Oh yeah. Big time. For his new hedge fund ... which doesn't seem to have a name yet. Never a good sign! This could all be pie in the sky. We just don't know. However, there is some good news. Mr Rokos, our Chris, has sorted out his troubles with Brevan Howard. 'Yippee!' Yeah, I'm glad to see that both parties took my advice from September last year: We need to make love not war, you dig? Everyone's happy again. Brevan Howard even has a piece of the new firm ... er, which doesn't seem to have a name. 'You're repeating yourself, boss.' Repeating myself, Voice? Man, I haven't even started on my conceptual yet, No. 301. Wait until this afternoon and evening if you want repetition! I get a-ROUND!
Stuart Riley? I'm afraid no one really knows anything about him, dear reader(s). He's a mystery man. 'That's not true, is it, boss?' Well ... 'You've just been too lazy to do the proper research on the internet.' You're my intern, man. You do it. 'Ha! Intern? I'm a voice in your head, son. Start paying me, then I'll be your goddamn intern.' Don't get confused, Voice. Interns are slaves. Besides, what would you spend the money on?
The little idiot! / Well, I tell you what I have done, reader(s). I've looked at Mr Riley's LinkedIn profile. (Without signing in, of course. I'm not a member of Facebook for squares.) Our Stu has sixty-four connections, and he went to Imperial College. So, as I said, a mystery man. Oh ... he'll be moving from Hong Kong to London. That's it. That's your lot. Use your imagination for the rest! 'Great!' My imagination? I'm imagining a mild-mannered janitor living in a filing cabinet. 'Ha!' At least in London, he'll be able to get a flat or a house.
...
Anything else? I'm listening to The Rolling Stones this morning. Various songs. Gimme Shelter, Sympathy for the Devil, Wild Horses, Let it Loose ...
I bought a new strap for my Telecaster yesterday. A proper Fender one. It feels more comfortable now.
Lunch? Cheese sandwich. Peach yoghurt. But no Coke, you'll be glad to hear. 'I'm very glad. You'll be in the gym next, Mikey.' (No.) I'm getting healthy, man!
Stuart Riley? I'm afraid no one really knows anything about him, dear reader(s). He's a mystery man. 'That's not true, is it, boss?' Well ... 'You've just been too lazy to do the proper research on the internet.' You're my intern, man. You do it. 'Ha! Intern? I'm a voice in your head, son. Start paying me, then I'll be your goddamn intern.' Don't get confused, Voice. Interns are slaves. Besides, what would you spend the money on?
The little idiot! / Well, I tell you what I have done, reader(s). I've looked at Mr Riley's LinkedIn profile. (Without signing in, of course. I'm not a member of Facebook for squares.) Our Stu has sixty-four connections, and he went to Imperial College. So, as I said, a mystery man. Oh ... he'll be moving from Hong Kong to London. That's it. That's your lot. Use your imagination for the rest! 'Great!' My imagination? I'm imagining a mild-mannered janitor living in a filing cabinet. 'Ha!' At least in London, he'll be able to get a flat or a house.
...
Anything else? I'm listening to The Rolling Stones this morning. Various songs. Gimme Shelter, Sympathy for the Devil, Wild Horses, Let it Loose ...
I bought a new strap for my Telecaster yesterday. A proper Fender one. It feels more comfortable now.
Lunch? Cheese sandwich. Peach yoghurt. But no Coke, you'll be glad to hear. 'I'm very glad. You'll be in the gym next, Mikey.' (No.) I'm getting healthy, man!
