Thursday, 17 February 2011

Alex Moisseev is the principal and the chief investment officer and the Lord knows what else

And we could leave it there, if we wanted to. We wouldn't have to mention Dighton Capital Management if we wanted Mr Moisseev to appear more mysterious than he already is. [Why am I using 'we'?] But he couldn't appear more mysterious, could he? [Why am I using 'he'?] So, yes, he is the principal and the chief investment officer of Dighton Capital Management. And I wouldn't have to write anything else if I didn't have this urge to continue, an insane desire to peel off the layers of this great big financial onion. [Why am I using 'I'?] I can't leave anything alone. Well, that's not entirely true. I can leave life alone when I'm dreaming. It's just like death. I can leave women alone when I'm meditating. It's just like death. But I cannot, and I will not, leave a man like Alex Moisseev crying in the wilderness. Not when he needs comfort, and love, and a few words to cheer him up.

You see, Mr Moisseev is suffering from the illusion delusions that his firm's managed futures funds can perform in any market conditions. No, no, no! Imagine a market condition without a market! A fund cannot perform in a vacuum. Fortunately, Nature abhors a vacuum. At least, that is what we have been led to believe. (Who spreads these rumours?) If we didn't have a market, or any conditions whatsoever, I am quite sure something would take its place. However, this doesn't help Mr Moisseev and his amazing performing funds. All very long-winded, I know, but basically it's why he needs comfort, and love, and a few words to cheer him up. Unfortunately, we haven't been able - you're involved in this - to supply him with any words that would have the effect of cheering him up. The words we're using now will just confuse him. So we need a positive attitude and some fucking clarity, all right?!

Why do I bother?! You're about as much use as a chocolate fireguard! Am I on my own? Do you expect me to deal with the situation by myself like some sort of immortal genius? Fine. I'm man enough. Some clear and cheerful words for Mr Moisseev coming up!

Alex, my friend, you are like a sunflower. You are my dolphin. [I can't do it.] Right, let's consider all the facts. Firstly, I am not cheerful within myself. Or without myself. That's a serious problem. Charity begins at home, remember? [I've got to make me happy, me, I, me, just me.] Secondly, I am so confused. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I am. How can I charge Mr Moisseev £10,000 for this post if I'm no better than a diseased dog in an abandoned junkyard? And I'm going to blame a few people here. I'm going to blame Bob Diamond for not paying me that half a million. I'm going to blame Gillian Tett for being such an untouchable angel. And I'm going to blame ***** ******* for being such a lovesick deranged obsessed harpy who won't stop sending me sexually explicit emails. [That's a revision, that is. A big improvement. I think I deserve a Jammie Dodger.] Is it any wonder I'm a freakin' basket case, almost?