Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Bob Diamond says he will double profits at Barclays over the next three years

Not by himself, of course. He's going to get a bit of help from his friends, mainly me, maybe. And his staff, the thousands of souls who work at Barclays. We shouldn't forget them. But how will he manage it? It sounds impossible, doesn't it?

Well, I have been speaking to my dear friend Bobby Diamond. This is how he explained himself to an incredulous shaman (that was me, still is, but not incredulous): 'Mikey, you're gonna help me, ain't ya? (Double the profits? No, Bobby, it's a crazy idea. I want no part of it.) But you're going to write in your blog that you will be helping me! (Bobby, can you see into the future?) Mikey, I can! (Wow! Okay, try and convince me.) What, that I can see into the future? (The double profits, man.) I just need you to go on to the astral plane, get all your mates together, and then meditate, every last crazy son of a bitch up there or in there, meditate, yeah, on Barclays. (And what will you be doing?) I'll be back on earth, counting the money. (You ain't gonna make shaman like that, Bobby.) I'm chief executive now, Mike. I got to be careful. (What do you mean?) You don't see Lloyd floating around on the plane, do ya? (No, but Lloyd is ... peculiar. I'm being polite.) Do you think this will work then? (I don't know. It might. Can't you get rid of a few loss-making units?) That's what I told the squares. But it's too boring. (What's in it for me?) The satisfaction knowing you helped a friend. (I want money.) How much? (You can start off by paying me the half a million you owe me.) What is it with you, Mike? You're obsessed with money! (It's because I'm poor.) You've only got yourself to blame. No one forced you to spend your youth wandering life's lonely highway. You could have got a job in a bank. You could have been another Bob Diamond. Imagine that! (Don't get carried away, Bobby. I'll get my reward. You wait and see. How much money did Jesus have?) He didn't have a pot to piss in, Mike. (Yeah. Think about that.) Oh, I'll think about it. (How much money did Tom Conti have in Reuben, Reuben?) I'll think about that too.'

I'm still incredulous. In the sense that I can't believe Bobby expects me to help him double Barclays' profits out of the goodness of my heart. I don't even have a good heart. And it's Bobby I care about (with a bad heart), not the bank. Never mind. I'll see how I feel.