering meaningful change in critical areas.

Stephen Foreshew-Cain, CEO of Scott Logic and former Executive Director of Government Digital Services, dismissed fears that AI would replace public sector workers. He likened the latest concerns to past anxieties about technological advancements, recalling how human couriers were once employed to deliver paper memos before the invention of the telephone.

“The Government is correct to embrace new technologies—including AI—to make public services more efficient,” he said. “The UK trails behind most major nations in productivity, and the adoption of AI to expedite currently manual, repetitive processes will help to rectify that. But rather than stealing civil service jobs, AI will likely open up new roles requiring human expertise, particularly in implementation and oversight. If anything, AI is set to create new positions, as seen with the planned recruitment of 2,000 new TechTrack apprentices.”

As AI becomes more embedded in government operations, the demand for expertise in areas such as data quality management, security and privacy protection, system auditing, and bias detection is expected to rise. Foreshew-Cain suggested that civil servants will play a key role in determining how AI should be applied, particularly in high-stakes decision-making processes where human oversight remains essential.

“AI literacy within the civil service will grow, and public sector workers will be key in judging which tasks AI can enhance and where human oversight remains essential. For instance, it may never be possible to fully derisk generative AI for certain high-stakes tasks, at least in its current form,” he added.

Beyond improving productivity, AI is also set to transform how government employees innovate and implement change. One emerging trend is ‘vibe coding,’ where non-technical professionals use AI-driven tools to generate code through natural language prompts. This could allow civil servants to create and test prototypes far more quickly, with architects refining and implementing their ideas.

“The ability to transform concepts into action more quickly is a game-changer for the civil service,” Foreshew-Cain said. “AI’s potential to streamline processes and empower professionals to innovate faster is an underappreciated aspect of its adoption. By investing in AI, the government is not just improving efficiency but reshaping how public services are delivered.”

His comments come as the government presses ahead with its AI efficiency drive, a move that could redefine the structure of the civil service in the years ahead. While critics warn of potential job losses, supporters argue that AI represents a natural evolution in workplace technology—one that will create as many opportunities as it disrupts.

Read more:
Government’s AI investment will create opportunities, not job losses, says tech leader

Kemi Badenoch has always prided herself on being the straight-talking, no-nonsense politician, unafraid to ruffle feathers and say the supposedly unsayable. A darling of the right, a would-be Thatcher 2.0, she has spent her political career carving out an image of economic pragmatism wrapped in a distinctly ideological package.

Whilst her delivery is far from the ‘Iron Lady’, her latest move—seemingly pandering to Reform voters by stepping back from the UK’s Net Zero commitments—feels less like a principled stance and more like a political gambit that could backfire spectacularly.

It’s not just political commentators raising their eyebrows at Badenoch’s latest pronouncements; even the usually diplomatic business leaders are pushing back. Rain Newton-Smith, CEO of the Confederation of British Industry (CBI), issued a stark warning: now is not the time to retreat from green growth. Her words carried weight, highlighting that the UK’s Net Zero economy grew by a staggering 10% last year, contributing £83 billion to the national coffers. This isn’t fringe economics—it’s hard, tangible, economic success. Yet Badenoch, with a seemingly calculated nod to Reform’s climate-sceptic base, appears willing to put it all at risk.

This latest shift is, of course, all about votes. With Reform UK nipping at the Tories’ heels in the polls, Badenoch knows that unless she can claw back support from the right, she has no chance of winning a general election. So, what better way to appeal to the disgruntled, anti-establishment, anti-green contingent of Reform voters than by rolling back commitments to Net Zero? After all, Nigel Farage and his ilk have long derided green policies as expensive, unnecessary, and an imposition on ‘hard-working Britons’ (a phrase that remains undefined but is nonetheless deployed with alarming regularity).

But here’s the problem: business leaders, investors, and economists all know that Net Zero isn’t just about virtue-signalling or appeasing climate activists. It’s about jobs, investment, and long-term economic security. The UK has built a reputation as a leader in green finance and clean energy investment, and businesses have made decisions based on the assumption that the government will continue down this path. U-turning now risks shattering that trust and driving investment elsewhere.

Badenoch and her supporters like to present this as a simple choice between economic pragmatism and Net Zero idealism. The argument goes that ordinary people shouldn’t have to bear the financial burden of green policies, that energy bills are too high, and that prioritising economic growth means loosening environmental commitments. But this is a false dichotomy.

The reality, as Newton-Smith pointed out, is that the transition to Net Zero is itself an engine of economic growth. From offshore wind to hydrogen power, from battery technology to carbon capture, the UK has been at the forefront of industries that are not just ‘green’ but fundamentally profitable. And let’s not forget the global context—countries like the US, China, and Germany are pouring billions into their own green economies. If Britain steps back, it doesn’t mean the world stops moving. It just means we get left behind.

