Change neophyte tweaks leading change guru’s tail

Campbell Macpherson’s recent book The Change Catalyst is Business Book Of The Year, and my book No Small Change, co-written with Anthony Thomson, isn’t.  I therefore have a bit of a cheek challenging something Campbell says.

In a blog about his book on his website, which you can find at http://www.changeandstrategy.com/mission-impossible-leading-change-successful-organisations/, he discusses the practical and emotional obstacles that prevent leaders of highly successful businesses from maintaining the capability to achieve change, and gives some hints on how to overcome them.  He strongly believes that these leaders should encourage and empower their colleagues to put forward their own ideas, and the following somewhat edited quote will give a flavour of his recommendations:

“Make continuous improvement a core part of your company’s DNA:  Change doesn’t have to be large and disruptive to be effective. The most effective and sustainable changes are often evolutionary rather than revolutionary. Every leadership team needs to help their people to embrace an attitude of continuous improvement – and empower them to act upon it.

Allow your people to (constructively) question the status quo.  This is where your newer employees will add the most value. Allow them to (constructively and respectfully) query the way things are done.”

It’s true that these are not his only tips on the subject, and at least one of the others suggests more radical measures.   But I do wonder, looking at what’s written here, whether it’s all a bit, well, timid.  I think it was that bracketed “constructively and respectfully” that aroused my suspicions.  Should employees of Pony Express in the US in the 1860s have “constructively and respectfully” have pointed out that the country’s first transcontinental railroad was about to open and would quickly wipe out most of their business when it did?  Should employees of Polaroid in the 1990s have “constructively and respectfully” flagged up a teeny concern that perhaps this digital camera thing might prove a bit of a problem?  I could go on, but you get my point.

And anyway, as I say, my point really isn’t a very fair one.  Campbell isn’t only suggesting constructive and respectful process-tweaking, and anyway such humble actions do often have their place.  On other occasions, though, an expression involving the words “deckchairs” and “Titanic” does come to mind.

We really must start making things simpler. Especially the complicated things.

Abraham Okusanya is unquestionably a good bloke.  He and his investment consulting firm Finalytiq are 100% on the side of end-consumers, and they’re doing everything they can to ensure that fund management firms do their best for them.   But when it comes to one of the fault lines dividing consumers’ real friends from consumers’ not-so-real or indeed false friends, as identified in my new financial services marketing book No Small Change, I’m afraid that Abraham is on the other side of the line from my co-author Anthony Thomson and me.

Let me explain.  Abraham has just written a hard-hitting article in the online edition of FT Adviser that’s highly critical of Absolute Return funds in general, and Aberdeen Standard’s giant GARS fund in particular.  He has one massive objection to them:  they’re far too complicated.  He says:  “Hands up if you really understand how GARS works? Enough to explain it to a typical client? I certainly don’t.  Many advisers and discretionary fund managers who invested in GARS didn’t.  I’ll wager that many analysts and managers who work at the Standard Life multi-asset teams and indeed the most senior people at Standard Life don’t either.”

And he goes on to deliver his coup de grace:  “If all these professionals don’t seem to understand the fund, what hope has poor old Mrs Miggins got?”

Leaving aside my intense dislike of the patronising, alienating and horribly over-used term “Mrs Miggins”, it’s the sense of what Abraham’s saying that bothers me.  Let me be clear:  if he was saying that Absolute Return funds like GARS don’t work, or can only find a market by making false promises they won’t be able to keep, then I’d completely share his intense disapproval.  But he isn’t.  It’s the complexity that’s upsetting him.  And for the life of me, I cannot understand the financial services industry’s obsession with explaining how complicated things work, whether to our colleagues within the industry or to our poor old end customers.

It’s not just Abraham who wants everything explained.  It’s everyone.  It starts with the regulator, who has insisted for years on a regime which provides consumers with rafts of unintelligible and impenetrable detail about whatever it is they’re putting their money into.  It includes all those who keep calling for a massive educational effort to get key financial concepts across to consumers so that they’ll become better able to grasp the detail of what we’re offering them.  And it also embraces all those firms publishing mountains of market reports, pie charts, analyses of one sort or another, fund manager interviews and all the other manifestations of an industry that’s grimly determined to explain itself to people.

