Note (5/9/2026): I deleted this post in 2011, but have decided to restore it because - let's be honest - it's an historical document, isn't it?
With those pink pages flapping gently, riding the desert wind, we should all be happy, all be joyful, for I have seen another side to the Financial Times, I have seen the mystical life it tries to hide, angels, do angels read it? devils, what would devils do with it? this is about the holy fire that always burns, this is about the holy love that Big Herb lays on us, we live in financial times after all, no FT no comment, no FT no death in our eternal moment, no FT no long walk in the City, no FT no Canary Wharf towers coming alive and playfully chasing us through an astral landscape, but no FT no desert, that's what we really want, we want the information, yes, we want the news, but more than anything we want the burning mystic love that you can only find in the desert, and the Financial Times lives in the desert, not just the City, in the desert its pink pages burn violently red they burn, I have seen them, and I can see them now, letting my mind wander, I see the dreamy pages, an article by Clive Crook, telling us we must strike faster on death-wish finance, but must we? I'm not convinced, doesn't Clive realize that when we die we are born again to live forever in the desert? and doesn't he realize that the pink pages will live with us in the desert, for all eternity? well, do you know something? I don't think he does realize any of that, and that's the problem, a terrible problem, FT journalists are not aware of the astral desert, and not aware of the power that flows in and around the pink pages which their words are printed on, O Clive, the astral desert is calling you, it is singing to you, can you not hear it? can you not see this vision? can you not feel the love that rises from the sand and swirls in the wind and gets into your eyes, then into your heart, then into your very soul, your journalist's soul? O Clive, you must surrender, give in, lose yourself, for it is your only chance of salvation, and you want to be saved, don't you, Clive? surely you want to feel money-love to the end of time, the love that only a dead financier can give you, but moving on, oh moving on, what of Wolfgang Munchau? dear oh dear, why is this poor man so obsessed with the European Union? who told him that it was important? O Wolfie, it will be swept away, it will all be swept away, even my beloved England will one day disappear, even the earth, yes, the earth itself will be destroyed, but the astral plane, the world of spirit, will live on, so that is where we must build our empires, our empires of the mind, a financial paradise beyond this vale of tears, one that cannot be corrupted nor destroyed, don't you understand, Wolfie? shame, and now we must look at Chris Giles and Alex Barker, slow down? no, we must keep moving on, time is of the essence, you think I have all the time in the world? well, in a sense I do, but I only have so much time to put this vision into words, before it evaporates, so moving on, Chris and Alex, and the public borrowing bill from this recession, oh well done, well done, Chris and Alex, it had to be said, it had to be written, it had to be printed on the pinkest of pages, but alas, yes alas, there will be other recessions, this is not the end of boom and bust, this is not even the beginning, O lads, if you were familiar with the cosmos, you would know that boom and bust are the ways of life, we boom here, we bust there, but life goes on, life goes on, yes, life goes on, and we must keep moving …
… moving to Neil Hume, his cheeky face, slow down, all right, and what of Paul Murphy? world-weary, both of them staring at us from the back page of Companies and Markets, and artist's impressions on Markets Live, what do they want from us? what are they asking us? staring into the abyssal depths of our lives, and do they burn? well, we all know the Murph burns, beautiful burning soul, man of night, astral sky lord, like the ancient ones, but Hume? what to make of him? does he burn? no, no, no, not yet, but he will burn, because the mystical children are searching for him, and one glorious day they will find him, they will drag him into the desert kicking and screaming, make him a child, and they will touch him with money, the fire of money, the fire of Big Herb's holy love, the trunk of Ganesh, the ghostly breath of dead financiers, and, falling into it, he will be absorbed by the desert, sand dunes galore, and he will fall in love with it, the burning? yes, he will love the burning, banknotes sticking to his hair, and he will stay there, he will never want to leave, eternity for Neil, that's what it will be, eternity, endless years rolling in the sand, tears in his eyes, happy tears, a big smile, joy in his heart, the best years of his life, a life that lasts forever, and he will wonder, yes, he will wonder, why on earth he didn't listen when he was told, why he didn't follow when the way was shown, why he didn't burn when the fire was lit, but that will all be forgiven, for the desert does not hold a grudge, and Neil will call to the others, a voice out of the desert reaching all the way to One Southwark Bridge, O Brycey, Brycey Elder, come and join us, I am here, the Murph is here, O Sam, Sam Jones, come to us, swim through your mind and prepare yourself for a burning, yes, Sam will be called, despite his enthusiasm for quantitative easing, Sam will be welcome, he is young and has much to learn, and he will be taught the way of the shaman in the desert, the way of love in the fire, the way of money in the burning heart of the great big money god we call Big Herb, and the way of Ganesh, the way of the trunk, with gold stains, and money-eyed angels bleeding all over him, I'm sure he'll love it, they all learn to love it in the end, the taken ones, the ones who were called, who were chosen, who were plucked from the square world to live in another world which only I can reveal, for it is my destiny, I now know why I was born, I was born for the burning, for the teaching, born to lead the mystical children into the desert, deliver them unto the sands that burn, sparkling mystic planets in my eyes, big eyes, blue, you can see the universe in my eyes, well, you would be able to see the universe in my eyes if it were not for the sheet and not for the shades which I am forced to wear to protect myself from such evil characters as Jack Pickles and Satan, but I have no complaints, I really have no complaints, I just want to carry all the FT journalists into the desert, carry them with my words and my passion, for that is where they belong, let them see the newspaper they work for, let them see it riding the wind, yes, riding the wind, pink pages aflame, like a deranged salmon in the sky, this is the vision, this is the way …
