Economic data are hard to measure. In most cases, we know what we’re looking for — inflation reflects changes in the average price level, GDP is a measure of domestic goods and services production, and unemployment counts the number of people who can’t find a job. For these indicators, the problem is often the resources required to collect the data in a comprehensive and accurate manner. But sometimes we don’t even have a clear definition of what we’re aiming to

My partner Tom often accuses me of what he calls my ‘Scandinavian supremacy’, essentially that I think most things Scandi are superior to their UK or other counterparts. I, of course, find this an unfair accusation as it is simply factual that Norway has better washing up liquid (Zalo), superior suncream to everyone but the Koreans, that Danish mid-century furniture is the most aesthetically pleasing, and that Swedish pick and mix is of god-tier quality. On a recent trip home,

From the moment we’re born, we are all compelled to enter the lottery of life. We have no choice in the matter. We don’t pick our parents, our genetics, or where we grow up. We’re simply dropped into the middle of what I call the “statistical soup of life”— a messy, unpredictable concoction of luck, tragedy and opportunity that is constantly washing around us. For the rest of our days, we navigate this soup, sometimes unaware that it is swirling

It is strange what a difference one small, apparently insignificant change to the way things are measured can make to an overall finding. This realisation came home to me when I was reading about the resident doctors’ pay grievance. The resident doctors have a clear narrative about the way their pay has been eroded. Their union, the British Medical Association (BMA), has published the following chart to illustrate it. One thing in the chart title caught my eye: the chart

In much of Europe, mid-August is when the tempo drops. Offices empty, emails slow to a trickle, and for a few languid days you can drive across Rome or Paris with barely a touch on the brake. The workers’ day off on 15 August — or Ferragosto, to give it its Latin name — is not just a public holiday; it’s shorthand for the deep summer pause across much of the continent. Even financial markets, those famously restless barometers of

On the Monday just passed, I was faced with one of my pet peeves. As part of my ongoing effort to explore the less-pricey offerings that London has on offer, I hopped on the tube to Canary Wharf to explore the Canary Roof Palace Gardens for the first time, having enjoyed the Barbican Conservatory a few months earlier. While exploring the shopping centre there I encountered a much hated obstacle that I just had to face. Stairs. This was not

A couple of weeks ago I found myself with a free day in New York. I did the usual touristy things — Empire State, Central Park, Broadway show… However, one thing in particular stuck with me — as I was walking along Seventh Avenue, I found myself confronted by not one but nine billboards, all advertising the new Superman film. Each was strapped to the side of the same building. Now, Times Square is famed for its excessive advertising, but

Some readers will be familiar with our recent study on the economics of different ways to decarbonise aviation. One option we didn’t explore was not flying where an alternative mode of transport to get to your destination exists. My wife and I put this option to the test on this year's family summer trip from London to Lithuania (where I am writing from now). With two kids. Ages 1 and 4. In an EV. Was it worth it? I’d love

As a hybrid worker, commuting from my flat in Lewisham to our office in Hoxton twice a week can feel like quite a chore, particularly when my commute for the other three days consists of a three-foot distance between my bed and my desk. Recently, flustered from having conquered both the DLR and Tube at rush hour, I climbed the escalator at Old Street station only to be engulfed by a mass of purple posters plastered with slightly too-perfect-looking faces,

I have a confession. It was Father’s Day recently and so, being the good son that I think I am, I wrote my father a card. I wanted to incorporate a pun in the message that was comic book themed to match his interests and ‘bad’ enough to achieve the level of dad humour he is notorious for. This however was a struggle, perhaps because I am not yet a father myself and so not privy to this kind of