Friday, 3 September 2010

Charles Kirwan-Taylor is the new chief executive of RAB Capital

Oh, I can't believe this! Someone tell me this is someone's idea of a sick joke! And I don't have anything against Charles Kirwan-Taylor. I've seen him in the desert of our love. I know he's all mystical and that. He's going to be a fine chief executive. No, what pisses me off is the fact that I have been supporting Stephen Couttie - the chief executive of RAB Capital who resigned yesterday - and he just decides, out of the blue, to kick me in the fucking teeth! Like - this is what I think of your support. I don't care if you're behind me, Mikey. I'm running away to lick my wounds.

Why do I bother? Why?! It's at times like this that I feel like jacking it all in. He's made me look ridiculous. And a man in my position can't afford to be made to look ridiculous.

Well, I was on the phone to Charles Kirwan-Taylor first thing this morning. I'm talking the crack of dawn. I've never been so fired up in all my life. This is what he told me: 'Mikey, I know you're pissed, man. But listen - (Oh yeah, I'm fucking pissed, boy. What the fuck is going on at RAB? I thought Stephen was going to turn things around?) Mikey, Stephen did his - (When are you resigning then, Charlie, eh?) I'm not going to resign. I'm going to make this work. And I want your support. I want to know you're not going to abandon RAB Capital to an evil fate. (You want my support?!) Yes, Michael, I do. (You know I'll come after you, don't you, if you resign as well? Richards, Couttie, what's the crack? I will come after you.) I know you will. You'll probably break my legs or something. (No, I'll destroy your soul, Charlie. There'll be nothing left.) Well ... (Don't make a fucking fool out of me, Charles.) I'm not ... I won't, Mike. Have you spoken to Stephen? (He won't answer his phone. He's got some sense then. Listen, you tell him, if I see him in the desert, any time in the future, any time, then he's going to wish he wasn't in the desert. You understand?) Well, when would I tell him this? (What, you mean to say you're not all in this together, laughing behind my back?) It's not like that, Michael. You're getting paranoid now. (Maybe I haven't been paranoid enough. I feel like Julius Caesar! Where's the next fucking knife coming from? That's what I want to know. I defended him, Charlie, yeah? From fucking cocksucking scumbag socialist journalists who were trying to do him down. And this is how he repays me?! Fuck this business, man!) Michael, calm down, for Christ's sake! It's not as bad as it seems. Forget Stephen. Forget him! I'm the man now. You don't have to worry about a thing. (I hope not, Charles.) Take it easy, Mikey. Come on, mate. I'll see you in the desert, this weekend.'

Charles is a good man. I have calmed down a bit since the phone call. And I'm not quitting the game. I've just got to put Stephen Couttie out of my mind.