Petersfield Asset Management has terminated offer discussions with Bramdean Alternatives

Yeah, I'm back, dear fucking reader! You freak! Let's face it, no normal person would be reading this shit. I'm back! These little nervous breakdowns of mine only last a day or two. I just go nuts, man. Negative thoughts in my head. Everything seems pointless. I feel worthless. I hit the bottle. Don't wanna write. Barely got the enthusiasm for breathing. That's how bad it is. But … but … but … then everything is sunshine and roses again. The light returns! And: EVERYTHING IS BEAUTIFUL!

So, what's that Nicola Horlick babe up to now? Does she want control of Bramdean Alternatives or ain't she all that bothered? It seems she has a problem with this Vincent Tchenguiz character.

Well, Nicola and I go back years. And I've been speaking with her. This is what was said:

'Mikey, you've got to help me. That Vincent is just being so nasty. He's such a horrid, horrid man. Last month, he won a vote to put his own people on to the Bramdean board. And that bastard, he smiled at me. Then I said to Peter Barton, for justice, we must go to Michael Fowke. (Well, Nicola, why have you left it so late, to ask for my help?) Oh, I guess … (You were afraid to be in my debt.) Listen, I know you're the only one who can fix the problem. Put a curse on him, Michael. I'll pay you. (Nicola, Nicola, what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? I can't even remember the last time you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee. You found paradise in the City. You had everything money could buy. And there was the FSA. You didn't need a friend like me. But now it's - Michael, put a curse on Vinny. But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me Master.) O Master, please, I need you to do this. I'll be eternally grateful. Master. (Good. Now don't worry. Leave it to me.) Thank you, Master.'

O Master, this is incredible! Are you really going to put a curse on Vinny?

Yes, my child. And I want you to arrange it. I want reliable shamans; shamans that aren't gonna be carried away. We are not satanists, despite of what this fund manager says.

Pedro de Noronha is catching a wave and sitting on top of the world!

For eternity. Every night, beyond the reach of cold earth wanderers. This is astral surfing we're talking about - the astral waves of the mind! Pedro is there, lost in dreams, stained by the kisses of money-fuelled angels, covered with the sticky smiles of invading ghosts, his eyes bleeding love - that is the life for us!

It is the life for him. He manages Noster Capital. How does he manage, imperious, riding the waves of the cosmos? Doesn't he get lonely? You are thinking that he must crave human contact. No, no, no. He is happy with the ones who have lost their bones, lost their flesh. They are his friends. They flow with him. This is not a great sadness for Pedro. I see him grinning in the sky. Rejoice!

The skulls of all of them, left on earth, cannot turn to face him. They are stuck staring at the City. Cold, endless night of the City! Banks of the dead! Hedge funds of the gone but not forgotten. How could we forget them? And their souls! Oh, have I told you about their souls? Yes! They are full of colour - rainbow astral spirits dancing in a giant ball of consciousness!

And Pedro spins around in this ball! That's the sort of guy we're dealing with. A spiritual aristocrat! A warrior of the waves - waves that will one day carry us all! Will Pedro continue to stretch himself? Will he smash his thoughts and his will against the Great Universal Being? Will he merge, or maintain his independence? Will he disappear? You could go crazy, asking yourself such questions. It is scary just imagining the possibilities.

Think of Pedro! Never forget him. He lives this life for our benefit.

Mickey Clark is confused

Of course he is. And I know why. He's been talking to his old City pal Justin Urquhart Stewart from Seven Investment Management. And this just won't do. Because Justin ain't been burnt in no fucking desert, man. Mickey hasn't either. How can they expect to know anything about money?

It's absurd. We don't wanna stamp down on no green shoots. You don't even, well, you might, a cactus. I'll have to look into that. Giant astral cactus towering above us covered in banknotes. Is that what Mickey is going on about?

O Mikey, O Master, what are you going on about? Mickey Clark is a respected columnist. Are you drunk again?

