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It was the day the schadenfreude stopped. Like most people I know, I spent much of September chortling: the financial crisis was just delicious. There was the humiliation of the masters of the universe to savour, as well as the black comedy of Hank Paulson’s blundering attempts to launch a lifeboat in the US. The bewilderment of the financial journalists, usually the most self-regarding of the commentariat, was a joy too, as was Labour’s rush to restore Clause 4 in order to help out the capitalist system. All the fun of a meltdown—but on Tuesday 10th October, I became a…

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