Citi: Kate never sleeps

Who the hell is Kate? You may well ask. Kate is some cute little kid that Citigroup is exploiting in its latest adverts. Why doesn't Citi pick on someone its own size?

Citi should use a picture of me in its adverts. That would send out a powerful message. It would tell the world: Citi ain't fucking around. Not only does Citi never sleep but its bankers burn in the desert like shamans on peyote.

Frederic Mishkin quits the Federal Reserve

The Fed governor Fred Mishkin has quit the US central bank. This leaves the chairman Ben Bernanke in the shit, as they were close allies. Ben needs all the friends he can get at this difficult time. Well, I'll be his friend. I've told him that.

As for Fred, everyone wants to know what he is going to do now. Some newspaper reckons he is returning to Columbia University, and spending more time with his wife. Nonsense. Even though I haven't been able to contact Fred, I have managed to speak to a friend of his at the Fed and he told me, 'Fred ain't going back to no friggin' university. Forget about that. And he ain't spending no time with his wife. Freddy boy is heading for the desert, and he is going to have himself a wild time. He's been reading your blog and it has really screwed his head up. He couldn't concentrate on his work. All he was saying was - Big Herb knows the truth, Ganesh knows the truth, Michael Fowke knows the truth, I need to know the truth, I need to burn in the desert with money swirling around me.'

Well, it happens. It happens to the best of them. That's the danger of my blog. There are some squares in this world who have been working in finance their whole lives, and nothing has touched them or made them think. Then one day they are browsing the internet when Money is the way hits them like a fucking train. Their whole world is smashed to pieces and then reassembled in the fire of my love and the mystical burning of money. Some of them can't cope. They pack in their jobs. They leave their wives. They sell their children. I just hope Mr Mishkin can find himself in the desert.

50 UBS bankers warned to stay away from the US

UBS has told members of its former private banking team to give America a wide berth. Apparently, the US authorities have a penchant for arresting UBS employees. Will the bankers listen though?

We all remember the disaster a few years ago on the Yorkshire moors, don't we? Those twenty or so UBS bankers on that team-building exercise were warned not to go on to the moors. They were told to stick to the road. They were even told: 'Beware the moon, lads'. But did they listen? Did they fuck! Most of them died. A few of them are still working in London.

I have been speaking to Susan Flint from Bad Moon Investments, and she told me, 'I know a couple of the survivors, and they are lovely guys. I won't hear a word said against them. Some of the rumours are disgusting. They wouldn't harm a fly.'

No news is good news

Has anything interesting happened over the last few days? Nothing has caught my imagination, and now I'm staring into the abyss. There is some old guy in the film Wall Street who talks about finding your character in the abyss. A man stares into the abyss, and he finds nothing staring back at him, and in that moment he finds his character, and that keeps him out of the abyss. Or something like that.

I'll let you know how I get on. Laters.

The Economist: rubbish

The Economist has an advert in a newspaper today, saying: If you find rubbish in The Economist it's because there's an extremely interesting story about rubbish.

Whatever. If you find rubbish in my blog one morning, it's because I feel totally fucked after the night before. Take last night. I watched the Champions League final. Nothing wrong with that. I got to bed just before midnight and quickly fell asleep. So far so good. The trouble started at four - always the danger hour. I was attacked by a ghost in my bed. Normally I don't mind. I've had so many ghosts now that I've lost count and it's just routine. But this bastard wouldn't leave me alone. Apparently, he was a dead stockbroker - Edmund Rawlings can tell you about those guys. He kept going on and on, saying buy this stock, buy that stock. I was very polite at first but eventually had to say to the man: Listen, mate, you're dead! It's not your business any more to be pushing stock. Can't you chill out a bit and relax? Surely there are far more interesting things that you could be doing on the astral plane. Get a life!