Yes, I'm fucking drunk, my child, what are you going to do about it? I've just come back from the King's Head. There is nothing else to do. Why not drink?

Now, maybe I've misunderstood. Maybe I'm the confused one. Mickey says: So what about the stock market?

O Master, that's a good question.

Yes, it is a good question. It's a very good question. But here's a better question: Because the pleasure-bird whistles after the hot wires, shall the blind horse sing sweeter?

That's not a better question. It's stupid.

Oh, are you calling Dylan Thomas a … twat or something?

O Master, will you be deleting this post as well?

Fuck off!

Paul Purcell says greed is good …

'Hi, I'm Paul Purcell, the chairman, president and chief executive of RW Baird, and I am famous for my "no asshole" rule. That's why I agreed to write for this blog, and not some other blog, like Peston's Picks. Well, let's get down to business. You may be familiar with a newspaper interview I gave recently, where I criticized greedy people, dishonest people, and various other assholes. Well, they twisted my words, man. They tried to paint me as some kind of crazy socialist. But I ain't that way at all. I believe in money. I believe that greed is good. But it has to be within a mystical framework. There are too many assholes on Wall Street who have refused to take Big Herb into their hearts. They think they can have the money without the burning love. They think they can be wealthy without putting one foot in the desert. They think they can rip off their clients, not realizing that we are all one consciousness in this beautiful cosmos of ours. I am you, and you are me. We are one. We are our clients, and our clients are us. One. You, dear readers, are my brothers and sisters. And we are all mystical children. Michael Fowke has been trying to show us the way, but the assholes won't listen. We have to make them listen. Yes, greed is good. But it has to be greed for more than money. Money is lifting us up to a higher level of existence. Let's stretch out our arms! Expand our minds! Grab a greater life!'

Thank you, Paul. I love you, man.

I am the light of the world!

O my children, my brothers, my sisters, I am the light of the world! Follow me and find the money. Through blood, through fire, we are moving, we are searching. This is a delayed reaction to the ceremony in the desert. It is hitting me now. It is hitting me hard. Realizations in my head, a head of fire. Nijinsky was right! GOD IS FIRE IN THE HEAD!

And what about the blood? O my children, I have bathed in blood. I have been to hell. But Satan could not destroy me. He has no power over money, not any more. I am money. O my children, you shall follow me and become money. Find yourselves in the fire of Big Herb's holy love! Find yourselves in my blood! We shall become one. A mystic union!

I am crying, I want your love. I am crying, I want your blood. I AM ALIVE like never before! My flesh is money. My soul is money. I am money.

Ross Hollyman is being followed!

O Master, what the fuck?! Yeah, my child, that's what I said when I found out this morning. Ross Hollyman has joined Liontrust Asset Management, believe it or not. But the real crazy shit is that Nikki Martin, Rob Cornish and Tom Ayres are all following him. Yeah, from GAM to the end of the earth, the end of the night, the end of the cosmos! O Master, that is some real crazy shit, for sure. Why are they following him? It's his name, man, my child. Hollyman, Hollyman, Hollyman! They think - yeah, they think it's holy man, holy man, holy man! Oh my God! They think he is a holy man. They think mystic light shines out of his beautiful eyes. They must worship the ground he walks on! Yeah, they do. Oh God, will they be let down? Of course they will. When Nikki, Rob, and Tom all discover that Ross don't know no mystic way out of this fucking crunch, they will probably crunch him. Ross is the man who would be the world's foremost financial shaman. O Master, but that's you! Fuckin' A it is! This guy is an impostor! A charlatan! O Master, a two-bit punk! Yeah. That's what he is. He's a punk!

O Master, what are you going to do?

Nothing, my child. I am above this shit. Let Nikki, Rob, and Tom deal with it. My mind is on higher things.

O Master, higher things? Tell me.