No other industry behaves like this.  There are countless examples of industries that provide complex products and services, but which feel no obligation at all to explain how they work either to their end customers or indeed to their intermediaries – or “shops” as they are often known.  People buy all sorts of IT products – phones, tablets and computers – without having the faintest idea how they actually work, and the amiable sales guys and girls in PC World and my Vodafone shops don’t know much more.  You can buy a car without knowing a thing about the mechanics of ABS braking, and perhaps more crucially you can take a daily statin or SSRI tablet without a clue about what they do to your body chemistry (or even what SSRI actually stands for – Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors, since you ask).  And, trust me, the same is true of your average GP.

What all these things have in common, as well as complexity that makes their workings quite incomprehensible, is a clear and simple message about what they do – or, to put it another way, about why people might want to buy, own or use them.  I don’t know anything about how ABS brakes operate, but I do know that if I put my right foot hard down on the pedal on a wet and slippery road I’ll come to a stop without skidding.  And I don’t know what that Atorvastatin tablet I take every morning does when it gets into my bloodstream, but I know that somehow it reduces my cholesterol level and that makes it less likely that I’ll have a heart attack.  And these simple, clear messages are absolutely all I need or want to know.

At the same basic level, I understand – more or less – what GARS is supposed to do.  It’s supposed to keep going up in all market conditions.  This, I must admit, sounds a bit too good to be true, and makes me wonder whether I’ve got it quite right.  In all market conditions?  Really?  And going up, not just standing still or going down less than the market?  And is this just a pious hope, or a solid promise, or something in between?  (ABS, after all, doesn’t say that it aims to prevent you from skidding, or that you won’t skid quite so much – it says you won’t skid, period, and you won’t.)   As I say, if the GARS/Absolute Return Fund headline promise is false, or overclaimed, then that’s bad and I’m against it.

But if it’s robust, I have no problem with it at all.  And as we move slowly but irreversibly into a world in which consumers are going to have to take more responsibility for their financial security, and make more of their own financial choices and decisions, it becomes more and more important that we present them with those choices and decisions in ways that are meaningful to them.  Which, in turn, means that we have to stop presenting those choices and decisions in ways that are only meaningful to the most pointy-headed specialists and experts in the industry.

In fact, it may well be that in order to present consumers with “headline” benefits that are valuable and meaningful to them, we need products and services which, when you lift the bonnet, are even more complicated than absolute return funds.  That prospect doesn’t bother me in the slightest – provided only that Abraham, and all those others around the industry who think like he does, can be discouraged  from making even more doomed and counter-productive attempts to explain them all.

I hope my co-author won’t be too upset by this

Today, I’ve been working on the brief (yes, honestly, very brief) remarks that my co-author Anthony Thomson and I will be making at the various events coming up over the next week or two to mark the publication of our book.  (You remember, it’s about financial services marketing, it’s called No Small Change and it’s available now for advance orders on Amazon.)

I found myself thinking about how AT and I will come across as a double-act, and which existing and well-known combination people will find us most like.  Will they see in us the suavity, cool and charm of Butch and Sundance?   The talent and competitiveness of Lennon and McCartney?  The humour and rapport of Eric and Ernie?

Then I got it.  It was none of these.  Two grumpy blokes, well past the first flush of youth, sitting on the sidelines and taking pleasure in a stream of rude and irreverent remarks:  to any Muppets fan, we can only be Waldorf and Statler.

 

Apparently no-one in FS knows what marketing is. Not even marketers.

As the countdown continues to the launch of my financial services marketing book No Small Change, co-written with leading challenger banker and old friend Anthony Thomson, it’s time for these blogs to start working harder to build up a frenzy of pre-launch excitement.  Hence this effort, which previews some of the book’s findings from the research we carried out among senior financial services marketing people.

This isn’t the place for detailed facts and figures, but, long story short, one of our key question areas was to do with the activities which respondents thought did, and indeed did not, fall within the remit of marketing.  To do so, our questions were built around the good old tried-and-tested “Seven Ps”, the list made up of Product, Price, Promotion, People, Place, Process and the slightly incongruous Physical Evidence (a list I now know so well that I can write down all seven without hesitation or need to check Wikipedia for the one I’ve forgotten).  How many of these areas should come under the control of marketers, we asked.  And in your business at the moment, how many currently do?

Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that there was one area of very-near-unanimous agreement.  Almost everyone agreed that Promotion should come under the control of marketers (although you can’t help wondering about the one or two respondents who thought it shouldn’t).

But the other two headline findings are less pleasing.  First, there was an extraordinary and extreme divergence of views on the other six areas.   Some felt sure that marketers should control them all.  Some thought that marketers had no business controlling any of them.  Some thought marketers should control some, but not others, Some thought they should control others, but not some.  You get the picture.