Well, he left me alone after that. But I woke up feeling guilty this morning. Maybe I was too harsh with him. But that's all part of a financial shaman's life. And that's why I laugh when I hear kids straight out of college talking about the way of the shaman, the glamour and all that. It ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Mark Yallop: pure uncorrelated alpha

A lot of people are wondering why Icap, the world's largest inter-dealer broker, is doing so well at the present time when so many financial businesses are in the shit - due to the credit crunch. But Icap's chief operating officer, Mark Yallop, has an explanation. He says it is all down to 'pure uncorrelated alpha'. Now, some of you no doubt believe that Mr Yallop is talking 'pure uncorrelated nonsense'. Well, you're wrong.

There is such a thing as the alpha spirit. The alpha spirit soars above the petty, everyday concerns of your average joe and lives and breathes in a world of its own making. Mark and his colleagues at Icap have this spirit. They have created their own reality. As the great German mystic Jacob Boehme once wrote: 'Thus the compunction willeth upwards, and whirls crossways, and yet cannot effect it, for the hardness, viz. the desire stays and detains it, and therefore it stands like a triangle, and transverted orb, which (seeing it cannot remove from the place) becomes wheeling, whence arises the mixture in the desire, viz. the essence, or multiplicity of the desire; for the turning makes a continual confusion and contrition, whence the anguish, viz. the pain, the third form (or string of sense) arises.'

I think that says it all really.

Bob Diamond loses money in shares nightmare!

It has been reported that the boss of Barclays Capital - my dear friend Bob Diamond - has seen the paper value of his recent share purchases fall. They were worth £943,600 when he bought them last August, but £357,350 has been knocked off! He must be upset about this, eh?

Not really. I have been speaking to Bob, and he told me, 'I ain't bothered. I take a philosophical approach now, since knowing you. Money comes, money goes. The important thing is, I can look at myself in the mirror each morning and say: there is a man who knows the value of an expanded consciousness in a chaotic universe. And that's worth something, my friend. Not many bankers in this crazy world can do that. I'm learning, Michael. I'm following the way of the shaman, I'm praying to Big Herb, and - in my more adventurous moments - I am even allowing the mystical burning of money to, you know, do its thing within me. But speak to Johnny Varley, or Johnny Thain, or Vik Pandit - are they doing any of this? Varley? Forget about it! Thain? I'm really not sure. All due respect to him for being a Native American chief in a past life, but what about this life? What has he done lately? And Pandit? Oh dear! He sold the church of his love! Why on earth did Vik do that? So, all things considered, I'm quite a mystical banker, and losing money doesn't bother me because I know it will come back to me. In this world or the next, I will see that money again. You better believe it, baby!'

I wish he wouldn't call me baby.

Barclays Capital brings in the rainmakers

About fucking time. Bob Diamond has pulled his finger out and hired some decent financial shamans. These guys are from ABN Amro - Jitesh Gadhia, Marc Holtzman, Simon Hargreaves, Jason Rynbeck, and Frank Hancock. Some newspaper is calling them 'rainmakers'. Whatever. To us they are just financial shamans.

Bob Diamond has already phoned me this morning. I've never known the man to be so happy. He said to me, 'Michael, can you believe this? I've got my own way, at last. Varley wasn't pleased about it, but so what? I run Barclays Capital. If I want shamans or rainmakers or whatever the fuck you want to call them, I will have them. ABN Amro must be gutted right now. Absolutely gutted. We couldn't buy the bank, so we just poach its best staff. Perfect! I must be some kind of fucking genius. I'm more or less the Mozart of investment banking! These new guys will really shake things up. Just like I said the other week, we're going to have crystals shining and tarot cards flying around and chakras vibrating and auras fucking changing colour - it's going to be unbelievable. It feels so good to be alive today. And what a beautiful morning! The sun is out, birds are singing in the trees …'

He went on like that for about ten minutes. I can't believe how much Bob has changed in recent months. If only every investment bank boss was the same. What a wonderful world it would be!