My mind is almost empty. Just light. This is the real light. The genuine way. It is inside me. Money becomes light. I am light. I am money. This is how you become a god. This is how you know truth. My heart is light, pure light. I am like a fucking sun! The way is taking me. Still a long way to go. This is the burning we all dream of. I am so lucky. Why was I chosen?

Destiny

Let the fools rage, I swerved in nought, something to perfection brought - W.B. Yeats

Must keep on, through blood, through fire. Must stay strong. Money is crying out to me. It wants me to tell the truth. The mystic truth. A truth unknown that shall become known.

Must keep on. My soul demands it. My subconscious demands it. I demand it. I. I. I. My ego is in action, crushing all resistance. I will only stop at the natural end, death. Don't talk to me about Plato's ghost.

But - what then? I shall join Big Herb. I will become a god.

McGraw-Hill may sell BusinessWeek for $1

Well, so what? What's that got to do with me? I've never read the magazine. Don't know anything about it. But Arthur Simmons phones me this morning. He's normally a very sensible guy - not a freakin' nut like Keith. But Arthur has got an idea in his head now. Check this shit -

'Michael, we've got to buy BusinessWeek. Just one dollar. Can you believe that? It's well within our price range. (Arthur, what do we want a magazine for? Get real.) Listen, Mike, we buy the magazine and change its name - Mystical BusinessWeek. Then we do our thing, our way. (And what about all the journalists who work for BusinessWeek? How are they going to feel about it?) Oh man, we sack those squares, man. Bring in our own team. (Oh yeah, who?) Keith, Maurice, Susan, David. (And you think I'll be writing for the magazine?) Yeah, Mike. Why not? (I'll tell you why not. I've got enough on my plate just writing one blog post every day. And I've got a novel to write. And I ain't even interested in old media, man. Fuck that shit.) Mikey, you really make me laugh. You can't write more than one blog post a day? What is it with you? What about your readers, man? You're letting them down. (Arthur, my readers know I'm an artist. After T.S. Eliot wrote the Waste Land, his readers had to wait three years for that Hollow Men shit. Three years, Arthur! So give me a fucking break.) Michael, you're some piece of work, you know that? Comparing himself to Eliot now. You're supposed to be a fucking shaman, for Christ's sake! Let's focus on fucking business! Let's buy the magazine. (Old media, man. Ain't interested.) What about this fucking novel of yours? If it ever sees the light of day, it's gonna be printed on paper, right? And there's you, the big internet freak. What a fucking joke! What you writing about anyway? (That's none of your fucking business, Arthur.) Your adventures on the astral plane? (No.) Banking, hedge funds, and shit? (No.) Characters like Andy Stewart are really going to love it when they turn up in some half-arsed novel. (I ain't writing about banking. So fuck you, Arthur.) Fuck you too, Mike.'

Don't worry, dear reader. Arthur and I rarely fall out, but when we do we always make up again. I'll let him calm down a bit. Probably go for a spin with him on the plane tonight. I ain't buying BusinessWeek though.

Nearly two in the morning …

Just been reading Stephane Mallarme: Naked golds thrashing crimson space …

I'm in the mood for thrashing crimson space. I'm in the mood for naked golds.

In fact, I am in the mood for ice-cold money, banknotes drenched in summer rain wrapped around my head and a cool breeze in my heart, no fire, no passion - and no confusion! Just the perfect ice of money, something pure, something silent. And something else - untouchable, unknowable, absolutely gone, beyond.

THESE ARE WORDS THAT MEAN NOTHING AND EVERYTHING.

Ross H. Mandell, Stephen Shea, Adam Harrington, Arn Wilson, Robert Grabowski, and Michael Passaro!

