Pay Days

Greetings Web Wanderer, 


In this instalment of simian philosophy, JK wants to talk about high pay for senior executives. Don't worry, it's not Bob Crow style rant, suggesting that all pay should be set by government committee. The red star on my hat is just a fashion item, I have a Chairman Mao mug, it's for coffee  not collective farming induced famine.  As for my Hitler pyjamas and matching Goebbels slippers, let's just say when you see a deal that good on Ebay, you ignore political correctness. The high pay commission announced this week that top executives pay has rocketed further into the stratosphere, with inequality reaching levels not seen since the Victorian era - an extreme form of retro chic. Apparently chimney sweeps are  the new black. You were too probably to busy to notice, probably wondering how Pippa Middelton gets such a pert behind, is it Pilates, is it agave syrup? No, it's genetics and not really having to work for living. Here's the gory details  if you want to spoil your day (no it's not about Pippa's bum, concentrate, this is important):
http://highpaycommission.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/HPC-interimreport2011.pdf


Chief executives these days get golden hellos for turning up for work, golden handshakes, golden showers and golden handcuffs (or perhaps that's something they do in their lunchbreaks with a PVC clad Lithuanian) and golden parachutes if they leave, regardless if they have run the company into the ground. This doesn't feel like free enterprise, it looks like socialism for the rich where success and failure are rewarded equally with buckets of cash. In fact buckets aren't big enough, you can only fit £100,000 in, so these boys get their money delivered by dump truck. It's a shame that the golden parachutes aren't actually real parachutes made of gold, then the taxpayer could put the directors of the recently nationalised banks in a light aircraft and chuck them out at 10,000 feet. With luck, just after they hit the tarmac, the golden parachute would hit them, leaving a imprint of their startled expressions in the soft metal canopy - a bit like Han Solo frozen in carbonite at the end of Empire Strikes Back. As an added bonus, RBS would have an interesting work of art to hang in their lobby. JK thinks the cost of the gilt parachute would be cheap at the price to have Fred Godwin's shocked face captured in 24 carat for eternity. It would certainly be conversation piece, perhaps with the title 'Superinjunct that Fuck Face': http://www.flickr.com/photos/macensteph/342044675/


What is the answer to his outrageous explosion in executives' pay?  Some dogmatists believe whatever happens in business is evidence of the free market at work, therefore it must be right. So by this logic, if a company voted that the Chief Exec had jus prima noctis with every female member of staff that would be an example of the market's invisible hand, in this case working its way down a secretary's pants. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Droit_de_seigneur) Curiously though as heads of public companies laugh all the way to their secret offshore bank accounts, plenty of journalists are fighting their corner, probably hoping to get invited to swish on their yacht in the South of France, populated by women who charge by the hour. Dream on, you useful idiots,  these guys would not give you the time of day, even if they were the voice of the speaking clock. Adam Smith, the much misquoted sage of economics,  warned that  'People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public'. Sounds like the minutes of the remuneration committees of most large corporations. But the Ayn Rand acolytes do have a half a point, namely that  last thing we need in this county is more government interference. The state is hardly doing a stellar job of the areas it currently controls as anyone who regularly uses Royal Mail will attest. So long as you want to post unsolicited junk mail, no problem. Try send any large packet and Mr Postie will give himself an early Christmas bonus. To anyone in the Paddington sorting office, stop nicking my post, they are not pornos and you are not going to enjoy the films of Kurosawa. 


So do we just put up with executive pay trebling in real terms in 30 years as one of life's little annoyances like wasps, Russel Brand's film career or Piers Morgan's face? No, there is another way and it doesn't involve smashing up the local Tesco. This typing monkey has modest proposal: make all large companies publish details of pay, then let the power of consumer boycott work its magic. No one begrudges entrepreneurs who've risked everything to build a business paying themselves a fat return; but the public rightly resents talentless non-entities trousering moolah irrespective of results. If they complain, then they've got something to hide. After all, why would you mind if the police wanted  to look under your patio, unless your name was Fred West? Let's lift up the golden stone and see what crawls out.