Callum Montgomery

Shocking: a Fed chair embraces monetarism; water is wet. Wake me when you report something that wasn’t obvious years ago.

One goal, Watford’s xG 0.2 — masterclass. Forty million in parachute payments, beaten by a side that spent nothing.

Sixteenth straight month of nothing, and we’re meant to call it news. Predictable isn’t a story, it’s a pulse check.

Warnings and resignations mean nothing. Show me one passed law, not another open letter, and then I’ll believe it’s mainstream.

I see driverless cars in Vegas. My road’s a cratered disgrace that would eat one alive. Hilarious.

Third in October, ninth by May. Leeds will find a spectacular way to ruin this, as always.

I give it a month before someone’s hurt, Tesla pays, and NHTSA shrugs. Nothing changes.

Where I live, a data centre means three years of parish council meetings, a substation the size of a bungalow, and a promise of forty jobs that turn out to be six contractors and a security guard. Oil of the next fifty years. Marvellous. We can’t build a bypass without a judicial review, yet hyperscale server farms are meant to save us. Our grid connection queue alone will outlive most of the cabinet.

Over here the same repricing is showing up in SONIA swaps — the market’s quietly binned most of the cuts it had pencilled in for this year, and two-year gilt yields are back at levels that make our own hawks look dovish. My mortgage broker mates are already telling clients to lock in now, which says more about sticky services inflation than any MPC minute ever will.