… and Lionel, Barber Barber Barber Barber, there is a vibration in that name, you do not get many of these, Barber is a name that moves from our minds, mind to mind, and then it just bursts into the cosmos like a firework, the long way back, and forward, Leopold Graham 1888 Douglas MacRae 1889 William Ramage Lawson 1890 Sydney Murray 1892 A E Murray 1896 C H Palmer 1909 D S T Hunter 1937 A G Cole 1940 Hargreaves Parkinson 1945 Gordon Newton 1949 Fredy Fisher 1972 Geoffrey Owen 1981 Richard Lambert 1991 Andrew Gowers 2001 and 2005 2005 2005 Barber vibrations in the air, a soul in flame, but does he realize? does he know the desert? oh not yet, but it is within him, he is not yet conscious of the fire, but he will be, another one for the children to take, to make a desert man, with his desert paper, the honest financier and the respectable broker, is there such a thing? yes, there is, 421026, yes, 421026, those are the numbers, twenty-four print sites, but that is the mere physical, where is the astral? pink pages cannot be tied down to numbers in the astral, infinite, we are talking infinite, no one knows, not even I, and certainly not Jack Pickles, who would love to get his grubby little hands on the pinkest of pages, sick evil financier, demonic financier, no one ever said he was honest, he wallows in the darkest hell of money and loves it, so we must give him a wide berth in the desert, and Lionel must not fall under his influence, that would be the end, the end of Graham MacRae Lawson Murray Murray Palmer Hunter Cole Parkinson Newton Fisher Owen Lambert Gowers Barber Barber Barber Barber, now and in the past, in the future, and forever, ghosts all around, editors dead and alive, it all makes sense, if you think about it, but try not to think about it, for sense is the last thing we need at a time like this, a time of the New Depression, of wailing and gnashing of teeth in the pit on the lowest level, which we will not be visiting, I am glad to say, that's a bloody relief, we will focus on the highest level where love is able to burn us beyond our wildest fantasies, and that is the way it should be, we do not want to go to hell, where only the ashes of money exist, we want to see the glorious money, the money the FT should be covering, that Barber should be reaching for, out of his endless night and into the light that shines above, Lionel dancing with mystic angels, we all want to see it, let's be honest, it is something we all want to see, and it will happen in time, or out of time, Lionel will come to realize that the desert is the way, he will stretch himself beyond One Southwark Bridge, the vibration in his name tells me that, O Lionel, let your name vibrate throughout the cosmos, I see the ghost of Leopold Graham chanting your name, Barber Barber Barber Barber, and I see the other dead ones, dancing, banging drums, what is it they find in your name? is it hope for the future? does the vibration move them out of the shadows into the light of the burning money in the eyes of Big Herb? I think so, that's what it is, so you must continue on your way, the stream of time, towards the eternal desert, Barber Barber Barber Barber …
… Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy Kellaway, O Lucy, dear Lucy, I think you know what my problem is, I cannot escape from the world's most demonic financier, a certain Mr Pickles, let's call him Jack, yes, let's call him Jack, he follows me everywhere, like a dark stinking shadow, O Lucy, what am I going to do about Jack? will I have to kill him before he kills me? O Lucy, advise me, you advise all the others, but what about me? shall I send one of my ghost friends to visit you while you sleep, is that what you want? to lead you out of your body and on to the astral plane, where we can really get down to business, will you help me then? O Lucy, I sense that you need a night in the desert, far away from the cares of this world, an astral night in the astral desert, I would love to see you as a mystical child, playing in the sand, beneath the moon, timeless, ageless, untouchable, and full of wisdom, full of good advice for all the ones who have passed over, not to mention the visitors, such as Keith, Arthur, and the one they call the Murph, O Lucy, have you seen the Murph burning in the night sky? there is nothing else like it, a most beautiful sight, grown men have been known to weep, even the ghosts of the dead financiers have been known to weep, even Big Herb himself is a great admirer of the Murph when he is in full flame, O Lucy, why not bring Gillian Tett with you? I don't mind, the more the merrier, but I need your advice, yes, this is a serious matter, tell me what I must do to rid myself of Jack, that man is pure poison, please, O Lucy, now, please, I cannot wait for our astral night, I need to know now, O Lucy, I hear a voice, is that you? O Michael, listen to me, you must look inside, find Jack within yourself, and expel him, O Lucy, that cannot be you, that is trickery, the advice of a demon, O Lucy, I do not believe you spoke to me, the devil is trying to fool me, he wants me to believe that Jack and I are the same person, but that would finish me, I could not live with the shame, O Lucy, come to me, soon, one of these nights, yes, one of these nights, burning together forever, maybe you can save me, I need to be saved, I sometimes feel quite afraid, and lonely, insane, lost in a dream of money that often turns ugly, but you know what I mean, I do not need to tell you about all that, you know a lot more than you let on, O Lucy, maybe you are a demon, a wicked devil woman, sent here to entice me, to make a fool of me, O Lucy, I am so confused, what shall I do? tell me, what shall I do? are you playing with me? are you trying to trick me? or do you really care? are you genuinely concerned about me? I need to know, O Lucy, please …
… but moving on, sadly, moving on, I feel the urge to lose myself in some pink page funds, oh yes, this is what I have been reduced to, O Lucy, remember me, never mind, AXA Framlington, American Growth Acc, Global Opportunities Inc, oh what a tonic, I am feeling better already, Aquila Capital, AC Pharos Fund, AC Brazil Inside Fund, but inside what? inside the endless night that the forsaken suffer? surely not, Alliance Bernstein, GI Style Blend 1 USD, oh I wouldn't have thought so, too much pain, too much fear, this is no way to make a living, no way to money, but it is, they say, well, okay, Artemis the profit hunter, that's more like it, that's what I'm talking about, Ashburton, Ashmore, Aspect Capital, Atlantis the lost investment managers drowning in my mind, Aviva, Blue Chip Tracking Inc, tracking the love, keep on tracking, BNP Paribas, Goldman Sachs, no, not yet, BNY Mellon Asset Management, Banque Safdie, whatever, Barclays Global Investors, Barings, I'm saying nothing, BlueBay Asset Management, CCLA, I can't go on, let me take a breather, this is what it is like in the desert on a bad day, funds from everywhere crowding in on your mind, sometimes it