Wim Duisenberg: Dim Wim. Eurogaffeur. Dull banker. He's heard them all

It was a scene from high theatre. Swathed in royal blue and studded with circles of golden stars, the Frankfurt Opera House opened its doors to the world's media last Thursday for a glittering event. First they were treated to a film portraying other great moments of recent European history. Then with Beethoven's "Pastoral" Symphony setting the mood, the audience prepared for the main act – the first, long-awaited glimpse of the notes and coins of the world's newest currency – the euro. Just as excitement reached fever pitch, a man with a mop of unruly grey hair shambled rather apologetically on to the spotlit stage, looking for all the world like a hard-up history of art tutor from a lesser university.

Willem Frederik Duisenberg, president of the European Central Bank, duly held up a collection of euro banknotes carefully embedded for security reasons into a giant perspex star. No one doubts his personal enthusiasm for the project, but Duisenberg simply did not look the part (despite, apparently, a rare visit to the hairdresser) as he mumbled some flowery words about "the flow of history".

Dubbed "Dim Wim" by the British tabloids and "eurogaffeur" by the French and Belgians, Duisenberg (pronounced Dows-en-berk) has suffered a continuous barrage of attack ever since he took what is arguably Europe's most powerful job in 1998. On more occasions than he probably cares to remember, his careless remarks have sent the euro into a tailspin. Now the man who, just four months into the job, astonished politicians and money markets alike by declaring that his policy on the euro's exchange rate was one of "neglect" is even blamed for Gordon Brown's cooling towards British entry.

The Iron Chancellor, it seems, cannot stand this rather likeable, sensitive, chain-smoking Dutch intellectual. So 65-year old Dim Wim is now arguably the single biggest stumbling-block to Britain's euro membership (outside the small fact of hostile British public opinion). Duisenberg has repeatedly broken the central bankers' cardinal rule, which demands suitably delphic obfuscation to any questions about interest rates. This wine-loving country-and-western fan (his favourite artiste is the appropriately named Johnny Cash) has instead plumped for honesty and clarity, two disastrous qualities where global financial markets are concerned. The most famous example was a now notorious Times interview when he was asked whether he would intervene to support the euro in the event of a war in the Middle East.

His four-word reply – "I wouldn't think so" – prompted panicking traders to dump billions of euros within seconds of the story hitting the dealing screens. Now even the news that Duisenberg is to give an interview or press conference is enough to send the euro tumbling.

"I am direct," he has said in his defence. "Some say I am too direct. It is part of my character. Even if I wanted to change my character, I do not think I could. It has been built up for over 65 years. But could someone else do better? I don't think so."

Duisenberg has also forsaken the other golden rule in the central bank handbook by displaying a baffling lack of political nous, particularly for one who has been a senior politician himself. He landed both Brown and Tony Blair with a public relations disaster, for instance, when he nonchalantly announced that Britain would not be allowed to keep the Queen's head on banknotes if it joined the euro. On another occasion, he caused uproar when he sent his deputy to a crisis meeting of EU finance ministers called specifically to discuss the euro's disastrous performance. The euro's keeper-in-chief infuriated the politicians by keeping a speaking engagement in Canada instead.

Despite this inauspicious track record, Wim is actually not Dim at all. Born in 1935 in Heerenveen, in the northern Dutch province of Friesland, his mother tongue is not Dutch but the minority Friesian language. Although a fluent English speaker, it is his fourth language after Dutch and German (he speaks French, too.)

A professor of macroeconomics by 35, he then turned to politics and became finance minister three years later. In 1982 he became president of the Dutch central bank, where he successfully bore down on rampant inflation by tying the guilder to the German mark, and has been credited with giving birth to the Dutch "economic miracle".

He also earned the soubriquet in Paris at least of "Monsieur Cinq Seconds", that being the length of time the French said it took him to copy whatever the mighty Bundesbank was doing. The French haven't said a good word about him since.

In 1997, he got the call to become president of the European Monetary Institute, the forerunner of the European Central Bank. The following year he got the job at the ECB. But not until after the most vicious round of international horsetrading that left its scars not only on Duisenberg himself but also on the youthful institution he heads. Such a plum job, complete with £200,000 salary, was always going to cause a fight. But this time it was truly bloody. Every country – bar one – was determined that this one was not going to fall into French hands. The French, and pretty much everyone else – including some Germans – were determined that it could not go to a German either. The prospect of selling what would in effect be a Bundesbank takeover of a European project to 290 million people brought up to fear German expansionism was one that, frankly, no one fancied.

So the EU horsetraders resorted to the old trick of offering it to someone from an unobjectionable small country. The Germans pushed Duisenberg as one who had a clear anti-inflationary track record and, while he was obviously not from the Bundesbank, was probably the next best thing.

Germany won the day, but President Chirac was left raging at what he considered a treacherous stitch-up. He was, so the story goes, only placated with a promise that the ageing Dutchman would depart from the job half-way through his eight-year term to allow the politically astute head of the French central bank, Jean-Claude Trichet, to take over.

Since then Duisenberg has defiantly insisted that he will decide when to step down. But, although Trichet is himself embroiled in the Credit Lyonnais fraud scandal back in France, the rubbishing of the Dutchman by French politicians and officials as we near the half-way point of his term of office is becoming deafening.

Only Duisenberg's Dutch supporters continue to point out that under his stewardship the technical introduction of the euro went smoothly, growth has held up in the eurozone and, despite a tripling of the oil price, inflation, is low. His achievements, they say, have been masked by exchange rate troubles out of his control.

Despite his defiance, Duisenberg is clearly weary of the abuse heaped upon him. He has kept his home in Amsterdam, which he shares with his second wife Grette, and keeps only a weekday pied-à-terre in Frankfurt.

So while he is adamant that he will not be pushed out of position, the betting is on that he will quit at a time of his own choosing next year. His trial by fire has proved beyond doubt that the ECB job is certainly not for wimps – and probably not for Wims, either.