And second, almost everyone thought that in their own firms currently, marketers had a lot less overall control of these areas than they should.

What do we conclude from all this?  First, that marketers themselves are still unclear and disunited on the extent of their remit.  Should marketers control, or at least have influence over, everything that touches the customer?  Or is their job only to promote propositions developed by others?

And if we’re unclear, it’s hardly surprising if a) others are unclear too, and b)  in the absence of any visible boundaries they feel free to park their tanks across as much of our lawn as possible, leaving us only with the corner called “promotion.”

It would be interesting to replicate the research outside financial services.  Anthony and I can both remember working for FMCG client companies where the centrality of marketing was universally recognised three decades ago, and I’m sure that any further change since then has only been in one direction.

But here in FS there’s still a long way to go – and that’s as true for us marketers ourselves as it is for our colleagues in other parts pf the business. And that – to sum up the whole story in a well-known and painful phrase – is why, even today, in so many firms we’re still known as “the colouring-in department.”

How not to launch a book

I went to a book launch event yesterday evening in the hope that I might learn something useful for the forthcoming launch of my book No Small Change, co-written with Anthony Thomson, which I think I may have mentioned.

Amidst the drinks and canapes, there was a presentation and panel discussion which lasted an hour or so.  Naturally the author spoke, and the panel also included a couple of quite impressively heavy hitters from the financial world, with a well-known journalist chairing.

There were over a hundred people present, in a long, narrow room where many of us were a long way from the stage.  So it was a pity that three out of the four speakers’ microphones didn’t work so we couldn’t hear them, and neither did the roving mike so the audience’s questions from the floor were inaudible either to the panel, or to the rest of the audience, or both.  Also, the laptop projecting a very large image behind the panel went onto standby every five minutes, so that the title slide disappeared and was replaced by a huge and distractingly day-glo green message saying NO SIGNAL.

By now you may well have guessed the punchline, which is that the book is about how rapidly and how fundamentally IT is changing the world.  We are, the author tells us, in the middle of a gigantic digital revolution which is utterly transforming how the 7.5 billion people on earth relate and connect to each other, with thrilling and largely unimaginable consequences for the way we live our lives.

I didn’t see any evidence that anyone else noticed the irony of the fact that these messages were being delivered in an environment in which the technology present was actively preventing the people in the room from relating and connecting to each other, but I don’t think it can have only been me.

Note to self:  when launching a book about financial services marketing, make sure the launch marketing isn’t too shabby.

Why prognostications of an end to financial jargon are jejune

Ha ha, very funny, a blog about jargon with some really difficult words in the headline.  (As you, ahem, already know, “prognostications” = predictions, “jejune” = naive or simplistic.)

In the ordinary way, we get rid of difficult words by doing what I did just then – replacing them with easier words.   In the book (did I mention the book?), the example I give is the rather lovely word “crepuscular.”  Not many people know it, but the problem is solved as soon as you know it means “relating to twilight.”  Immediately, you know a whole lot of things about “crepuscular” – what it means, what it looks like, when it happens, why it happens (more or less).

Contrast that with an unfamiliar word from the language of investment jargon.  To make my point, I’m choosing a tough one:  “equalisation.”  There’s absolutely no way that any better-known phrase or synonym will cast light on this.  There isn’t one.  The word describes an aspect of the workings of investment funds, which you’re never going to understand unless you learn practically a whole book’s-worth of stuff about how investment funds work (starting, for many people, with an explanation of what investment funds actually are).

Here’s an attempt from a website (actually Neil Woodford’s) to explain the term.

“Equalisation is a mechanism used by open-ended collective investment vehicles to ensure that income distributions from a fund can be the same for all shareholders, regardless of when the shares were purchased.

By way of background, funds that distribute income do so regularly – sometimes yearly, sometimes half-yearly, quarterly or monthly. In the case of the LF Woodford Equity Income Fund, income is distributed quarterly. When a fund pays out income, it does so by going ‘ex-dividend‘ (XD). Income that is received by the fund from its underlying portfolio holdings is reflected in that fund’s net asset value until it goes ex-dividend, at which point the income is removed from the fund’s net asset value and is paid to shareholders on the pay date on a per share basis, typically several weeks after the ex-dividend date.

