The depression of a key, the click of a mouse, a blip on a screen... and it was all gone. Fanning out my investments over a wide radius, may as well have took it to the bookie's and put it all on a nag. At that accelerating scale of interest, at those fantastical rates, my spurious investments drained, life's-blood-like, away and forced me into liquidation. I need the services of some building society assistant to draw me a diagram, explaining cash flow and necessary overturns, explaining the fantastic intricacies of this forbidden world of finance. Right now in the heart of the City there are young men like me, hungry-eyed and cold-hearted, their jubilation and rapaciousness expressed in flutters of paper and the clicking of mouses.
And oh to be part of that invisible and mystical brotherhood, prostrate at the feet of the inviolate market, gladly would I slit my own throat at his altar, that omniscient god whom the brokers rush to worship, whose litany is the financial times index, and whose inviolate and transcendent calmness can be seen in the expressions of bank clerks. My unwise investments? Consider them a sort of sacrament.
I ended up sat in my high chair wit a cup of tea, steadily at work on a sort of Plan B:
"My plan to get into college".
An unrealistic aim, maybe, what with my record, but I must have something to fall back on. But, the millions having been lost through the unwise investments, a parental career talk has been occasioned with father...
(And thus we commence from the top, Kojak moment and all, until the bitter closing theme-tune once again strums lazily forth).
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