Sad news. Hedge fund firm Eddington Capital is going out of business and returning all capital to its clients. It couldn't get the cash inflows, you see. What a shame! I'm just worried about the team at Eddington - characters like Glenn Baggley, Duggie Hawkins, and Richard Sharman. What will become of them?
Actually, I'm not worried about Richard Sharman at all. Richie, the senior fund manager at Eddington, is a personal friend of mine, and I know he's going to be all right. I just wish he would get rid of that ridiculous 'r' in his surname. Everyone knows he's a financial shaman. He was born to be one.
But that 'r'! This is what he told me about it late last night when we were tucked up in bed (I mean, he was at his place, and I was at mine, talking on our mobiles. Do I have to explain everything, you filthy-minded toerags?): 'Mikey, man, I need that 'r'. I'm not as brave as you, you know. (Richie, man, what you talking crazy for? What are you going on about?) I don't want people knowing I'm a financial shaman. It's my little secret. (Oh, so you're ashamed? Lovely.) Mikey, I'm not ashamed. Don't get upset. It's just that I'm surrounded by squares. If they knew the real me, my career would - (Richie, mate, if they knew the real you, they would get you to sprinkle your magic all over Eddington and the firm wouldn't be going out of fucking business! Why are you hiding your light under a bushel, you daft prat?) I guess I don't have the confidence, man. Oh, how I wish I were like you! I see you burning madly without a care in the world. You float in the astral sky. You walk through the City like a king, a sublime mystic lord, almost a god! (Almost.) It takes my breath away, the way you live your life. You have absolutely no fear. I worship you, Mikey! (All right, don't get carried away. People are already talking.) Sorry, Mike. I just find it - (I know, Richie. I know how you feel. I've become a hero to so many City workers, shamans and non-shamans alike.) You must get mobbed whenever you're in the Square Mile. Autographs and that, yeah? (Oh, you don't know the half of it. They tear at my clothes, kiss me, touch me up - the women, of course. It's a nightmare.) I'm glad I'm at Buckingham Gate. My nerves couldn't take it, all those women crawling all over you. (But that could be you!) If only I had more confidence!'
Oh, if only Richard Sharman had more confidence!
Actually, I'm not worried about Richard Sharman at all. Richie, the senior fund manager at Eddington, is a personal friend of mine, and I know he's going to be all right. I just wish he would get rid of that ridiculous 'r' in his surname. Everyone knows he's a financial shaman. He was born to be one.
But that 'r'! This is what he told me about it late last night when we were tucked up in bed (I mean, he was at his place, and I was at mine, talking on our mobiles. Do I have to explain everything, you filthy-minded toerags?): 'Mikey, man, I need that 'r'. I'm not as brave as you, you know. (Richie, man, what you talking crazy for? What are you going on about?) I don't want people knowing I'm a financial shaman. It's my little secret. (Oh, so you're ashamed? Lovely.) Mikey, I'm not ashamed. Don't get upset. It's just that I'm surrounded by squares. If they knew the real me, my career would - (Richie, mate, if they knew the real you, they would get you to sprinkle your magic all over Eddington and the firm wouldn't be going out of fucking business! Why are you hiding your light under a bushel, you daft prat?) I guess I don't have the confidence, man. Oh, how I wish I were like you! I see you burning madly without a care in the world. You float in the astral sky. You walk through the City like a king, a sublime mystic lord, almost a god! (Almost.) It takes my breath away, the way you live your life. You have absolutely no fear. I worship you, Mikey! (All right, don't get carried away. People are already talking.) Sorry, Mike. I just find it - (I know, Richie. I know how you feel. I've become a hero to so many City workers, shamans and non-shamans alike.) You must get mobbed whenever you're in the Square Mile. Autographs and that, yeah? (Oh, you don't know the half of it. They tear at my clothes, kiss me, touch me up - the women, of course. It's a nightmare.) I'm glad I'm at Buckingham Gate. My nerves couldn't take it, all those women crawling all over you. (But that could be you!) If only I had more confidence!'
Oh, if only Richard Sharman had more confidence!
