The last words of Mr. Sterling
My dear love,
Princess Euro Europa,
I am tired. I can feel it, I am dying. I was weak before, but I always recovered. Not this time, I am afraid. The doctors in my country keep issuing the direst predictions for my health. It doesn’t look good.
Usually, being sick is like being anchored at the bottom of the sea. There is pressure in your ears. You feel dreadful. But eventually, you expect to be cut loose and to re-surface. Not this time. Even the pressure is gone. It is only downhill from here. There is little hope and an ocean of regret and grief.
In the heydays, I was indestructible. Think the 1976 sterling crisis. Think black Wednesday. We survived it all with little more than a scratch or a dent on the Y-axis. It seemed nothing could hurt me or the people that rely on me. Until, this nasty financial crisis buried us all in the ground in 2008. I nearly sunk to my knees and for that matter, to the same height of yours.
I remember as it was yesterday: a cold December day in 2008, the 29th of the month. I was down to €1.0219, nothing left in my pockets. I was miserable. Seeing you only for a brief moment that day, gave me hope again. It made me get up and fight the world and any negative sentiment once more. Who would have reckoned that only eight years later, my world would darken again, so dark it may never be light again.
But of course, we knew each much before that dreadful day in 2008. My respect and love for you started much earlier, as you may recall. I remember you sitting there restlessly, in 1992, on a beautify February day, in the picturesque city of Maastricht.
Beautiful and strong, you had admiring statesmen crowding around you in droves.
For others, and me you were irresistible. But by the same token, from that day on, you were also unreachable, for me at least.
When in 1992, my father, the PM and his henchmen secured an opt-out at your creation, I was fuming. It was an opportunity that I regret to this very day. Remember when my father came and tested you for courtship. You should prove to be good enough for me and the good house that I grew up in. Stupid rules all ruined it. He made you jump through so many hoops; you could only do poorly on those tests.
The naivety of my parents never changed. They wanted me to over-perform, always. Not possible, I told them. I am only human. Sometimes, I have a good run, sometimes, I am weak. They never accepted that and they never accepted you. Their good reputation, say said, depended on me. What a lot of bollocks.
But what they did to me precisely 1,209 days ago is unforgivable. Not only unforgiving, but also probably lethal. After dad’s divorce was accepted, I became a wreck. It was the start of the end.
Today, I am a fraction of the man that you once knew and loved. Even my brothers and sisters, in Jersey, Guernsey, the Isle of Man, and what not, pay me mere pity. Gone are the days of admiration.
Even you must pity me. You are backed by the richest of economies and kingdoms. While you dine and trade at the finest exchanges in Paris, Amsterdam and Frankfurt, my outlook at the British exchange looks grimmer by the day.
Do you know how hard it is to get up every day in the morning to such an unstable geo-political environment? The shocks I suffer from those talks that always end up in a rotten conclusion between the British political establishment and your union; the downward pressure I have to endure from those doubters at the European Banks and those backbreaking punches from the big-headed greenback, day in day out?
Phases of my depression grow longer and longer. I don’t know how long I can keep up. People in this country don’t pay me much attention anymore, not in the streets not in the shops. I remember the public used to enjoy holding onto me and take my money with pleasure. Now I am the mere virtual and electronic reflection of my former self.
I suppose, when it goes all to hell, people start talking about their loved ones. That was you my love. Your closeness gave me hope. After we decided in favor of a breakup, I lost all my hope to ever see us again. Yes, 1992 was a lost opportunity! But 2016 was the really the start when we build an insurmountable abyss between us. It will see us die separated.
Remember, together we used to fight the grandest of battles. Price-wars and trade-wars, you name it, with trillion dollars in winnings and losses. What a jolly ride we had. Today, I am no longer able to even stand up straight.
I know my demise will hurt many in this country. The weaker I get, the more people will weep. Foreigners will be more cheerful. Many, inducing the Americans, are already taking advantage of my weakness. But don’t cry about me. In your heart, I will remain the man you used to know. I will be the man who towered far above those from Kuwait, Bahrain, Oman and Jordan, not the man who falls short in strength in front of them.
I am not far from my last breath. Should it come to the worst, I am willing to give allow myself the dignity to decide when I shall die. I want you to know that my last will is that you keep the union together, as long as possible. Keep holding on and people will keep holding on to you.
I will never forget you.
Your loving,
Mr. Sterling.