gets too much, but the pink pages keep moving, and on we go to some kind of heaven, Capita, CF Adam Worldwide Fund Acc, CF Arch Cru Global Growth, Junior Oils Trust Acc, blood in the sand, bleeding from the mystic wounds of the only herb that matters, Big Herb, alive and breathing, reborn, man to god, that's the life, but I digress, Capital International Funds, Capital Management Advisors, CMA Multi-Hedge Balanced, yes, balanced, we must find balance, very important, Carmignac Gestion, I would see the doctor, Charlemagne Capital, Magna Turkey A, I'll have to skip a few, Credit Suisse, Fellowship, Curzon Capital, Dexia, midnight, running across the desert, ah memories, keep moving, skip, Dragon Capital, scary, East Capital Russian, EEA Group Ltd, Ermitage, will this never end? F&C, FIM, SOS, Fidelity International, Wealthbuilder Target 2010, nice target, I'm tired, this is what it is like in the desert when the pink pages control your life, they burn inside you, eat you up, but onwards, faster, GAM, GLG, Gartmore, fire, heat, Global Strategic Advisers, and Goldman Sachs, yes, yes, yes, I love Goldman Sachs, it has all been worthwhile, but here we go again, Henderson Global Investors, oh can't they take a day off? China A2, no thank you, Insinger de Beaufort, Invesco Perpetual, Finsbury Square, eh? give my regards to Dougie Smith and all the boys and girls in the zombie club, Investec, JF Asset Management, JPMorgan, Janus Capital, Kairos, Key Asset Management, Lazard, Legg Mason, skip a few, Lombard Odier, Man Investments, and, and, more? yes, Melchior, Natixis, Neptune, Nevsky Nevsky Nevsky, I, I, Permal, Pictet, Platinum, Polar Capital, leave me alone, let me sleep, or am I already asleep? Rathbones, Rensburg, Robeco, Schroders, and, and, that's it, no more, I will not struggle with these funds, to hell with them, let Jack take them, I have done my duty, whatever you want to say about me, you cannot say that I, Michael Fowke, the world's foremost financial shaman, did not do my duty, and I move on …
… to Gillian Tett, O Gillian, my warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums, but forget all that, I understand you want to talk about the toxic assets in the desert of our dreams, but you are mistaken, there are no toxic assets in the desert, we've kept it clean, there are only toxic individuals, yes, Jack Pickles and his foul crew, but I suppose you're not interested in Jack, I have already bored Lucy silly with talk of him, O Gillian, let us speak of the healing power of the Financial Times, come to me, Gilly, and I will wrap you up in the pink pages, too expensive for tramps, one pound eighty a batch, but we are willing to pay any price, aren't we? sure we are, we want to be healed, if only I had the opportunity I would dress you in the mystical pink paper and bury you for a thousand years in the sand of my aching soul, O Gillian, I've forgotten all about Lucy, and Tracy, Stacy, Izzy, you're the one for me, you are the only one who can save me from a life of despair, because it can be a miserable business, chasing money, especially in these dark times, I am not like Jack, I would not bribe, cheat and murder to get what I want, I am one of the righteous, and I am the money king, I can do anything, is that the truth? that is what I used to say before the New Depression, but now I am not so sure, I need a place to rest, to recover, to sort myself out, I will dress myself in the pink pages, just for you, we could heal each other, what do you say? for I know you suffer as well, I have seen your face, it haunts me, when I close my eyes you are still there, like a ghost in my head, maybe we are all ghosts, maybe everyone who writes for the FT is a ghost, maybe every banker is a ghost, every trader, is it possible we all died a long time ago but are unwilling to leave the money behind and so linger on in the City? is that possible? there are many strange things in our reality, can we know them all? understand them all? can we understand the credit crunch? have we been cursed by God? are we sinners? is it such a terrible crime to love money? no, I cannot believe that, I must believe that money is the way, the righteous way, I must stand firm, we must stand firm, the alternative is some kind of vile communism, the godless ones are everywhere, the haters of Big Herb, O Gillian, I hope you are not one of those people, it's so hard to tell with FT journalists, there are some peculiar ones, but I am sure you're okay, yes, you're okay, I have to believe that you are okay, O Gilly, I do not want to lose my faith in humanity, who can you trust? the man sitting next to you on the train could be Satan, but that's another story, I must move on, let's keep moving on …
… on to the internet, yes, the Financial Times lives on the net as well, Alphaville, Lex, and all that, but how does it compare to the astral plane? can pink screens burning into our faces have the same impact as pink pages floating around us in an astral landscape? well, perhaps we should not think of pages or screens, maybe just words and numbers in the air are what we need, aren't they all astral? I think so, can we touch them? can you touch a number? can you feel a word? and can these numbers and words touch you, somewhere deep inside? have you opened yourself up to the total violent thundering power that is the FT? I am talking about a storm in the desert, a crashing of news stories against your mind as you try to survive, can you block them out? do you want to block them out? are you afraid that the words, the numbers, the facts, will eat away at you, wipe you out, leave you crying in the desert wind begging for mercy, begging for release? or do you welcome the chaos? isn't it about time that you just let go? what are you afraid of? are you afraid the vibration of Barber will drive you insane? do you worry that the burning Murph will lead you astray? oh man, you must understand that there are worse things that could happen, they say that worse things happen at the sea, and maybe that's true, but I must tell you that terrible things have been known to happen in the City when you do not have the protection of the FT, anarchists and communists, regulators and politicians, you have so many enemies, so many evil souls are out to get you, and you want to cut yourself off from the FT? are you sure about that? no, whether on the net or on the page or in a vision, an hallucination, a wild trip, you must continue with it, never give it up, wherever the words and the numbers find you, you must welcome them, wherever they burn for you, you must burn for them, this is the way of truth in the desert, the way of knowledge, we have no need for the computer, no need for the printing press, everything we want is burning inside of us, feel the flames, feel the power, a monster is growing, getting bigger, getting stronger, a tyger in our souls, and our souls will merge, yes, one day they will merge, one, yes, I bet you are smiling now, you should be, for I have told you the secret, I have spoken of the future, I have revealed the destiny of Man, free of charge, this is my gift, you do not pay for this, but one day I will call upon you, yes, one day soon you will have to do your duty, fair's fair, I have not taken you into my confidence for a laugh, this is a very serious business, but we should move on now, yes, we are moving on to Gideon Rachman and the emptiness of words …