Eh? What's going on now? Who are these freaks? Jesus! It's a lot of hard work this blog. I sometimes wish I had never started it. Anyway, Ross Mandell, Stephen Shea, Adam Harrington, Arn Wilson, Robert Grabowski, and Michael Passaro are employees of Sky Capital Holdings over in New York (Ross is the boss), and, anyway, they have surrendered themselves to the FBI today. Yeah, the Feds! An alleged boiler room fraud scheme, or something like that. I don't what's going on. I was just wondering why they gave themselves up. Aren't you wondering? Well, wonder no more. I have been speaking to Nicky Pickles -

'Mikey, you know what's happened, don't you? (No, Nicky, I don't. Tell me.) These guys have been working for my brother. (Oh, not Jack again?!) Yeah, Jack. Word on the street is - I'm not talking to Jack right now - word on the street: they had a falling out. (Yeah?) Oh yeah, Mikey. Big time. And that's why they are seeking sanctuary with the Feds. (He can still get to them, Nicky. What about when they go to sleep?) You mean astral attack? (That's exactly what I mean. Jack will fuck them up while they sleep, and the Feds will be chasing shadows - well, one shadow.) Bloody hell. Is my brother a sick bastard or what? (How's your mother, Nicky?) Oh, she's fine. (Say hello for me.) Sure, Mike.'

I don't care what anyone says about Jack Pickles, but Nicky is a good kid.

Peter Hickson expects …

Peter Hickson is an analyst at UBS, and he expects commodity markets to benefit from a broad cyclical upswing later this year.

I have been speaking to Arthur Simmons about this. He said, 'Michael, who cares about commodity markets, man? And who cares what this Mr Hickson expects? He needs to take a good, long, hard look at himself, or maybe a hard, long, good look at himself. He tells some newspaper what he expects, but what does Big Herb expect? Has Pete even heard of Big Herb? And if he has, has he discussed the matter with him? (Arthur, mate, unless Pete is a financial shaman, he ain't got no business talking with Big Herb.) And that's what I'm saying, Mike. I know this Pete character ain't no shaman, man. So he can't go around expecting stuff, not in this new environment, you dig? (Not really, Arthur.) Mike, I'm saying these conventional analysts are history. It's over for them. It's time to make the full switch to mystical capitalism. No more half measures! Let's go the whole hog. (No, Arthur, you know we have to introduce mystical capitalism slowly. We can't rush things.) Mike, you're wrong. (If we rush it, there will be fighting in the streets. There are a lot of angry people around who don't like what we're doing. Be patient. Our time will come.) I hope so, Mike. I really hope so.'

Our time will come.

Stanley Fink: where is the love?

Mr Stanley Fink wants to know where the love is. He's worried that the European Commission is going to wreck the British hedge fund industry with its new regulations. He says managers in London don't feel very loved at the moment.

So I spoke with Stan. No, not on the phone. On the astral plane (oh yeah):

'Mike, what have we got to do to make these commie bastards love us? (Stan, man, they ain't ever gonna love us. You're looking for love in all the wrong places, my friend.) Well, where should I look? (You're standing in it, ain't cha?) You mean the astral plane? (Yeah, Stan. What you think I'm talking about over here? Give me a break.) But I rarely come up here, Mikey. Don't know too much about it. I mean, who's that freak with the trunk over there? (Hey, cool it, Stanley. That's Ganesh the elephant god, and he's very sensitive about his trunk.) I didn't mean any disrespect. I'm new to all this, Mike. Jesus, I don't know what goes on up here. (Stan, look around you. We've got all the love you could ever want. There are dead financiers here who will love you forever and forever - if you treat them right. Stick with me, Stan. I'll show you the moves to make.) Can I bring my friends on to the astral plane? (Sure, Stan, but no squares, eh?) What do you mean by squares, Mike? (I mean the sort of people who read my blog and get all upset about it. The ones who start pissing and moaning - oh, it doesn't make any sense, oh, he uses bad language, oh, he's not taking banking seriously.) Oh, fuck those guys, Mike. (Fuckin' A!) You gonna worry yourself with shit like that? Forget about it.'

Stan is the man! And, for the record, I'm as serious as a heart attack!

We were stardust, we were golden ...

