It will be a miracle if Russell Investments manages to pull it off. The group's - is it a group? - hedge fund of fund funds died three years ago. Now, Egidio Robertiello has been put in charge of the resurrection.
For those of you who may not have a clue, Russell Investment Group is world-renowned for its depth of manager research, quality of manager selection, and access to some of the world's leading investment managers. They provide strategic advice, world-class implementation, state-of-the-art performance benchmarks, and a range of institutional-quality investment products for clients. And you thought they were a bunch of amateurs. Shame on you!
Right, I have been speaking to Ed. (He likes to be called 'Ed'.) This is what was spoken between us: 'Mikey, have you ever heard of anything like it, man? (What? Bringing a funds of hedge funds hedge fund back from the grave? It's fucking macabre, Ed. Nothing less than macabre. Are you sure you want to do this?) Got no choice, Mikey. They said to me, Ed, now's the time for you to prove yourself. Show us what you can do. It's dangerous, but you're the man for the job. (They said that? They must think you're some hot shit.) Yeah, but to tell you the truth, man, I'm scared out of my little head. I ain't never done nothing like this. Have you? (No.) But you're the world's foremost financial shaman! (Yes, but I'm not stupid. I think someone's got it in for you at Russell Investments.) They brought me in from Credit Suisse to handle the situation! (Yeah, but why? Who benefits if you end up trapped in the world of the dead, unable to return?) Unable to ... is that likely? (It's possible, Ed.) Well, I suppose anything is possible, but - (Isn't there any way you can go back to Credit Suisse?) No, I've burnt my bridges with them. (Oh dear, Ed. You're in a right pickle, aren't you?) Can't you help me, Mike? (I can say a little prayer for you. I mean ...) Great. [Sarcastic git.] (I can't even do that, really. Big Herb is dead. And I'm not praying to
That's enough. I don't enjoy writing this whimsical crap any more. I'm not the shaman I used to be.
[These notes are for me. A record of the way I'm feeling on 27th September 2011.]
I don't want to have conversations with anyone. And I don't want to mention Big Herb, the desert, the astral plane, or any of the old stuff ever again.
Life is darker for me, much darker than it used to be. I'm sure I'll manage a bit of sardonic humour; but no one should expect fireworks.
And I want to withdraw. You engage with the world and you just get misunderstood at best; fucked over by imbeciles at worst. The game isn't worth the candle.
I've got to write this blog for myself only.
For those of you who may not have a clue, Russell Investment Group is world-renowned for its depth of manager research, quality of manager selection, and access to some of the world's leading investment managers. They provide strategic advice, world-class implementation, state-of-the-art performance benchmarks, and a range of institutional-quality investment products for clients. And you thought they were a bunch of amateurs. Shame on you!
Right, I have been speaking to Ed. (He likes to be called 'Ed'.) This is what was spoken between us: 'Mikey, have you ever heard of anything like it, man? (What? Bringing a funds of hedge funds hedge fund back from the grave? It's fucking macabre, Ed. Nothing less than macabre. Are you sure you want to do this?) Got no choice, Mikey. They said to me, Ed, now's the time for you to prove yourself. Show us what you can do. It's dangerous, but you're the man for the job. (They said that? They must think you're some hot shit.) Yeah, but to tell you the truth, man, I'm scared out of my little head. I ain't never done nothing like this. Have you? (No.) But you're the world's foremost financial shaman! (Yes, but I'm not stupid. I think someone's got it in for you at Russell Investments.) They brought me in from Credit Suisse to handle the situation! (Yeah, but why? Who benefits if you end up trapped in the world of the dead, unable to return?) Unable to ... is that likely? (It's possible, Ed.) Well, I suppose anything is possible, but - (Isn't there any way you can go back to Credit Suisse?) No, I've burnt my bridges with them. (Oh dear, Ed. You're in a right pickle, aren't you?) Can't you help me, Mike? (I can say a little prayer for you. I mean ...) Great. [Sarcastic git.] (I can't even do that, really. Big Herb is dead. And I'm not praying to
_________________________
That's enough. I don't enjoy writing this whimsical crap any more. I'm not the shaman I used to be.
[These notes are for me. A record of the way I'm feeling on 27th September 2011.]
I don't want to have conversations with anyone. And I don't want to mention Big Herb, the desert, the astral plane, or any of the old stuff ever again.
Life is darker for me, much darker than it used to be. I'm sure I'll manage a bit of sardonic humour; but no one should expect fireworks.
And I want to withdraw. You engage with the world and you just get misunderstood at best; fucked over by imbeciles at worst. The game isn't worth the candle.
I've got to write this blog for myself only.