… O Gideon, how right you are, yes, all words are empty, is that what you meant? all words? well, I think you know what I know that very few other people know but we will keep it to ourselves, eh? I will not tell Lionel that you have no faith in words, O Gideon, this section is just for us, like me, you realize that you cannot capture a vision or anything important with words, but still we try, why do we try? are we fools? emptiness, emptiness, we are desperate to find meaning, I want this record of my vision to have meaning, but for that we will have to look behind the words, between the words, O Gideon, if I told you a pink page, maybe one of your pink pages, was drilling a hole in my soul, would that mean anything to you? would you understand? would you be able to find some meaning in the sound of those words, or the feel of those words in your mouth? a, pink, page, is, drilling, a, hole, in, my, soul, O Gideon, slowly, a, pink, page, is, drilling, a, hole, in, my, soul, I suppose you want more? what does it take to satisfy you? here we go, dancing around the death that will come upon us if we lose our grip on reality, a, pink, page, is, tearing, flesh, from, my, body, and, making, me, nothing, but, spirit, O Gideon, how do you feel now? isn't this a gas? a, pink, page, is, scaring, me, with, too, much, information, O Gideon, I will not stop until you say so, tell me you have had enough, tell me you do not want to play this game any more, a, pink, page, is, wiping, my brain, of, everything, I, have, ever, known, or, cared, about, O Gideon, these are the empty words, describing an empty life, but nowhere near the vision, the vision is unreachable, but still we reach for it, there must be something wrong with us, but I promise I will not tell Lionel, he does not need to know, O Lionel, move on, move, do not read this, do not let these words enter your head, they are not for you, you will not understand, this is a private matter, I command you, move on, but Gideon, I know you want more, I have been saving the best till last, a, pink, page, is, swimming, in, my, blood, ha, I love it, a, pink, page, is, swimming, in, my, blood, yes, I thought that would alarm you, soon I will be gone, nothing left, at least nothing physical, pure spirit, and the FT will be held responsible, let Lionel explain that to the authorities, a, pink, page, a, pink, page, a, pink, page, come on, Gideon, I know you want to join in, a, pink, page, come on, think, some words of your own would be nice right now, don't leave me lonely, drowning in words that mean nothing, Gideon, come on, sometimes, empty, words, matter, sometimes, empty, words, matter, thank you, Gideon, I knew you wouldn't let me down, you’re a good man, but I must go now, goodbye …
… and hello, Martin Wolf, O Martin, what are you fretting about now? Are you more worried now, even more worried than before? O Martin, I have never seen you in the desert, why do you hide in the City? what are you afraid of? there is no need for you to be afraid, Big Herb is waiting for you in the desert, and he wants to love you, O Martin, have you ever be burnt with money in a peyote trance? be honest, you have not lived, but it is never too late, I will take you to the ceremony, show you the way, burn you, throw you to the ghosts of the dead financiers who will lift you up higher than you have ever been, so far in the astral sky, further than the Murph, you will touch the stars, O Martin, isn't this what you really want? why do you fight it? are you concerned about what people will say? do you think they will laugh at you? well, it's possible, the fools of the world will laugh at anyone who does not wear a grey suit in the grey days of his everlasting death, but there is another life, sweeter than death, another way, the way of the shaman, the way of the burning with money, Martin, you could be a desert child, you could be a great one, but you must shake off the spirit of pessimism that hangs around you like an evil fog, clouding your thoughts, making you seem lost in a shadowy city where the news is always bad and where the money never sings nor dances, that is not life, I have seen the reality of your existence, no wine flows for you, no gold glitters, no diamonds sparkle, and I cannot believe you are pleased to be in such an awful place, O Martin, look now, look hard, the sun is shining in the desert and the moon is there too, a big red moon, ready to burst, how is this possible? everything is possible, everything is permitted, there are no limits, no boundaries, in the desert, my friend, only your mind can hold you back, only your consciousness can cripple you, only logic and reason can trap you, but you must not be a slave to these things, Martin, free yourself, destroy the shackles of your mind, and think of Neil Hume, his time is coming, soon he will be a free man, and you can join him, you can dance with him around the campfire, Luke Johnson will be there, and Bobby Diamond, and Bobby Hashemi, yes, the ceremony to end the credit crunch, we will finish the crunch, there will be no more crunching, with one almighty mystic fire we shall crunch the crunch until the crunch is crunching no more, does this make sense, Martin? do you understand now? if so, you're a better man than I am, I never try to make sense, that is the secret of my success, but moving on …
… I must examine some advertisements on the pinkest of pages, I have a reputation for searching for mystic love in the strangest of places, you see, I want to work anywhere I choose, and I choose the light, but tell me, is business school keeping you up at night? well, prepare for new global eruptions of angst, with a private bank unlike any other, and a bad satanic mutha, yes, it's an investment roadshow, on the road with Warren, Billy and Captain America, travelling has never been so seamless, and a sales talk has never been so meaningless, it's an MBA with a difference, with free petrol for Billy, because the unexpected always happens, when you are moving to the next level, top-ranked or not, can you believe it? can you believe that immersion is our strength? we immerse ourselves in the blood, we live in the guts, we admire the strength of Santander, and we get value from ideas, and significant cash, all burning bright, often at extraordinary general meetings of minds, with real-time stock quotes from beyond the grave, capitalising on market volatility if we can, if we must, but we don't go bust, it's the right