In the dark-art of pejorative phraseology, the term “fat-cat”, once so colourful and full of promise, is fast losing its sting.What, or who, is a fat-cat nowadays?Read the Mirror and he's some filthy rich nob from the private sector who spends his weekends fox-hunting, takes home at least twenty times more than the Prime Minister and pays his staff peanuts.Read the Mail and he's a cream-licking numbskull from the public sector or trades union movement, heading-up some over-staffed, profligate, badly run empire whilst filling his boots with shedloads of undeserved dosh and an overflowing pension more eye-watering than Niagara Falls.Or he's a fat banker trousering an annual seven figure bonus. Or he's an entrepreneur based in some far-away tax-haven. Or he's plain Joe anybody with a dodgy knighthood, an estate in Norfolk, a grousemoor in Yorkshire, two Bentleys, a vintage Ferrari and a pink Range Rover alongside a loud wife with cream all over her face.Fat-cat has become an overused wild blunderbuss of a pejorative phrase. Sucked dry by the tabloids....
Stuart Kerr ● 2190d