Friday, 11 March 2011

What can we say about Sir Fred Goodwin?

I try my best to defend these morons. But they don't make it easy, do they?

How are we going to get around this super-injunction of his? For once in my life, I'm lost for words. Well, almost. Almost lost for words. I'm sure I'll find a solution. But I can't mention ***. And I can't call Sir Fred a ******. Even though he clearly is one. This is a bloody nightmare!

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Let me see if I can reach him. I want to change his attitude. I want to touch him in places that will open him up. I want to take his face in my hands. There was a banker. He was the boss. A long time ago. And here he is. This is not that man, as he was. The man has been damaged. It is a lonely soul I am dealing with. I am fully aware. And I will be gentle. He lives in darkness. Like so many before him, and many to come. How many right now? They cannot be counted. You cannot even see them. (And they cannot see each other.) But you can feel them. I touch them. They are grateful. I bring joy into their miserable lives. The money they have hurts them. They are not at peace. This is what happens when you leave a bank. When you leave that life, it all goes, it all slips away. The passion. The energy. The will. Then you lose your mind. Anything is possible after that. Strange thoughts enter your head. Strange desires enter your heart. People become shadows. Nothing is real when you are that lost. He spends the whole day in his pyjamas, every day. The curtains are drawn. Wretched banker, what did they do to you? And what did you do to yourself?

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That's enough. I don't want to pry any further. And I advise you not to, dear reader. It's a sensitive issue, and he could lash out at any moment. It's best if we leave him alone.