Monday, 17 January 2011

RWC Partners and its Ucits III Enhanced Absolute Rate and Currency fund

Haven't I written about this already? Surely this isn't new news? It must be old news. Never mind. RWC has launched the fund for Peter Allwright and Stuart Frost. That's nice.

You would expect me to talk to one of them, wouldn't you? When I hear about a new fund being launched I invariably get so excited that I have to get straight on the blower to the manager(s) who will be managing. But not today.

Today, I did something unusual. I spoke to Mike Corcell at RWC. (He's not even involved!) Now, am I crazy, or am I crazy? Or maybe just a little eccentric?

This is what was spoken between us: 'Mikey, I'm pissed at you, man. (What's wrong, Mikey?) Call me Mike, please. I presume this is going in your blog. We don't want to confuse your readers. (Okay. What's up, Mike?) All this nonsense you wrote about me. You told the whole world that RWC keeps me in a cage. (That's what Peter Allwright told me.) And you believed him?! (Yeah. It sounded plausible.) Mikey, Peter Allwright is a fantasist. (Can I quote you on that?) Yes, certainly. I'm not an animal, you know. (Prove it.) How can I prove it? You'll just have to take my word. (Not sure I can. You see, I know that people have been bitten, Mike. Why don't you come clean? I want to help you. I could be a good friend to you - if only you would let me in.) Let you in?! You must think I was born yesterday. If you imagine, for one moment, that I'm going to allow you to rampage through my consciousness, causing God knows what damage, you are very much mistaken, Mr Fowke. (Oh, Mike, what damage could I do that hasn't already been done?) This is ridiculous! (Shall we talk about the new fund?) No. Nothing to do with me. (How's your diet?) My diet? What, you want to know if I've eaten any analysts lately? (I wasn't thinking anything like that. Are you looking after yourself? That's what I meant.) Yes. I eat in all the best restaurants. (Really? Do you get out much, at night, then?) Oh, what's this now? (What do you mean?) I do read your blog, you know. Do I get out much, at night? Oh yes, I'm always prowling the streets, looking for my next meal. (I'm sorry, Mike. I've got to ask you these questions. I may not be the biggest noise on the astral plane, but I'm responsible for everything that happens on earth; and if a werewolf or a vampire is -) Mikey, what is this werewolf/vampire rubbish? (Well, that's Pete’s theory. I'm not saying I subscribe to it. It's just that -) Peter is a fantasist! Aren't you listening to me? (Oh God! Who'd be a shaman, eh? Maybe I should let you sort it out amongst yourselves. Life's too short.) I'll have a word with Allwright. Don't worry about that. (Okay, Mike, one thing.) What? (I'm not saying it's you ...) Right. (But I don't want to hear any more reports of people being attacked, at night.) Attacked? Muggings, you mean? (You know exactly what I mean.) Mikey, come on. (No, you come on, Mike. Exercise some self-control. See a doctor. I don't know what. Just sort yourself out. I don't want to speak to you about this again.) Wait till I get my hands on that Allwright.'

Whatever. I don't know whom to believe. I'm sick of this saga. Really sick of it. But I'm sure it's not the end.