There’s something eerily familiar about Badenoch’s rhetoric on Net Zero. The same chest-thumping, short-termist, ‘Britain first’ rhetoric that characterised the Brexit campaign is now being deployed to justify environmental backpedalling. And much like Brexit, this shift is based on a fundamental misunderstanding of global economic realities.

Brexiteers argued that leaving the EU would free the UK from economic constraints and allow it to chart its own course. In reality, businesses faced increased red tape, supply chain chaos, and a loss of international investment confidence. The same fate awaits the green economy if Badenoch follows through with her anti-Net Zero pivot.

Investors crave certainty. They don’t pour billions into industries that might be thrown under the bus in the next election cycle. The UK’s commitment to Net Zero has been one of the few constants in an otherwise chaotic political landscape, giving businesses the confidence to innovate and expand. Throwing that certainty into doubt isn’t just environmentally reckless—it’s economically suicidal.

The Cost of Doing Nothing

Badenoch’s strategy might win her a few Reform voters, but it will come at an enormous cost. First, the economic damage—if businesses sense that the UK is no longer a reliable partner in the green transition, they will take their money elsewhere. Second, the diplomatic fallout—while the world moves towards cleaner, greener economies, Britain will be left looking like the petulant child refusing to play along. And finally, the electoral miscalculation—yes, there is a faction of voters who oppose Net Zero measures, but the vast majority of the British public, including the all-important younger demographic, support ambitious action on climate change.

Badenoch might think she’s playing to the crowd, but it’s the wrong crowd. The voters who care most about Net Zero rollbacks are already in Reform’s camp, and the voters who might have been open to her leadership will be repelled by what looks like cynical, short-term politicking.

Badenoch is at a crossroads. She can either stand firm in the knowledge that Net Zero is not just an environmental commitment but an economic necessity, or she can continue to chase the Reform vote, gambling with Britain’s economic future in the process. If she chooses the latter, she may find that what seemed like a clever political manoeuvre ends up being the undoing of both her leadership and the country’s long-term prosperity.

The choice is hers, but the consequences will be ours to bear.

Read more:
Kemi Badenoch’s Net Zero U-turn: A Political Play or a Policy Disaster?

Thank heavens, indeed, for Mark Carney. After watching his Thanksgiving address, I’ve never been more delighted at the thought that the next Prime Minister of Canada could be one of the most able public figures on the planet.

Let’s face it: the chap’s resumé reads like a hagiographic entry in Who’s Who. He’s done the rounds as Governor of the Bank of Canada (with startling success, I might add), dipped his toe—well, his entire foot, actually—into the murky waters of the Bank of England as a sort of honorary Brit and deal with the economic nightmare that was Brexit, and if that weren’t enough to scare off any fainthearted competitor, he’s also had a decent academic stint.

So who else would we want stepping into Justin Trudeau’s shoes than a man who can, with his head firmly on his shoulders, steer a massive economy without so much as ruffling his famously neat hair?

From the moment he opened his mouth at that podium, I was amazed. Firstly he switched between French and Canadian at a whim, that I, a French passport holder, could only dream upon enthralled—well, enthralled in the way one might be at a policy symposium where you suspect you might nod off at any second, but can’t, because Carney’s voice is just a bit too smooth.

It was a Thanksgiving address, yes, which might lead one to assume a certain brand of sentimental “and thanks to my mother, and thanks to the turkey, and thanks to the harvest” pap. But oh no. Mark Carney, good old Carney, delivered a string of words that were eloquent, grand, and oh-so-measured, “When you worship at the altar of Donald Trump, you will kneel to him, not stand up to him”, when talking about the 25 per cent tariffs that Trump is imposing on Canada.

No bombast, no fulmination, no confected rally-the-troops theatrics. It was precise, it was cerebral, and it was… well, it was quite Mark Carney. Yet, ironically, that cool, banker-esque persona might be the very thing that leaves some Canadians longing for a bit more show in their statesman.

Let’s not forget who the next Prime Minister of Canada will be up against on the world stage. Trump provides us with a particular brand of leadership, shall we say. Loud, brash, a tad unhinged at times—like a bull in a china shop, armed with a phone and a Twitter account. To hold one’s own on that stage, you might expect Mark Carney to morph into a rhetorical, podium-stomping arch-enemy to the American president, lobbing barbs with the best of them, the savage confrontation that Volodymyr Zelenskyy had to endure only last week.

But Carney’s not that chap, is he? He isn’t the sort to stand there yelling about walls or tweeting at four in the morning about celebrity gossip. You’ll not see him provoke a shoving match with a G7 colleague. And that, incidentally, is exactly why he’s the perfect choice. Because politics, for better or for worse, should be about competence, level-headed leadership, and the ability to speak to ordinary folk without scaring them witless about the state of the world tomorrow. Who needs another moose-like bellow from a North American leader when we can have a calmly guiding hand that says, “Look, the global economy is a bit of a thicket at the moment, but here’s how we navigate it without losing sight of our values”?

