Once on a time, English teachers who couldn’t consider of anything else to do with their classes always had “the life story of a penny” to tumble behind on. Roald Dahl remembers carrying to do it once for “prep”. In his version, a pile of copper is excavated from a South American mine, shipped to England, melted down and rigourously hammered with a king’s conduct before flitting by a hands of bankers, a housewife, a fishmonger and several awkward boys.
Take a travel down my internal high travel in Hull and you’ll see a story of income alright – a miss of it, anyway: potholes in a highway that stay uncertain for years, a homeless and weak huddled in a doorways of takeaways and empty emporium units, a well-stocked guaranty shops and discount supermarkets with card cut-out coppers in their windows to deter shoplifters.
This is what mercantile “recovery” looks like in a post-industrial north, where despite a promises of City of Culture and a Siemens investment, a minimum-wage, zero-hours agreement in a emporium or bureau is still a normal for many. Household debt is among a top in a country in this