If an investor has bought shares in the fund since the last XD date, he/she has not held the shares for the full period over which income is being received by the fund and so those shares will be grouped separately (usually known as group 2 shares, whereas all other shares are in group 1). When it comes to payment of income on those shares, they will be entitled to the same payment per share as any other shares in the fund, but not all of the payment will be treated as income for tax purposes – part of the payment will be treated as a return of capital. This is known as an ‘equalisation’ payment, because it equalises the per share amount that is paid on group 2 shares with that paid on group 1.  Once group 2 shares have passed their first XD date, they become group 1 shares.”

I can’t find the words to express how utterly unhelpful this definition is to most of us.  Within a dozen words most people’s heads have disappeared below the surface, and they never come back up again.  So it’s “a mechanism used by open-ended collective investment vehicles,” is it?  Great.  That really helps me.  Not.

I’m not saying this to beat up the Woodford website.  I’ve had a go at explaining equalisation once or twice, and I don’t think I did any better.  My point is that often, in financial services, a single word of incomprehensible jargon is in fact the tip of a vast iceberg of incomprehension, so that if you want to make sense of the word you have to melt the whole bloody iceberg.  And, of course, long before you complete that enormous task, everyone will have left your website in search of something – anything! – more rewarding.

In the case of this particular example, you can argue that people really don’t need to know – that millions of people invest perfectly happily in funds without any understanding of equalisation, or indeed any idea of the existence of the concept.  But there are hundreds of other terms that are, or at least seem to be, much more important if people are going to make half-decent investment decisions.  (Pound-cost averaging is always a horrible one to have to explain.  Or rebalancing.  Or index tracking, to people who don’t know what an index is.)

Even after 30 years of writing this stuff, I don’t really have an answer.  Basically, the choice you have if you want to de-jargonify is to be either incomprehensibly brief, or unreadably long, which isn’t really much of a choice.

So, I’m sorry if this blog has turned out to be a bit of a waste of time.  But on the upside, at least you now know what “crepuscular” means.

 

 

Why I don’t think gambling is part of financial services

Did I mention that I’ve been writing a book lately?  Or that it’s called No Small Change and is available for advance order on Amazon?  Oh, I did, did I?  Sorry about that.

Writing a book makes you think about things so that you have something to say when you write about them.  One of the things that my co-author Anthony Thomson and I had to think about was the question of what should, and what shouldn’t, be included within our definition of “retail financial services.”  And without more than a few moments’ deliberation, we decided that gambling – whether in casinos, on sporting events or on who’ll replace Theresa May and when – was out.

If you think harder about it, this was a questionable decision.  As consumers in group discussions never tire of telling us, perceptually gambling exists at the right-hand end of a financial services spectrum which has mainstream investing roughly in the middle or towards the middle-right, and building society savings over to the left.  And in fact there are other things over towards that right-hand end which are undoubtedly gambles, but which are undoubtedly financial services too – things like spread betting, CFDs and these scary-sounding newish things called Binary Options.  At the end of the day, they’re all about putting money in and hopefully, though not probably, getting more money out.

So why did AT and I take seconds to exclude gambling from the book?

I guess partly it’s that gambling doesn’t present itself in any way as a part of the financial services world.  Gambling as seen on TV, at any rate, presents itself overwhelmingly as part of the world of sport – presented by football commentators and pundits, and featuring people, mostly young men plus Ray Winstone,either playing or watching the game and occasionally doing things on their phones while other youngish men plus Ray Winstone shout at us on the soundtrack.

But as financial services marketing professionals, AT and I aren’t taken in by this determination to break the category rules.  Plenty of other brands do that – how about animated meerkats? – but Comparethemarket.com is still part of the financial services world.

No, I think the reason we made the decision to leave it out was simply that we hate it, don’t want anything to do with it and definitely don’t want it cluttering up our book.  The business is horrible, the propositions are horrible and above all the advertising is horrible.  There’s a lot wrong with financial services, and it’s taking a distressingly long time to put it right.  But thank God we’re not working in gambling.

Why do financial advisers make such terrible clients?

Some say it’s bad form to use a business blog to wage a personal vendetta, but I’m far from the first – I may even be the last.

Honestly, this is really true, not just brown-nosing – in the seven years since I launched Lucian Camp Consulting, the overwhelming majority of my clients have been an absolute pleasure to work for.  They’ve ticked all three of what I think of as the Good Client boxes – they’ve been friendly and amiable, they’ve been receptive and they’ve been open and communicative.  (Actually nearly all have ticked a fourth box too, come to the think about it – they’ve paid up remarkably quickly on receipt of their invoice.)