The ceremony in the desert was a great success last week. Yes, it was. Despite a few technical problems with my live blogging. But don't just take my word for it -

Luke Johnson: What a fucking night, eh? How much money did we get through? £75 million? Bloody hell! That should have done it, eh? If we haven't crunched the crunch now, I don't know what we can do. But let's give it a few months, see what effect it has. But I'm feeling positive. Real positive. And I'm on a real high.

Bobby Diamond: Jesus, how fucking stoned was I? And did you see John? The man's a monster pothead! Jesus! Never seen nothing like it! I mean, I was flying high in the friendly sky, mystic dancing in flames and all that, but John was out for the count, face down in the sand. What a character!

Keith Busby: I had the time of my life. Spent most of the night in deep conversation with Big Herb and Ganesh the elephant god. Boy, those guys expanded my mind! Big Herb touched something deep inside me with the holy fire from his eyes. It was as if money passed between us and then darted off into the outer reaches of space. And Ganesh? Oh, Ganesh wrapped his trunk around me at one point, and I felt loved, really loved, and saved - just for a moment. And then he kissed me! It was a taste of eternity. I tasted the future life, Mikey!

Arthur Simmons: What a wild fucking trip of mystic revelry! Loved every minute of it. I think John let himself down a bit, but so what? He's on the path now. He's found the way. He's gonna be a beautiful soul, at this rate. Surely it's only a matter of time before the cosmos calls his name.

Susan Flint: We were stardust. We were golden. You've really turned me on to this shit, Michael.

Steve Perkins: Er, the FSA is breaking my balls at the moment. I really shouldn't say anything. So, officially, I wasn't there, right?

Bobby Hashemi: I would just like to repeat what Susan said. We were definitely stardust. We were absolutely golden.

David Pitt: I've spoken to Big Herb since the ceremony, and he was fucking made up. He thought Luke did a great job putting the money together, and he was well impressed with you, Mike. You can write your own ticket now.

Steve Perkins: rogue broker extraordinaire!

Yes, Steve Perkins is the PVM broker who did that bizarre trade with all those oil futures. Is he a complete nutter, or just misunderstood? Well, Steve is a personal friend of mine. This is what he told me:

'Mike, what can I say? I was excited, you know, looking forward to the ceremony in the desert, so I was all fired up - doing an all-nighter. You can dig that, can't you, man? (Sure, Steve, but what went wrong?) Well, it just occurred to me: Nietzsche, if he were alive today, if he were a broker, wouldn't he just take crazy risks, you know, volcanoes and all? (Oh, Jesus, Steve, I knew I shouldn't have mentioned Nietzsche in my Imara post.) Well, Mike, you influence a lot of people in this business. Maybe I'm a fool. Maybe I'm impressionable. But when you write in your blog, man, it gets me right in my heart, and in my head. On so many friggin' levels you're my hero, my guide, my guru, my master, my - (That's enough, Steve, really. I'm getting embarrassed over here.) I just want you to know how much you mean to me, Michael. Where you lead, I follow. It's an honour and a privilege to be your friend, just to be alive in these times, just to -'

He went on like that for a while. I never knew I was so loved.

The ceremony in the desert

THIS IS LIVE!!!

Yes, live blogging from the desert. Can you dig it? O Master, shouldn't you be doing this on Twitter? No, I'll be okay here. It will be a bit confusing though, with everyone - 'Mikey, have you seen Ganesh the elephant god?' That's Luke. Luke Johnson. Yes, Luke, he's over there. Can't you see his trunk in the moonlight? A lovely moon out tonight, by the way. O Master, it's a perfect night. Luke, have you put the money in yet? 'A few million, Mike.' What about the rest of it? 'Bobby will throw it on the fire later.' Where's the other Bobby? 'Oh, Diamond is in the sky. Watch him fly! Jesus! He's like a mystic dancer on fire in the sky! Can you believe this shit?'