Norm Pearlstine goes to Bloomberg

Some exciting news. Or maybe not. Norm Pearlstine has got a new job as chief content officer for Bloomberg. He used to be the editor-in-chief for Time magazine, but now he's at Bloomberg you would expect him to be very happy. You could say that the world was his oyster - if you wanted to, of course.

But there is a great sadness in Norm's life. A very great sadness. The problem is he wanted to be the content officer for my blog. Yeah, this blog here. I tried explaining to him that it was a one-man operation, but he just burst into tears. He had visions, you see. Visions of the great Michael Fowke taking him under his wing (that's my wing), and teaching him the way of the shaman. Well, in my time, I've taught a great many people. A lot of them are household names now - as long as you live in a crazy, fucked-up house where everyone, even the kid with the snotty nose, is obsessed with finance, and what are the odds of that? But I digress. Basically, I had to offer Norm some kind of consolation prize. I couldn't give him a job, but I could give him the weekend of his life in the desert. Yes, I gave poor Norm a crash course in financial shamanism. AND IT WAS A DISASTER! Let me tell you - that boy is no shaman. Some of us have got it, and some of us ain't. He ain't got it. Don't believe me? Okay. We actually had the following conversation in the desert. Read it and weep -

Master, why is there a burning in my heart? My child, that is the burning of money. The burning will become more intense, but you will learn to love it.

O Master, I fear it may be heartburn. O my child, for the love of Christ, don't make me laugh. You are in the desert. The desert where money burns. It is money that burns within you.

Master, I saw a ghost last night, and I was scared. What should I do if I ever see it again? My child, you can grow a pair of balls for starters. Ghosts are our fucking business, mate. If you're scared of ghosts, you ain't got no future in the shamanism game.

Master, I often hear you talking to yourself. Why do you do that? My child, you're taking the piss, right? I'm praying to Big Herb, or conducting a bit of business with the aforementioned ghosts! I do not talk to myself!

O Master, I'm sorry. There is so much for me to learn. When will I learn? You tell me, mate. I've had about enough of this. You come to me with a fucking sob story - how no one has given you a chance to make it as a financial shaman. My child, you wouldn't even cut it as a money mystic. Honestly, you're a washout. Go and get a fucking job with Bloomberg. That's your best bet. Bloomberg will take anyone. In all my fucking years I've never …

Then I really lost it. But you get the general idea. He'll be all right at Bloomberg though. I'm sure he will.

Michael Geoghegan: projection of the future

Michael Geoghegan, group chief executive of HSBC, has been talking about 'projection of the future'. I imagine a lot of you are bewildered by this. Projection of the future? What in the name of Christ is the man going on about? It's a common reaction. Not many people understand him.

But let me explain. No, let Mr Geoghegan himself explain. Why should I do all the work? I phoned Mike late last night and asked him for a statement - a clarification of this projection malarkey. This is what he said: 'Why are you phoning me at this hour? You motherfucking shamans are all the same. Do you know what time I've got to get up in the morning? I run a proper fucking business, not some half-arsed fucking blog, you scumbag motherfucker!'

Oh boy, has he picked a fight with the wrong person. Oh boy oh boy! Now, I can either sort this myself, or - if I'm feeling really evil - I can just pass his name on to Jack Pickles. How the fuck is he going to like that? When Jack turns up on his doorstep with all the demons of hell? Forget about it!

Anyway, that won't happen. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. His secretary phoned me about an hour ago. She said he was mortified when he found out that he had been speaking to Michael Fowke last night. For some reason, he thought it was Keith Busby on the phone. Apparently, he had been on the Scotch, and got us mixed up. Well, I'm not sure about this. Firstly, Keith is a financial psychic, not a shaman. Secondly, Keith's voice is nothing like mine. I don't care how fucking drunk you are, you should be able to tell the difference. Thirdly, Keith doesn't have a blog. Anyway, Mike's secretary reckons he will phone me back sometime today to apologize. I hope so. I hope so. And it better be good.

And this projection stuff? I can't be bothered now.