So, lots of grateful thanks to a long list of admirable firms and individuals.  But, there’s no denying, it’s an incomplete list.  If you grouped all those clients – I guess there must be either side of a hundred of them – into financial services industry sectors, while most sectors would be basking in warm sunlight there’d be one beset by dark clouds and rain.  Yes, the exception would be the independent financial advice firms.

I should say that a few years ago, I doubt whether this sector would have been represented at all.  Very few of the thousands of firms in this fragmented cottage industry could see any sense in spending money on people like me.  Most, quite frankly, wouldn’t have bothered even if my services were on offer free of charge – marketing and branding and all that daft colouring-in nonsense just seemed like a waste of time.  But as a waste of both.time and money, well, no-brainer.

It was the RDR that changed things, and specifically the bit about needing to tell clients what they’d get in return for that “ongoing adviser charge.”  (Previously, of course, that was what had been known as “trail commission,” and what most clients got in return for that could be briefly summarised in the word “nothing.”)  This new need for advisers to justify the ongoing charge connected strongly to what people like me call “defining the value proposition,” so all of a sudden I found I was speaking on this topic at quite a few IFA events and leaving the events with a pocketful of business cards from advisers wanting follow-up meetings.

Which all sounds great, except that it really hasn’t been.  In case any of my adviser clients are reading this, I should say that two or three have been lovely.  But most really haven’t been very lovely at all – not easy at a personal level, suspicious and dubious about everything I have to say to them and, probably worst, hopelessly uncommunicative.  The default is that most just don’t reply to things.  They don’t answer phones or respond to voicemails or emails.  The only time when they’re not maintaining a couple of months’ worth of radio silence is when they are in fact maintaining a permanent period of radio silence, having just decided to stop dealing with you without ever quite getting round to saying so.  And, needless to say, as regards that fourth box, a well known expression about blood and a stone is the only one that comes to mind.

The reasons for all this, I do appreciate, may be a) good and b) circumstantial    The firms I’m talking about here are small, and no doubt both busy and under-resourced.  And I suppose there is some benefit to me in these otherwise useless experiences – as the proprietor and indeed entire workforce of a small firm which is often busy and arguably under-resourced, they do give me the clearest possible education in the art of pissing your clients off.

The theory behind this born-again blog is that I’m supposed to choose topics that whet your appetite for my forthcoming book on financial services marketing, co-written with my old friend Anthony Thomson.  This morning, though, I’ve gone off-topic.  There’s nothing in the book about (most) financial advisers making rotten clients.  Which, if you’re among those who think this kind of personal grumbling is n’t really appropriate, is probably just as well..

Robo advice. Still happening, still a stupid name, still a mystery.

Looking back at entries in this blog written before the Great Suspension (i.e.before April 2016) I’m surprised how many of them are about robo advice.  This is a subject that still feels like fairly new news to me, or at least like a fairly new (as well as stupid) name.  But in fact I was grumbling about the stupidity of the name back in late 2015, and expressing major doubts about the viability of the whole concept at the same time.

The viability doubts all focused, one way or another, on a single issue:  are we sure there are enough consumers out there who are keen to engage with services like these?  As I’ve said a million times, there is certainly a small number of enthusiastic investment “hobbyists,” who love everything to do with investing and make up the bulk of the customer bases of most established D2C investment services (particularly Hargreaves Lansdown).  But is it the case that just below them in the pyramid there are a few million potential investors, ready to become more engaged and active if only they could find a nice, simple, accessible service which they felt comfortable with?

There is undoubtedly a “next level down” more or less like this in a great many markets, and welcoming them in with that nice, simple accessible new option can be a very successful and profitable thing to do.  I could argue that in (fairly) recent years this has been the secret of the success of car manufacturers with “hot hatchbacks” from the Golf GTi onwards;  of the “casual dining” sector with restaurant brands including Cafe Rouge, Frankie & Benny’s, Carluccio’s and Nando’s, among dozens of others;  and in a slightly different way of the game-changing success of low-cost airlines like easyJet, Ryanair and Norwegian.

But is it true in investment?  Of course the “next level down” investment brands will pick up some business from curious, promiscuous hobbyists, just as my automotive, restaurant and airline examples  have done.  But that’s not how you make the big money – you make the big money when you find the formula that expands the market.

In robo advice, I’ve never believed that any of the existing players has come up with a propositiion anything like simple enough, a brand anything like appealing enough or a marketing budget anything like big enough to become the GTi, Cafe Rouge or easyJet of the sector.

