The end is nigh as banks roll out their fiendish plan – the cashless bar
IT STARTED off in York. Armageddon, that is. This week, at the Ebor race meeting, I was there. In York. Working. In a free bar with lobsters where I had to write about Frankel the super horse. Beats breaking stones. Had I known, though, that the world was about to end in this place I would have marched about bearing a placard reading "the end is nigh".
Every now and then when newspapers are stuck for copy, up comes the old "end of the world" story. Some lunatic will sell his house, tell the boss where to stick his job and inform the wife he still loves her but he's leaving. Nostradamus blows the money on a big holiday and waits on the due date for a meteor strike like the one that killed the dinosaurs.
But the York story is real. Cash is gone since York. Touching money, like fivers and fifties, will disappear forever. So when the young nephew is down home on holidays, there's no slipping him a tenner. You have to ask the nephew if he accepts cards. It's the end of piggy banks. The safest banks of all.