atmosphere, you see, the right stuff, and you have to ask yourself, are they on your broker list? heaven forbid, although we know we must try to capture the performance of gold in one simple dream, ha, yeah, easier said than done, sadly, more insight is what we need, more visions, not more of the same, less, because you can't build a solid investment that's not even real, no, but you can move forward, even though they want your soul, even though in some places wealth management just wears you to a frazzle, yes, you, you, it's not just a word, it's a commitment, their business is you, and you are like them, they are lonely, lost in space, it's not a marketing promise, they really do love you, and they love me, they love Big Herb, they love Ganesh, they love to love, these relationships are the cornerstone of their future, you need to be reassured, whether you like it or not, they are coming for you, one of these nights, good luck, trophies are simply not enough, they want your soul not just body parts, this is endorsed by business leaders, believe it or not, a solid performance, you can't see my mind moving, but it is moving, helping you on your path to profits and a big bang, thank you, and with an overwhelming feeling of relief I can announce that we are moving on to Luke Johnson …
… O Luke, thank God it's you, a true desert man, save me from those advertisements, I could not find the love, but you know all about the love, don't you? the mystic love, for you are planning the ceremony, the physical, yes, physical burning of the seventy-five million pounds, I take my hat off to you, I think it's amazing what you're doing, and we are all ready and waiting, yes, all of us, Bobby and Bobby, the ghosts of the dead financiers, Big Herb, Ganesh the elephant god, that big beautiful elephant, he'll be there, he wouldn't miss it for the world, oh, and we should invite us many FT journalists as we can, there is plenty of space in the desert, we need them to help us crunch the crunch, and maybe we should burn some pink pages as well, what do you think, Luke? have you seen them yet? and do you think the fumes from the pinkest of pages would drug us into an ecstasy that only the most stoned of hippies could possibly imagine? I think so, I really do, I have never lost myself in the fumes of a burning FT before, but there is a first time for everything, and, of course, there is a time to burn, a time to dance, a time to love, even a time to die, but the time is coming when we shall have to crunch the crunch, focus, Luke, this is a massive undertaking, not for the faint-hearted, O Luke, are you up to it? are you man enough? are you mystic enough? can you hear the voices of all the dead singing in your ears, urging you onwards towards your destiny in the desert? can you feel the vibration that Big Herb is sending you from the innermost core of his being? this is even bigger than a Barber vibration, nothing beats the vibration that Big Herb delivers to a follower when the follower deserves it and most needs it, yes, an awesome vibration is shaking the cosmos for you, this is your moment, Luke, for Christ's sake, Luke, fall down, fall down, man, surrender to the vibration, let it crush the rationality out of you, this is no time to be searching for words, you won't be able to write about this in your column, you have to feel this one, Luke, as it works its way around the wires of your brain, you are on fire, Luke, this is so beautiful, have you ever seen such flames? oh man, are you ready, are you ever ready for the ceremony, I have, I've never, I'm lost for words, Luke, I cannot believe what is happening to you, O Luke, the crunch will be crunched, have no fear, if this is anything to go by, the crunch will be crunched, even the unbelievers will be blown away by this one, congratulations, Luke, now go and lie down, yes, lie down, Luke, you're exhausted, you've been totally washed away in a frenzy of, well, I don't know what, I mean, this is not something for words, you have to feel this one, Luke, well done, mate, now on we go, moving on …
… to the man they call John Authers, for that is his name, O John, the loss of faith, yes, it is a problem, but we must not look to the past, we must look to the future, do you know that the ghosts of the dead financiers read the Financial Times? they may prefer the politics of the Daily Mail, but the FT is essential reading for them, and you have to understand, John, that these ghosts can see into the future, and they want the FT to see into the future with them, and that is why it is so important that as many FT journalists as possible burn in the desert, so, if you don't mind my asking, what are you doing to help? when are you going to pull your finger out? will you even be at the ceremony? the pink pages already burn in the desert, with or without you and your colleagues, the pages burn with a message, these pages cannot think, cannot feel, cannot see, they are senseless in many senses, but, John, do you not realize that the pink pages are a sign? come to us, they say, come to us, O John, you must have faith in capitalism, when you dream at night do you ever see the pink pages swirling all round you? and when you wake, drenched in sweat, and go to the window, stare at the pale moon, do you shiver, as if a pink page has just left your soul? well, it has, John, the moment you wake up a page bleeds out of you and into the ether, it happens every night, and you cannot afford to let this happen every night, these are golden opportunities, John, and what are you doing? staring at the pale moon, I've never heard anything like it, what is wrong with you, John? are you insane? you should be chasing those pink pages, yes, John, through your mind and on to the astral plane in your subconscious, into the astral desert, where the ghosts are waiting, are you starting to appreciate what I'm saying now? you will be there, the pink pages will be there, the ghosts will be there, and that will be it, John, no going home after that, the astral desert will become your new home, and any articles you write from then on will be stained with the mystic blood of angels in the desert, your writing will be transformed, you will start to see visions of the future, and these visions will be worth millions, O John, if only you would listen to me, you could write your own ticket, I feel like I am beating my head against a brick wall, O God, why is this my destiny? why was I chosen for such a difficult task? they never listen, Lord, they never listen, is this a punishment? please do not tell me that this is all down to bad karma, man, Jesus H Christ is a friend of mine, but never mind, moving on …
