In a development that has sent shivers of horror through the chattering classes and left hedge fund managers weeping into their overpriced artisan gin, the government has blocked a rescue deal for Thames Water. The private sector, it seems, has finally discovered that turning a river into a cash cow requires more than just plucky optimism and a total disregard for aquatic life.
Let us pause for a moment to admire the sheer, magnificent incompetence of this saga. Thames Water, the bloated cadaver of Margaret Thatcher's privatisation experiment, has managed to lose more water than a sieve holding a grudge. Its pipes leak like a politician's promises, its debts balloon like a banker's bonus, and its shareholders are now scuttling for cover like rats from a sinking ship. A sinking ship filled with raw sewage, naturally.
The government, acting with the decisiveness of a man who has just discovered his trousers are on fire, has blocked a rescue deal that would have handed the whole soggy mess to a consortium of vulture funds. This is rather like refusing to throw a drowning man a concrete overcoat. Instead, Whitehall is now preparing to nationalise the whole affair. Yes, nationalise. That dread word that makes Tory MPs break out in a cold sweat and reach for the smelling salts.
But let us be clear about what we mean by nationalisation. This is not some socialist utopia where water flows freely and bills are paid by the state. Oh no. This is a bailout dressed up in a new uniform. The taxpayer will inherit the debt, the leaks, and the stench. The only difference is that the executive bonuses will now be paid from your pockets directly, rather than through the delicate intermediary of a private company.
The real joke, the one that would make even a stand-up comedian weep, is that this whole mess was entirely predictable. Water is a monopoly. It is the most natural monopoly since gravity. You cannot shop around for a better deal on your H2O. Yet we entrusted it to the private sector, who promptly loaded it with debt, paid themselves obscene dividends, and ignored maintenance in favour of share buybacks. It is like hiring a cat to guard the cream and being surprised when it develops a lactose habit.
So now we stand on the precipice of the great renationalisation. The government will take control of Thames Water, probably via some opaque special purpose vehicle with a name like 'Aqua-Titan Ltd' or 'Clearwater Recovery Corp'. The executives will be replaced by civil servants, who will bring their own brand of bureaucratic inefficiency. The leaks will continue. The bills will rise. And somewhere, a City analyst will write a report blaming 'regulatory uncertainty' for the whole debacle, completely ignoring the fact that the uncertainty came from the sheer, unfettered greed of the people running the show.
But fear not, dear reader. For this is the British way. We muddle through until the crisis is too big to ignore, then we slap a sticking plaster on it and hope the next government gets the blame. Thames Water will be nationalised, renamed, and eventually, when the next round of privatisation comes around in 30 years, sold off to a kindly soul who promises to fix everything. And the cycle will continue, like a particularly grim episode of Groundhog Day with added cholera.
In the meantime, I shall raise a glass of gin (tap water, naturally) to the great British public. We have been betrayed, bamboozled and billed into submission. But at least our water will be owned by the state, which is a bit like being robbed by a mugger with a briefcase instead of a crowbar. Progress, of a sort.