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good rhetorical punch every now and again. Winston Churchill didn’t steer Britain through the war by softly mumbling that we’ll have a cup of tea and see how it goes. He roared. He cajoled. He made you feel that you were personally going to storm the beaches of Normandy, strapped to the hilt with courage. But Mark Carney, with his track record, doesn’t need to roar. He’s a two-time national banker, for heaven’s sake. He was the man who helped shepherd Canada through the 2008 financial crisis with minimal bruising. He was the Governor of the Bank of England in the years after the Brexit referendum, ensuring that—while many expected the sky to fall—London’s financial hub did not exactly transform into a wasteland overnight. He’s proven his mettle in situations that would have frayed the nerves of lesser men.

Hence my abiding gratitude that we’re about to witness a Carney premiership. No more of this foot-shuffling and glancing around, thinking, “He’s too polite for politics.” If Justin Trudeau taught us anything, it’s that Canadians have no problem supporting a leader who’s mild-mannered and well-spoken. They also happen to like leaders who get their facts straight, demonstrate some dexterity in both domestic and international arenas, and manage to project a sense of modern Canada: a balanced, globally-savvy, somewhat grown-up presence amid the howling oratory of other nations.

Carney, in that regard, is tailor-made. He radiates a certain old-school reliability that comforts. You sense he’s the sort of chap who’s never spilled his coffee down his tie, let alone humiliated himself in a petty Twitter war. His Thanksgiving speech might have lacked the rhetorical fireworks that get people’s blood pumping, but the substance was pure gold. It reminded us of what we ought to be thankful for: a nation with a stable democratic tradition, a place that celebrates immigrants, fosters innovation, and remains open for business without locking itself in the cut-throat theatrics that have turned so many people off politics.

Mark Carney may not single-handedly usher in a golden age of flamboyant verbal sparring on the global stage, but if “stuffy banker in a suit” is the price we pay for an honest, capable, and strategically-minded Prime Minister, sign me up. I’d rather have a leader who speaks softly and carries a briefcase full of actual, workable policies than yet another tedious purveyor of bombast and nonsense. Thank God, indeed, for this measured Canadian with an impeccable record and a willingness to stand at a lectern—minus the foot-stomping and self-aggrandising insults—and calmly show the rest of the world how it’s done.

If he channels even a fraction of that quiet brilliance—yes, brilliance—that made him the go-to man at not one but two major central banks, then Canada is in for one hell of a (composed, thoughtfully navigated) ride. And frankly, we could all use a bit of Carney’s brand of sanity right about now. Let the grateful cheering begin.

Read more:
Thank goodness for Mark Carney: The quiet genius poised to lead Canada

Manchester has steadily evolved into a major legal powerhouse over the past 15 years, according to Ed Foulkes of Clarke Willmott LLP. Ed, who leads the firm’s corporate team, notes the striking influx of national and London-based law firms opening local offices, highlighting the city’s growing competition with the capital for both clients and legal talent.

Powered by a varied economy, strategic location, excellent transport links, and a comparatively lower cost of living, Manchester has become a prime spot for national and international clients to establish or expand their UK presence. The city’s GDP of £33.6 billion underscores its economic significance, while its strong technology, finance, healthcare, and manufacturing sectors drive demand for legal and professional services.

“Manchester has experienced substantial growth in its legal sector,” says Ed. “It’s simply too large a market for national firms to ignore. While many bigger names have longstanding regional roots, others are now arriving with teams built around local partners. A wide range of clients and specialisms means there are numerous opportunities for firms looking to grow.”

As the UK’s foremost tech hub outside of London, Manchester boasts a £5 billion annual tech sector. Here, law firms are increasingly pivoting toward intellectual property, data protection, fintech, and regulatory compliance to service both established corporations and the city’s numerous start-ups. Another factor driving local growth is the appeal of ‘Northshoring’: Manchester is home to around 90,000 students and two law schools, maintaining a steady pipeline of skilled graduates.

Beyond this, projects such as the £1.3 billion Manchester Airport Expansion Programme look set to boost international connectivity and trade, which in turn raises demand for legal expertise. “When you connect to more global markets, businesses are likelier to set up or grow here, and law firms are perfectly positioned to support that expansion,” Ed adds.

Having a mayor-focused governance structure further bolsters Manchester’s draw for businesses and investors, providing strong leadership and streamlined decision-making at a local level. Meanwhile, established associations like Pro-Manchester and Manchester Law Society—Britain’s largest legal community outside of London—offer a broad professional network that fosters collaboration and career development.