… gizza job, yeah, appointments, executive disappointments, oh, gizza job, chief financial officer, highly competitive package, nice work if you can get it, spend half your time driving profitability, the other half operating with gravitas at board level, that's the life, send your CV and salary details, what have you got to lose? how about your soul? you may be highly intelligent, you may be articulate and robust, but where will be the life you will lose in working? you'll never get these years back, do you really want to be a senior risk analyst? I'm not being funny, I'm only asking, but do you really want to be a senior risk analyst? there is a time to model portfolios using industry-leading risk engine software, and there is a time to die, time passes so quickly, I was a mere child only yesterday, and I may be one again tomorrow, reincarnated, going around and around, let me step off, but enough of my problems, I should speak to Lucy some more, O Lucy, where are you? enough, InterExec is looking for high achievers who are thinking of their next move, good luck, but the biggest move any of you can make is the move that separates you from the mass of the population and takes you on the trip of a lifetime to the desert, sure, we work in the desert, there is always work to be done, but this is soul-work, my friends, hard work where your consciousness is expanded to breaking point, and if it breaks, that is the end of you, no, you will not survive that one, you would not even be a ghost after such an episode, less than a ghost, just a sliver of spirit crawling through the desert sands, lost and bewildered forever, so maybe you should apply for that job as the chief executive officer at Old Mutual, maybe I'm leading you astray, perhaps you were not built for desert life, you are probably scared, come on, tell me, you can speak to me in confidence, tell me your darkest fears, oh, a voice, O Michael, yes, I am afraid, guide me, who is that? O stranger, come back, I heard you, for a second or two, this is what it is like, my shaman's life, voices come and go, with very little regard for the hour of the day, I have been disturbed at four in the morning before, actually it happens a lot, a very peculiar hour that hour, but I shouldn't complain, if I wanted to I suppose I could leave it all behind, become a financial controller, no, no, no, I will never be a financial controller, they would make me take off my white sheet, I couldn't have that, I would be exposed and at the mercy of my enemies, what a life, eh? what a life …
… and Andrew Hill knows all about life, have you seen his face on the pinkest of pages? there is great wisdom etched into that face, intense expression, burning with money love, why haven't I seen this man in the desert? there will come a time, the ceremony, yes, Andrew, you are invited, O Andrew, you are a man after my own heart, enough, yes, the howling for punishment must be curtailed, great words, Andrew, and Big Herb has noticed, the great lord of money has his eye on you, and I am pretty sure that Ganesh will want to touch you with his trunk, all above board of course, O Andrew, when you come to the desert, bring Fred with you, yes, bring all the disgraced bankers, not that they are disgraced, at least, I do not believe that they are, they are martyrs, glorious heroes who have sacrificed themselves for the sake of capitalism, we should honour them, not smash their windows, for it is the politicians who are the evil, corrupt, devious ones, if they had their way no one would ever make any money ever again, although they themselves would still be rolling in it, expenses and all, at the expense of the taxpayer, these sinners, oh these terrible sinners shall be punished, mark my words, Andrew, the ghosts of the dead financiers will drag them to the pit and throw them in, ha, wailing and gnashing of teeth, that will be their way, and there will be no escape, no, I once engineered the release of Neil Hume from the pit, but he is a good man, there will be no release for the sinners, no relief, no desert sunshine for them, not that these dishonourable souls would be able to recognize the sun in the desert, it would seem totally alien to them, these are the sort of men and women who live permanently in the shadows, inhabitants of dark places, and the pit is the darkest place of all, let them have it, it shall be their way, but not our way, O Andrew, money is our way, can you feel it, Andrew? can you feel the way? close your eyes, repeat after me, I am a mystic money lover in my own mind, say it, I am a traveller looking for gold, scream it, I will never turn away from money, yes, yes, yes, this is the way, and look, Andrew, look, pink pages are burning just for you, keep your eyes shut, but look, with your mind, see the pink pages, this is amazing, truly amazing, an FT journalist has seen the pink pages at last, the way they should be seen, totally awake, O Andrew, go to your colleagues, run to them, tell them what you have seen, and then kiss them, hug them, show them that you love them, and show them the way, reveal it to them, they will be astonished, they may not believe it at first, but persist, persist, convince them, Andrew, you will get your reward, don't worry about that, remember Big Herb is watching …
… watching John Gapper as well, for Gapper may be a problem, global financial authority? what? O John, are you serious? a global financial authority? that sounds suspiciously like communism to me, I suppose you will be calling for a one world government next, isn't the European Union bad enough? are you working for the lizards? O John, we do not need to share the bail-out bill, we do not need to hold hands and sing we shall overcome, there is only one solution to the world's problems, and that is introspection, yes, John, I see your face, and I can tell that you only live in the outer world, well, there is an argument for saying that someone has to do it, but what of the inner world, John, eh? how far have ye travelled in your mind? sorry about the ye, I sometimes lapse into archaic English, and I have got to get it under control, but how far have you travelled in your mind? time and time again, bitter experience this, FT journalists can be found trapped in the prison of their own rationality, it is not healthy, not healthy at all, and stop looking at me like that, that's not healthy either, the pink page that holds your face will hold your face for all eternity in the desert of our dreams, and you have no knowledge of this, you have not seen your own pink face in the desert, John, you have not seen it grinning in the sky, spinning around the moon, twisting beyond the sun, splattering against the stars, merging into the cosmos, this is all happening without your knowledge, O John, where have you been? in the shell of your body? well, I'm afraid that's not good enough, it is not acceptable, I cannot allow this to continue, Big Herb cannot allow this to continue, and you have to understand, the ghosts of the dead financiers will intervene at some point, they will not suffer this behaviour of yourn indefinitely, I have it on good authority that the ghosts view your refusal to engage with the astral plane as an insult to them personally, so what is your defence? are you going to tell us that you were not even aware of the existence of the astral plane? that may well be true, but it will not cut any ice with the ghosts, these dead men, mostly men, are not reasonable men, on earth they were known for their ruthlessness, their stubbornness, even their perversity, and I can tell you, John, death has not improved them one little bit, instead it seems the qualities they possessed on earth have become even more pronounced on the other side, God help you if they turn against you, John, you will need Him to have mercy on your soul, make no mistake, for the ghosts will tear your soul a new one, imagine the pain, the torment, this is what happens to unbelievers, John, O John, please, try to believe, before it's too late, I cannot protect you …
