My bar mitzvah was a loooong time ago. Most of the event has faded from memory, but I still have some abiding recollections: the song that got everyone on the dancefloor, the terrible joke I cracked in my speech and, oddly, the flavour of the ice cream we ate for dessert. Above all, there is one particular gift that I remember to this day.
At the time, it did not seem a particularly special gift. It is customary for bar mitzvah boys to receive gifts of cash from friends and family, to set them on their way for when they’re older. One family friend gave me £20, but rather than simply handing me an envelope, they opened a building society account in my name and deposited it in there.
And there it sat for the next few years. Interest rates were high (I said it was a long time ago) so the money compounded nicely. Not that the wonder of compounding had dawned on me yet; the building society passbook sat at the bottom of my desk drawer, unloved.
Unbeknown to me, along with the money, I had ac…