Recently, becoming a father has made me think much more about family. Not in a misty-eyed, poetic way – more in a “how on earth am I now responsible for another human?” way. But it does have a habit of forcing a longer view. Suddenly, decades feel less abstract, and patience – both personal and financial – feels like a skill worth relearning.
The curse of the middle child
I come from a family of eight, which sounds impressive but mostly meant nobody ever got quite enough attention. Emotionally, though, the structure is more nuanced. There is an eldest who arrived first and set the benchmark. My sister followed, and then me – the middle child, wedged firmly between achievement above and noise below. After me came a younger brother, before finally the youngest brothers, who are identical twins and therefore seemed to command an unreasonable share of interest simply by existing twice at once. (For the more mathematically minded of you, that’s how you can have a median child of six siblings.)
Like many middle children, I learned early how to adapt rather than demand, to be quietly competitive without being too loud about it, and to notice my shortcomings before my strengths. Unsurprisingly, for someone who spends his life thinking about markets, I’ve come to see this dynamic reflected in a family of equity indices.
A brief confession: entirely tongue in cheek. We are, objectively, an incredible family. So incredible that when assigning indices to my siblings, I went straight for two of the best-performing equity indices in history. This isn’t false modesty; it’s a deliberate setup. If anything, it’s going to flatter the humble UK FTSE 250 because it’s being compared to global heavyweights.
One housekeeping point: all returns are calculated in sterling from exact birth dates. No rounding, no rebasing, no smoothing away awkward early years. Birthdays in, CAGRs out. No sugar coating the statistics. (CAGR is the compound annual growth rate of an investment which smooths out the intervening ups and downs.)
The Eldest: the S&P 500
The eldest was born in November 1987, just two weeks after Black Monday. Dramatic timing, but from an investment perspective, outstanding. He is the S&P 500: broad, diversified, and quietly relentless. From that post-panic starting point to 28 April 2026, he compounded at 10.7% per annum – a reminder that buying quality after fear, and then doing very little, remains one of life’s great underrated skills.
They are the Nasdaq 100.
The Nasdaq was born early into the technological age and exposed to volatility before its time. It surged, collapsed spectacularly, rebuilt, and then went on to define the future. From that exact 1997 starting point to today, it has compounded at 13.0% per annum. Prematurity, it turns out, was not a weakness – it was a catalyst.
The Middle Child: the FTSE 250
And then there’s me, born in January 1992. The FTSE 250.
Like many middle children – and like Britain itself – this index has a tendency to beat itself up far too much. It grew up between giants, learned early not to shout, and developed a habit of focusing on what it isn’t rather than what it is – often while quietly getting on with the job.
So it’s worth putting the numbers on the page. Using my exact birth date and a consistent total return methodology, the FTSE 250 has outperformed most major global equity indices (setting aside the monster US ones) over my investing lifetime. Since January 1992, it has beaten the German DAX, MSCI Emerging Markets, the French CAC 40, the Japanese Nikkei 225, and even the FTSE 100. For a market that’s supposedly broken, that’s a rather awkward fact.
When you invest your capital is at risk and you could lose some or all of your investment. Past performance should not be seen as an indicator of future performance.
Britain's financial DNA
So, what is it that makes the UK a very good place to invest?
Eight centuries ago, Magna Carta did something quietly revolutionary for capital markets: it introduced the deeply inconvenient idea that even the sovereign was subject to the rule of law. Buried among its feudal clauses were principles that would later underpin modern finance – protection from arbitrary seizure, due process, and enforceable contracts. It wasn’t written with shareholders in mind, but it created conditions in which property rights could survive bad kings, political cycles, and the occasional fiscal mishap. Capital, it turns out, quite likes not being confiscated on a whim.
Fast forward a few centuries and Britain again found itself accidentally inventing the future – this time with soot rather than parchment. The Industrial Revolution didn’t just produce steam engines and textile mills; it gave birth to the modern corporation, the factory system, and large-scale external finance. Railways, canals and mines required more capital than any individual could provide, forcing joint stock companies, equity issuance, and deeper financial markets. By the mid-19th century, London was financing infrastructure not just at home but across the world. This made Britain the original global investor, long before diversification became fashionable.
These were not accidents of geography or luck. They were the result of institutions that encouraged risk taking, protected investors, and – crucially – allowed failure without permanent disgrace. Britain’s financial system learned early that progress is lumpy, innovation is messy, and compounding requires patience. For long stretches of modern history, this made the UK the dominant economic and financial power in the world.
The UK has made it hard for itself, but the results aren’t bad
Since 1992, however, the UK has done a remarkably good job of making life harder than it needs to be. We have underinvested domestically, discouraged long-term capital – especially pensions – from backing our own companies, and developed an unfortunate habit of sending mixed messages about whether success should be encouraged or quietly frowned upon. Listing rules have become less attractive, disclosure more burdensome, and policy signalling more episodic than consistent. And yet, despite all this, the UK economy has continued to grow and remained mid-pack to upper half within the G7. Not spectacular. Not disastrous. Crucially, not broken.
This is what makes the opportunity interesting rather than depressing. The list of fixes is eminently manageable: re-engage domestic long-term capital, particularly pensions; improve listing and disclosure attractiveness; and provide consistent policy and market signalling for longer than a single fiscal statement. None of this requires reinvention or grand ideology. It requires follow-through, patience, and a little institutional self-belief.
And here’s the quietly remarkable part. Even with all the self-doubt, mixed messaging and own goals, the FTSE 250 still compounded at 8.9% per annum. It has outperformed most major global equity markets over that period, beaten global benchmarks, and held its own against indices with far better press. Of the major markets, only the US did better – and from the enviable position of being backed, encouraged and relentlessly championed by its own domestic capital.
Back to family (and the future)
Which brings me back to family – and now, to the future.
There’s a new member. My daughter. Her investing lifetime stretches far beyond mine, and certainly beyond my siblings’. The question that matters most is no longer which index has been best in the past, but which one will rise to the occasion for her. Will it be the steady reliability of the eldest? The relentless, occasionally exhausting brilliance of the twins? Or the quietly resilient middle child – armed with a little more confidence, a little more backing, and finally giving himself some credit?
As with families, markets and nations, the answer will only reveal itself over time. But I wouldn’t bet against the middle child – especially once he stops apologising.