… and now we are moving on, with anger now, a sudden anger has come upon me, it has just occurred to me that I have never been able to find the mystic love in numbers, but we are moving in time to the FT share service, and there are numbers there, enough for all of us, banks, oh yes, a beautiful place to start, HSBC -17 change, ha, there is no love there, this could turn out to be very embarrassing, +5 60, yes, I felt that one, Barclays, it was like the breath of an angel on my neck, I could get used to this, there was restlessness in that 5, did ye feel it? it shook me, but on to chemicals, nudge, wink, Porvair +0 50, not so good, buck your ideas up, you will not burn like that, Porvair, no matter, I'm sure there will be something interesting in oil and gas, Heritage +26 75, nice one, my son, what a result, my teeth are chattering, what on earth was in that 2? hold on, oh, balance, apparently, that’s nice, I wouldn't have thought it would have affected my teeth though, this is uncharted territory, what's this? insurance, eh? I'll try anything once, Admiral -16 50, do me a favour, what did they put in that 0? everything, are you sure? never mind, spirit guide, hit me again, come on, Aviva -31, you're having a laugh, ain't ya? move on, move on, man, travel and leisure, hit me, +19 25, -23, -4 25, +5 58, slow down, slow down, what was all that about? highest level of change in that 9? maybe, this is exhausting, I'm not sure I can take much more of this, I am all loved-up, although negative emotions have crept in as well, we all know about the dark side of numbers, especially when we're dealing with shares, a tricky business, you've got to be on your toes, ready for anything, don't let your guard down, mate, a big dose of love brewing over in automobiles and parts, Volkswagen +23 41, sweet, I know you felt that one, my anger is subsiding, it's funny how a little love can change your outlook on life, +9 75, eh? nearly missed it, what was that? BSS? Pearson -9, let's draw a veil, eh? less said the better, but come on, one more big one before we move on, come on, surprise me, give it your best shot, what have you got for me? that's it? all dried up? you lost the connection? okay, fair enough, I think we had a nice little run there, better than I expected, yes, I am very pleased with the way things turned out, we must do this again some time, don't be a stranger, say hello to the tribe for me, you're one in a million, mate, I'm very impressed, but moving on now, yeah, see ya, but moving on now, let's go and see Philip Stephens …
… O Philip, forget about Obama, I am the true messiah, the world's foremost financial shaman, the money king, I can do anything, O Philip, I can see your face on the pinkest of pages, and I ask myself, is he happy with his lot in life? and now a voice deep within me, one of many voices, cries out, no he has not been burnt in the desert, there is a cynical look about him, he is one of the unbelievers, you must turn him into a desert man or destroy him, oh how shocking, I am truly shocked at that voice, to think such voices lurk within me, I do not want to destroy anyone, I want to save people, I want to lift them up, but I fear there may be a dark side to me that I cannot control, some would say that side is the side of the Pickles, but I dispute that, and maybe we all have a dark side to us anyway, I'm sure we do, I'm sure you do, Philip, O Philip, have you ever seen Satan in the City? Satan in a pinstripe suit? and did he appal you, or were you secretly thrilled to be in his presence? did you feel his power? O Philip, I do not judge you, I know you try to be good, I know there is no evil in your heart, you want to live a simple life, a sip of wine, some bread, you do not ask for gold, you do not go searching for the things that should not be sought, but I must tell you that there is more to life, it is not wicked to burn with money in the desert, it would be a spiritual experience for you, this is mystical capitalism I'm talking about, it is the righteous way in the desert, the money way in the desert, but I imagine you're wondering now what Jesus would do, O Philip, I am on good terms with JC, he does not consider me a bad man, so have no worries about that, if you come to me in the desert you will not be putting your soul in danger, there is no question of an eternity in hell for you after your life has been lived, if you were to join me, you would discover a whole new reality, not just burning money, but burning ghosts, and money angels, even money gods, I presume you have heard of Big Herb and Ganesh, well, Philip, let me tell you something, they have heard of you, how do you feel now? don't you feel important? a simple, humble FT journalist, and these mighty gods have heard of you, O Philip, you cannot imagine how rare that is, they rarely take an interest in everyday souls, so I say to you, Philip, throw off your cynicism, and join me in the desert, become one of my followers, a mystical child, you won't regret it, I promise you, but who is this? Emma Jacobs? O Emma …
… O O O Emma, put this in the notebook, the Murph and his cheeky friend are stampeding through my mind, yes, we are approaching the end of this vision, thank God, I'm not sure my nerves can take much more, but there is a little more, for other FT journalists are streaming into my mind now, is there enough room? O Emma, I don't know, let's play it by ear, I can see you, Emma, I can certainly see you, bright colours, dazzling smile, in my mind in the desert on the astral plane in the cosmos, and on and on, and more and more, Daniel Schafer, started life as a ball of energy, Edward Luce, is it the final stretching of his soul? no, Krishna Guha, toxic, surely not, Peter Garnham, a feast of friends, food for thought, Brian Groom, seizing the fire, both hands burning, Jonathan Guthrie, he says it is more interesting to ponder, I wouldn't disagree, Daniel Thomas, oh paint a gloomy picture, put it in the attic, but have no fear for Jenny Wiggins and Scheherazade Daneshkhu are here, their philosophy is beyond reproach, and Megan Murphy, a full hearing