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How the Anglo-Saxon gold came to be buried

Section: Daily Dispatches

Even in the eighth century investors worried about inflation eroding the value of paper assets and wondered if they should buy something more tangible. ...

By Ian Cowie
The Telegraph, London
Friday, October 2, 2009

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/personalfinance/comment/iancowie/6255...

Diary: Saturn's Day, October 3, Anno Domine 709

Say what you like about the Romans, but they made the sewers run properly. They may have been a garlic-stinking pack of fascists -- and, of course, the local fundamentalists drove them out eventually -- but we miss them since they left.

Am waiting in for the plumber. He was supposed to be here on Thor's Day. At this rate, it will be a thousand years before anyone enjoys the creature comforts of central heating again. Talk about progress!

The once-wealthy lands of the Angles and the Saxons have fallen into fallow times under the cruel rule of the Pict Broon and his Celtic sidekicks. Even the Opposition is led by a highlander of sorts. That Hadrian had the right idea, if you ask me.

These foreigners are all the same. Why can't they leave us alone and stay in their own lands?

No wonder my stock in International Wode Industries is trading below where it was a decade ago. And those shares in Northern Wreck and Hal-y-Fax are not worth the vellum they are written on. Literally. Perhaps they might serve as some form of corporate palimpsest, but it's a funny old world where the banks are in business only to write off debts.

Even at the ripe old age of 32, I am beginning to wonder if I will ever be able to afford to retire. The Boadicea Bonds (2 percent Treasury 715) have done a bit better, but I do wonder if quantitative easing will mean the income coupons and redemption values will buy fewer sheep and pigs than the original capital did.

Now my wife has become convinced that gold is the only store of value you can really rely on. Especially in the form of jewellery. Hark unto her. She keeps jumping up and down, saying: "Yes, yes! Want one!" To be fair, she does look pretty good in the stuff and only a fool argues with his wife. Women! What do they know about capital preservation?

However, she may be onto something when she says that nobody can make more gold by just saying so on vellum. Not even the king. Gold will still be gold, she says, long after my stocks and bonds have turned to dust. Perhaps she has a point.

I blame these Levantine traders who keep turning up with boatloads of Byzantine trinkets to barter. They bring some pretty strange ideas too. Not to mention new religions! Just the other day there was one about a Jewish carpenter's son. Can't see it catching on, myself. What's the point of a religion with no animal sacrifice, mead-drinking contests, or running around the fire naked?

Even so, this season's jewellery all seems to be themed on crosses and the like. The women of the village are very keen and, in retrospect, I can see that it was a mistake to let my wife deal with the Levantines directly. She has gone completely over the top this time. I have taken away her Anglian Excess card as a punishment, but only the gods can tell what this month's bill will look like.

I don't even know where we are going to keep it all safely. Crime can be a worry, even here in Middle Angle land. Insurance costs effectively mean gold has a negative yield. That's a significant disadvantage when inflation is low -- although, of course, the opportunity cost of holding it is also reduced if returns elsewhere are depressed.

Not that there is any point trying to explain this to my wife. She just laughs, takes her clothes off, and puts the jewellery on, and I forget the point I was trying to make. Perhaps I should just bury the lot of it in a box at the bottom of the garden. It would be safe enough under the good old elm tree. That will always be there.

Must break off now because some wild-looking salty strangers have just pulled up at the Town Quay. Since they hit all three boats already moored there on their way in, they must be under the influence.

They have long beards and are wearing horned helmets. The big one looks as if he is about to go berserk. ...

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