There is going to be double trouble investment risk at Dalton's Melchior European Fund, according to DSP's chief operating officer Magnus Spence. This is not the guy who wrote Magnus's Book of Money Curses, so we can all relax a little bit. DSP stands for Dalton Strategic Partnership, but you already knew that somewhere deep inside where angels fear to tread. You have no angels in you, that's your problem.
Magnus Spence knows that investors want higher returns. He knows they are willing to take incredible risks. Investors will listen to white noise inside a pyramid for money. They will travel to the Shadowlands without permission. They will fly towards the sun. They will pester me for advice while I'm busy meditating. All for money. Magnus Spence knows this. He is a man who will double the risk for double the money, and we have to respect that.
But I must break off from this incredible news to tell you, dear reader, that through my windy windows and curtains I can hear tinkling, quite similar, in fact, to the noise from that instrument I do not know the name of (but I really should) at the beginning of Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat. This is most disturbing.
Well, more fascinating than disturbing. It is fascinating to me that someone would take time out from his/her/its busy day to remind me of a season long ago when I would sit in my favourite armchair for hours. But I thank this stranger. O stranger, you are a true gentleman or lady. Or maybe you are the Owlman. Whatever happened to that armchair?
The Owlman doesn't know. He/it has no knowledge of armchairs. Owlman, get back to Cornwall. I have nothing to offer you.
It's after nine o'clock in the morning. The middle of July. I'm writing you now just to see if you're sicker.
Magnus Spence knows that investors want higher returns. He knows they are willing to take incredible risks. Investors will listen to white noise inside a pyramid for money. They will travel to the Shadowlands without permission. They will fly towards the sun. They will pester me for advice while I'm busy meditating. All for money. Magnus Spence knows this. He is a man who will double the risk for double the money, and we have to respect that.
But I must break off from this incredible news to tell you, dear reader, that through my windy windows and curtains I can hear tinkling, quite similar, in fact, to the noise from that instrument I do not know the name of (but I really should) at the beginning of Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat. This is most disturbing.
Well, more fascinating than disturbing. It is fascinating to me that someone would take time out from his/her/its busy day to remind me of a season long ago when I would sit in my favourite armchair for hours. But I thank this stranger. O stranger, you are a true gentleman or lady. Or maybe you are the Owlman. Whatever happened to that armchair?
The Owlman doesn't know. He/it has no knowledge of armchairs. Owlman, get back to Cornwall. I have nothing to offer you.
It's after nine o'clock in the morning. The middle of July. I'm writing you now just to see if you're sicker.