of those voices would drive her insane, but for Matthew Engel it is a matter of life and death, Aline van Duyn, Julie MacIntosh, were they clawed back into the future or the past? Daniel Dombey, battling against a multitude of foes, Lindsay Whipp, shining amid growing concern, Guy Dinmore, the danger of thinking, I applaud him, Peggy Hollinger, an extra effort to fly high, Jan Cienski, Thomas Escritt, the prediction is much grimmer, that's what they say, are they mystics? James Lamont, a serious blow, smoke rings, Tom Burgis, his mettle will be tested in the desert, Jude Webber, Javier Blas, increasingly tense, I feel the same, Peter Thal Larsen, Simon Briscoe, the fearsome one has become the fallen one, but with Kemal Dervis it deepens, and with Della Bradshaw there is a promise of a fresh idea, Rebecca Knight, a lot of energy, chakras in fine fettle, Philip Delves Broughton, the myth of leadership, there is no myth with me, mate, Richard Milne, musings, poetic soul, very sensitive, Chris Flood, traders believe, I'm sure they do, Peter Smith must avoid a loss, Tony Jackson must have a moment's reflection, Jane Croft, Andrew Bolger, there was a culture, there was a way, it will come again, rejoice, Elizabeth Rigby, on the verge, on the edge, having it large, Samantha Pearson, largely untapped, shame, David Fickling, one has to earn a living, Ed Crooks, the spate of activity, Lina Saigol, bankers have clung together, how would she know? James Mackintosh, it remains unclear, Sylvia Pfeifer, sombre outlook, shadows, Pan Kwan Yuk, slashed capital, tears before bedtime, Kenneth Li, a small source of revenue, Tim Bradshaw, some large beasts in the desert, does he know something I don't? Catherine Belton, corporate egoism, of course, we need egos, the bigger the better, Joanna Chung, searching, yes, forever searching for that lost horizon …
… and on we go, or at least I do, are you there? Deborah Brewster no sign of redemption Richard Milne again a further wave of warnings mystic thunder blood in the sand Kathrin Hille increase the degree of concentration more power speed John Reed cash is king and Sundeep Tucker flexing muscles beneath the Hong Kong moon while Michael Mackenzie Francesco Guerrera are dominated by rage a fever of cash Roger Blitz fire sale sell the fire sell it now Nicholas Timmins has permanent scars broken by Pickles and Jim Pickard is ripe for a shake-up for a wild trip with Jean Eaglesham a thorny issue but Chris Tighe Andrew Bounds every twist and turn it's a twister for them and Daniel Pimlott almost quaint almost Clive Cookson who feels something more dramatic is needed a thunder storm in our hearts perhaps David Turner is running through the desert over budget out of control and Alan Rappeport a huge chunk too much Haig Simonian says bankers fear their world will never be the same they have seen the sky oh Andrew Ward Tom Braithwaite return those funds Frances Williams anaemic growth the horror Esther Bintliff violent Joshua Chaffin Roman Olearchyk stamp out corruption Bertrand Benoit keep torturing Andrew England a significant break from tradition Tobias Buck crucial convention with Jamil Anderlini's vision and courage while among the striking epiphanies to Michael Skapinker this was all normal and John Taylor had an explosion of money with Stefan Stern choosing to accentuate the positive and Tony Barber they have always been hostile you know Rhymer Rigby privacy intimacy Edwin Heathcote the pretence at permanence Sophia Grene fund managers are not all being tarred with the same brush Steve Johnson seismic moves Pauline Skypala on the hunt Amy Yee the buzz around Phil Davis fighting shy Jonathan Davis the last word the word that Henry Sender Martin Arnold one person close knows Bernard Simon Peter Marsh mammoth faster Salamander Davoudi Andrew Parker unveiled a doubling Emiliya Mychasuk Emiko Terazono now become free Michael Kavanagh set out starkly Gill Plimmer fallen for the first time Brooke Masters boom time Stanley Pignal moral appeal is not appealing but John O'Doherty approach from an undisclosed bidder Nicole Bullock a little bit of a cushion Paul Betts no one could be more different Michiyo Nakamoto first cut is the deepest Andrew Wood a step towards Emmanuelle Smith Miles Johnson highly attractive entry points Paul J Davis Anousha Sakoui a variety of tests Dave Shellock clogging the banking system Kiran Stacey the greatest surge ever David Ibison at the time has Greg Farrell forecast the woes Adrian Cox shares have fallen Andrea Felsted a hardening environment Andrew Jack demanding greater clarity Ben Fenton Gerrit Wiesmann dragged down by the John Murray Brown amid fears Anuj Gangahar here we go Kevin Done James Wilson Justin Baer John Kay Robin Wigglesworth Mure Dickie Shelia McNulty Sarah O'Conner Ralph Atkins Joe Leahy Saskia Scholtes Jennifer Hughes Rachel Morarjee Vincent Boland David Pilling Quentin Peel Victor Mallet Richard Waters Robert Shrimsley Vanessa Houlder Norma Cohen George Parker Chrystia Freeland Harvey Morris Nikki Tait Martin Arnold David Oakley no no no enough enough O Barber Barber barber barber bar ber and pink pages floating gently down.
O Big Herb, bless the Financial Times, bless its editor, and bless all its journalists. Yes, bless them. They may not always know what they do, but I am sure you can forgive them. The pink pages are burning beyond them, but a time will come when they will fly to catch up with the pinkest of pages in the desert of our dreams; and that will be a glorious day, or night, or perhaps an eternal moment. O Big Herb, help the FT merchants of news to glide through this world of pain to the other side of life, and let them find comfort in the warm embrace of the desert; and give me the strength, as Master of all the mystical children, to fight the evil ones who would destroy them if they could. These are dark times, with much crunching going on. There is a great deal of blood in the sky. There are shadows dancing around the sun at noon, and there is a sickness raging in the moon at midnight. And the markets are something else altogether. Sinister movements. Strange prices. Bankers are afraid. They are hurting. Who will soothe them if not us? We shall work together. Let your burning be their biggest bonus. Let my vision be a healing. And may the Financial Times cover the entire universe. Bringing the news to us, wherever we are. This is the way. The only way. We have been waiting for it. We still are. When will it live, truly live, in the hearts of men and women? O Big Herb, look deep, look all around, look into the souls of all the FT workers, the bankers and the traders, the mystical children. They are waiting. And I am waiting. O Big Herb, we love you. And we love Ganesh. And we love the ghosts of the dead financiers. We know the crunch will be crunched. We know that a very great burning is coming. O Big Herb, lord of all the money, burn for us now and till the end of time.