THIS IS LIVE!!! Sorry for the confusion. I am not going to edit this. Whatever happens - Big Herb! Fuck me, Big Herb is here. O Master - yes, chill out, my child, I see him, with astral eyes. He digs the desert so badly. He is absolutely in his element. Is this the real, physical desert? If you believe it is, yes. Is that the real moon? It's an astral moon, by special arrangement. So we're not in the real desert? Everything is real, if you believe. Look at Keith. Look at Susan. They believe. I don't understand. You don't need to.

HERE COMES THE LOVE!!!

Jesus! Did you feel that? Did you - O Master, what happened? That surge of love, man. From the fire, it came from the money in the fire, and it vibrated in all of us. Have you ever seen Big Herb smile like that? Have ye ever seen the ghosts swirl around like that?! O Master, they are loving it! Talk about dead financiers! There is nothing that can stop these guys. It's like they're alive. O my child, they are alive. Alive in our hearts, our minds.

HERE COMES THE LOVE AGAIN!!! AND AGAIN!!! AND AGAIN!!!

John has fallen over! He is smashed out of his head! Who invited him? I did. Okay. I'm just … What? Nothing. John's all right.

AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!!!

O Master, I am so dizzy. Ha ha ha! I can't - Luke, what you doing, mate? He's rolling in the sand! What's the matter with him? Is it the love vibration?

THE PEYOTE HAS KICKED IN!!! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I MUST BE GOD!!!

Luke, Luke, Luke, keep rolling! Bobby, Bobby, Bobby, keep dancing, man!

THE CRUNCH IS BEING CRUNCHED!!! THIS WILL HEAL THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!

I c a n t fucki ng t yp e me fingers are fooked!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

O Mmm aster …

Jesus, tears in my eyes! I haven't felt this good in - 'Mikey!' Bobby is swooping down! So high, diving low. What a night! I - I - I …

O Master, I can't breathe. The smoke!

Breathe the smoke in, you little nut! You fucking - oh, I've got to go. I can't -

Keydata Investment Services: where's all the friggin' money?

You may well ask, dear reader. You may well ask. £103 million! Missing! Just like that! The Serious Fraud Office has been called in. That's how serious it is. PricewaterhouseCoopers has been talking about irregularities! I don't blame the firm. A planned sale of Keydata can't go ahead now. Damn! I was looking forward to that.

So, who's to blame? Well, I had a dream last night. I have a dream every night. That's the kind of guy I am. But this dream could give the SFO some clues. Check this, man -

I dreamt I was floating on a cloud, high as a kite, and surrounded by mirrors. I looked in one mirror and saw my sheeted and shaded face. But I don't cover myself up like that no more. Strange! I looked in another mirror - still floating around, by the way, this cloud, the mirrors, totally nutty environment - and I saw my face, without the sheet or the shades. Nothing wrong with that. Then I looked in one more mirror - there were hundreds of mirrors, I wasn't going to spend the whole freakin' dream looking in mirrors, I'm a busy man - and in this mirror I saw the face of Jack Pickles! And he spoke to me: Michael, the money is mine, the money is yours, the money is ours, the money is Satan's. It belongs to us. I am you, you are me, and this is something beyond brotherhood. Soulmates? Don't make me laugh. Our bond is stronger. £103 million! £103 million! £103 million! Burn it to a crisp! Black as our hearts! Together with the ashes!

Well, as you can imagine, dear reader, I woke up screaming. I don't give a toss about the money. Jack obviously has it. Let him keep it. None of my business. I haven't got the energy to go chasing after him. The SFO can sort it. And good luck to them. They are going to need it. But it was what Jack said! Our bond is stronger. Jesus H. Christ! What did he mean? Oh God, I don't even want to think about what he meant. Self-knowledge can be dangerous. The truth about yourself, at night, can be very dangerous. When you look at yourself in a dream mirror, you can find demons, ghosts from another life, all kinds of shit. Yeah, sure, you might see a couple of angels. That's not impossible. I've known it happen. But is it worth taking the risk? Surely the best thing is to avoid mirrors in dreams from now on.