It seems that quite a few of the existing players share my doubts, because one thing that has been happening while I’ve been away is that a number have been partnering with, or indeed being acquired by, big institutions who, it’s believed, can give them access to millions of warm customers and wonderfully nice low cost.

This blog, indeed, has been triggered by an announcement of another of these partnerships, with the oddly-named Scalable Capital partnering in some sort of way with Dutch bank ING.  (Is it just me, or is there something a bit troublingly reptilian about that “Scalable”?)   Blackrock already owns a big slice of Scalable, and of course Aviva has bought Wealthify,  LV= owns Wealth Wizards and Schroders has invested a lot of money into Nutmeg.

At boardroom level, I’m sure all these deals make excellent sense.  But out there in the market?   I’m still not detecting much excitement in the pyramid’s middle tier

To be honest, I can’t actually remember if we develop this theme in our forthcoming book on financial services marketing, No Small Change, written jointly by my old friend Anthony Thomson and myself and due for publication in the last week of May.  All I can say is that there may well be.  I’ll give you the pre-ordering details as soon as I have them,. and you can find out for yourself..

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Seems we still can’t stop asking too much of our customers

Back in the day, one of the themes that came up time after time in this blog was about people who are in the industry asking too much of people who aren’t.  We say things that are too difficult for most to understand and come up with products that are too complicated for most to use.

For decades, the result has been that many of the ideas that we’ve intended for ordinary people have been taken up by people who aren’t ordinary at all.  Investment services like Nutrmeg, for example, originally intended fore the inexperienced investor, find to their surprise that their customer base consists largely of exactly the same “hobbyist” customers as existing, mainstream investments.  The supposedly mass market Pension Wise guidance service is mostly used by hobbyist retirees fine-tuning their knowledge and their options.  A few years ago Stakeholder Pensions, intended as the most mass-market of all long-term investments, were principally adopted by affluent hobbyists as a way of boosting their tax-free contributions (they opened plans in the names of their kids, nannies and cleaners).

It’s early days, but I’d say the signs are that it’s happening again, this time around the big and potentially game-changing idea that’s called Open Banking.  So far, I’ve failed to understand more or less all the media coverage that I’ve noticed – but the one message that has come across is that Open Banking makes it easy for me to see the state of all of my finances in one place.

To hobbyists, and crucially within that term I include the very large majority of people working in the industry, that sounds great.  It’s a self-evident good.  Of course I’d like to be able to see all my finances in one place.  It would be really interesting.  And useful.

To most of the rest of us, it’s a proposition that’s of no interest at all.  We’re not that interested in looking at our financial position at all, whether they’re in one place, or a few places, or lots.  It’s about as useful and appealing as being able to look at all our books in one place.  Or all our houseplants.  Or all our carpets.

These are things that we don’t really look at very much at all, and when we do we’re perfectly happy if they’re not in the same place as other similar things.  It’s a bit irritating if we’re looking for a particular book and can’t find it, but it’s not a problem often and we know where to find the ones we refer to frequently.

There are things which it obviously is convenient to keep in one place – clothes, for example, or cutlery, or music (whether physical or virtual).  These tend to be things that we need to choose from frequently, and/or to put together in combinations (whether place settings, outfits or playlists).  Financial services don’t come into this category.

Once you’ve put your financial products together in one place, there is of course the potential for some enormous second-order benefits.  It’s possible to save a great deal of money, to take advantage of propositions that meet your needs much better and do the financial things you need to do a whole lot more easily (I’ve been told a hundred times in the last few months about the imminent arrival of the “one-click mortgage.”

These are all great and exciting things, and could form the basis for simple, understandable propositions that might actually cut through and engage people.  (The role model, as so often in this blog, is of course price comparison sites, which have cut through and engaged through a winning combination of simplicity of proposition and hugeness of ad spend.)

It may well be that eventually Open Banking will reduce down into similarly powerful, simple messages expressed with similarly huge ad budgets.  But for the time being, it’s hobbyist speaking only unto fellow hobbyist.  Most of us absolutely aren’t excited at all.

In the old, pre-sabbatical blog, that would have been the end.  However, in the new born-again.blog it isn’t.  The plan is now to close, pretty much invariably, with a plug for the book.  It includes a lot more on this theme, our habit of asking too much of our customers and over-estimating their level of interest in the financial services world.  You can’t pre-order it on Amazon yet – but when you can, you’ll be the first to know.