πŸ‡¬πŸ‡§πŸ’ΈBritain’s newest political pastime isn’t fixing the economy, building infrastructure, or planning for the future.

It’s confidently announcing that anything new has already failed before it has actually happened.

Rachel Reeves’s National Wealth Fund has barely left the driveway, yet critics are already conducting its post-mortem. Apparently, a Β£70 billion investment strategy should have transformed the economy, rebuilt the grid, doubled productivity, and possibly cured baldness by the end of the week.

The evidence? Well… there isn’t any yet.

And that’s precisely the problem for Britain’s professional pessimists.

🎭 Britain’s Olympic Team for Premature Disappointment

Imagine applying the same standards anywhere else.

A couple announces they’re having a baby.

β€œUtter disaster,” declares a commentator. β€œNine months in and still no contribution to GDP.”

Someone plants an oak tree.

β€œAbsolute waste. I’ve monitored it for six days and there’s still no forest.”

A builder lays foundations for a house.

β€œCatastrophic failure. Family remains homeless. Questions must be asked.”

Yet somehow this is considered perfectly sensible when discussing national investment.

The National Wealth Fund is designed to encourage investment in energy, industry, technology and infrastructure. Critics seem horrified that many of the early projects involve electricity networks, industrial upgrades and power systems.

What exactly were they expecting?

A moon base by Tuesday? πŸš€

Flying cars by Thursday? πŸš—βœˆοΈ

A fully operational utopia by the weekend?

The uncomfortable truth is that prosperity is built on boring things.

Power cables are boring.

Factories are boring.

Ports are boring.

Railways are boring.

Reliable electricity is almost offensively boring.

But remove any of them and life becomes spectacularly exciting for all the wrong reasons.

Perhaps the funniest criticism is the claim that government shouldn’t help unlock private investment because investors might have invested anyway.

By that logic:

β€’ Stop building roads because people might eventually find another route. πŸ›£οΈ

β€’ Stop educating children because they could accidentally learn something. πŸ“š

β€’ Stop fixing potholes because erosion is basically nature’s maintenance department. πŸ•³οΈ

Britain has spent years complaining that the country doesn’t invest enough.

Now we’re complaining that someone is trying to invest.

This is the economic equivalent of standing in a thunderstorm demanding sunshine and then shouting at the person holding the umbrella. β˜”

Will the National Wealth Fund succeed?

Nobody knows.

Will every project work?

Of course not.

No investment programme in human history has ever achieved perfection.

But there is something wonderfully absurd about declaring a policy dead before most of it has even begun.

Britain increasingly resembles a football crowd screaming for substitutions for ninety minutes and then booing the manager the second he makes one. βš½πŸ˜‚

We complain when nothing changes.

We complain when things change.

We complain when money is spent.

We complain when money isn’t spent.

At some point the National Wealth Fund may prove successful.

At some point it may fail.

Either outcome requires a radical, almost revolutionary concept:

Waiting to see what actually happens.

πŸ”₯ Challenges πŸ”₯

Here’s the question nobody seems willing to answer:

Have we become so addicted to outrage and instant verdicts that we’ve lost the ability to judge results after they exist?

Is Britain trapped in a permanent cycle of demanding action while simultaneously condemning every attempt to take it?

Drop your thoughts in the blog comments. Are critics asking tough questionsβ€”or simply predicting disasters before the opening whistle? πŸ’¬πŸ”₯

πŸ‘‡ Like, comment and share if you’re tired of Britain’s national hobby of writing failure reports before projects even begin.

πŸ† The sharpest, funniest and most insightful comments will be featured in the next issue of the magazine.

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Ian McEwan

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