Above all, says Ed, the city’s appeal extends well beyond the workplace: “Greater Manchester is a fantastic place to live, with top-tier culture, sport—especially football—and gorgeous surrounding countryside. That vibrant quality of life makes it easy to see why many professionals and firms are choosing to base themselves here.”

Ed Foulkes heads Clarke Willmott’s Manchester office and specialises in mergers and acquisitions, equity investments, buy-outs, joint ventures, and corporate structuring.

Read more:
Manchester’s legal sector: How the city rose to challenge London’s dominance

Oh, Donald. We really shouldn’t still be talking about you, but like a bad haircut, you just won’t go away. There you were again, hours after your inauguration in a suit that fits like a wind-blown tent, yelling “Drill, baby, drill!” to a crowd who, let’s be honest, would cheer just as loudly if you told them to eat gravel.

You’ve made it clear that you’re all for scrapping green policies, pushing fossil fuels like they’re the future (spoiler: they’re not) and undoing any progress the world has made towards carbon neutrality. And worryingly, some businesses—terrified by short-term costs and political uncertainty—are jumping on board. Back pedalling on their sustainability commitments faster than you back pedalled on that promise to release your tax returns.

Across the Capital Business Media Group, we have no plans to cave to this sudden rush of climate cowardice. We are carbon neutral, and we are staying that way. Because let’s be real—if your business is serious about the future, rolling back sustainability efforts isn’t just bad for the planet, it’s bad for business.

Let’s talk about the backsliders. Big oil, of course, has never seen a roll-back it didn’t like, but we’re seeing banks, airlines, and manufacturers quietly retreat from their bold Net Zero promises. They’ve realised that going green is hard work and—shock horror—requires actual commitment. So now, under the convenient cover of economic turbulence and political uncertainty, they’re taking the easy way out.

BP has scaled back its emissions reduction targets. Car manufacturers who once trumpeted their EV rollouts are suddenly hedging their bets and sticking with combustion engines a little longer. Airlines—who only last year were falling over themselves to showcase their ‘sustainable’ fuels—are now whispering about ‘balancing economic realities’.

And why? Because one orange-tinted property mogul-turned-politician has made a comeback, and they think he’s giving them permission to renege on their promises.

It’s spineless. It’s short-sighted. It’s exactly what we won’t be doing.

Carbon neutrality isn’t a fad—it’s the future

You’d have to be wilfully blind to ignore the fact that customers, investors, and employees care about sustainability. Consumers are making choices based on sustainability credentials, investors are favouring ESG-compliant businesses, and employees—especially the younger generation—want to work for companies that align with their values.

And yet, some businesses are acting as if sustainability is a passing trend, like Crocs or low-carb diets. It isn’t.

At Capital Business Media, we made the decision to go carbon neutral over five years ago, not for PR points, but because it’s the right thing to do. And staying carbon neutral is just common sense. Not only does it help future-proof our business, but it also puts us on the right side of history.

Because—and this bit is crucial—climate change isn’t a ‘debate’. It’s not up for discussion like the best way to make a cup of tea (it’s milk last, by the way, and if you disagree, you’re wrong). The science is settled. The planet is warming, extreme weather events are becoming more frequent, and businesses have a role to play in mitigating the damage.

For those companies now treating their sustainability commitments like a New Year’s gym membership—something they said they’d do but have now abandoned—it’s going to cost them. And not just in PR nightmares when they get called out.

Regulations are tightening. Governments around the world are pushing for stricter emissions controls, and businesses that fail to adapt will find themselves at a disadvantage. Carbon taxes, fines, loss of subsidies—these are all very real financial threats to those who think they can just sweep their green promises under the rug.

Then there’s the consumer backlash. People aren’t stupid. If a company suddenly ditches its sustainability efforts, customers will notice. And they’ll go elsewhere. The brands that double down on their climate commitments will win loyalty, while those that backtrack will be called out, shamed, and—most damningly—ignored.

Trump can chant “Drill, baby, drill” all he likes. He can hold up a chunk of coal and call it beautiful, he can claim that wind turbines cause cancer, or kill whales (yes, he actually said both of those things), and he can try to drag the world backwards into an oil-soaked past.

But businesses that have a shred of foresight, an ounce of integrity, or even just a desire to remain relevant in the coming decades will see through it. Sustainability is not a ‘woke agenda’—it’s good business. And it’s here to stay.

At Capital Business Media, we are carbon neutral and proud. We aren’t changing course because it’s inconvenient, we aren’t letting short-term political shifts dictate long-term responsibility, and we certainly aren’t taking cues from a man who thinks climate change is a hoax invented by the Chinese.

For those rolling back their sustainability efforts, here’s a bit of advice: wake up. The world is changing, the future is green, and those who fail to adapt will be left behind.

Sorry, Donald. But we’re not budging. And the businesses that want to thrive in the 21st century shouldn’t either.

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Sorry Donald, but we are carbon neutral and proud of it