The World

In theory, I should know Britain’s new chancellor of the exchequer, really quite well. George Osborne grew up in the same street as me in London. We went to the same school. He used to be called Gideon, before changing his name to George. I once interviewed him for a job. But the odd thing is, I hardly know the guy.

The reason for this is rather humiliating. The chancellor, as I will have to learn to call him, is much younger than me. Eight years younger, to be precise; he has only just turned 39. So the first time I really met George Osborne was when I interviewed him for a job at The Economist in 1997.

I had just been appointed editor of the paper’s Britain section and we were looking to recruit a new reporter. Osborne had been working as a political adviser to the Conservative Party, which had just gone down to a crashing defeat at the hands of Tony Blair and New Labour. Self-deprecatingly, Osborne explained that his job had been to try to “destroy” Tony Blair – but, as he pointed out, “I obviously didn’t do a very good job of it.” His frank admiration for Blair’s skills as a politician was obvious.

Osborne did fine in the interview. But, in retrospect, I rather mishandled it. I don’t think I had ever interviewed anybody for a job before – so it didn’t occur to me that it was a bad idea to start by telling the candidate that he probably wouldn’t get the job. I thought I was just being honest by telling Osborne that we were looking for somebody with more journalistic experience. But he, understandably, rather bridled at the implication that he was wasting his time.

There was another strange under-current in our discussions – the Gideon question. Why had Osborne junked the name, Gideon, in favour of George? This was not something I felt I could ask him directly. Perhaps it was an early sign of political ambition. It is all very well being called something exotic like “Barack Obama” in the US, but it might be a bit of a risk in British politics. Gideon is also regarded as a Jewish name (although it is also popular amongst Zulus). I guess that could have been part of Osborne’s motives? But even if it was, I’m inclined to be forgiving. Osborne isn’t Jewish, and I can see it might be odd to have a false ethnic flag pinned to your back. If my parents had decided to call me Sanjay, I might also have changed my name.

As I walked him to the lifts at The Economist in 1997, after our 45 minutes or so, I found myself back-tracking from my earlier suggestion that Osborne probably wouldn’t get the job. He had been impressive and charming, so perhaps the experience issue wasn’t so important. Osborne pressed home his advantage. “Give a young guy a chance”, he suggested, as we shook hands and said goodbye.

In the end, neither of us really pursued the issue. Osborne got swept up into the Tory leadership contest, as a supporter of William Hague. I appointed somebody else to the job.

But, on reflection, I think I did the “young guy” a favour by not giving him a job at The Economist. The Economist is a wonderful place to work – too wonderful, in many ways. It’s sort of like being a member of an Oxford college, only much better paid. Had Osborne joined the staff, he might have settled back into an easy existence and never left.

Gideon, George, chancellor – you owe it all to me.