Monday
"Then I had a rare brain explosion. Suddenly I saw things with extraordinary clarity. Suddenly I knew exactly what I had to do."
I wrote those words last Friday. In retrospect, I was terribly wrong. The weekend has been an abomination.
I got it into my head that Grace, my-long suffering fiancee, would like to head south for a romantic weekend, somewhere near Jervis Bay, perhaps.
As I imagined the weekend, Grace and I would discuss our superannuation on the beach and toy with ideas for a fresh assault on the markets.
It must be said that Grace's day-trading expertise goes back a long way. We spent our honeymoon, after our first marriage, trading shares in the Serengeti National Park surrounded by wildebeest and warthogs.
"James, you're so romantic," I remember her saying on the veldt at twilight, with love in her eyes and a laptop on her lap. That day she bought Anaconda at a bargain price, but we subsequently lost the lot. Anaconda's director Andrew Forrest has since miraculously transformed himself into Fortescue's resident genius and seems universally forgiven.
Anyway, as we drove to our Jervis Bay beach cabin, I saw a strange man waving his hands. "Is it a roadblock?" I wondered. "Or a breakdown?"
"Oh no, that's just Roman," Grace sighed.
"Whose Roman?"
"An old flame. He's from Rome. He's visiting. I thought he could join us."
"Oh. How thoughtful of you Grace. But he's rather early isn't he?"
"Roman's always early, James. He's Italian. They're either late or early."
"Right." I was naturally lost for words.
Roman greeted us with a big kiss for Grace and a huge bear hug for me.
It seemed Roman would be sleeping on the floor. Thankfully we weren't in Rome or I'd probably be doing the same.
"Roman's a marvellous day trader," Grace was saying as she made coffee and I began demolishing my first bottle of vodka.
"How interesting," I said, trying to sound it. "So Roman, tell us about your strategy?"
"Well Jamie, I'm glad you asked. You see, I take a leaf out of the book of two famous investors, Warren Buffett and Drew Watson."
"Ah, yes," I said, looking educated. "The Oracle of Omaha and the Sage of the Southern Hemisphere."
The weekend proceeded in this fashion, with Roman up at dawn doing what he called callisthenics and lecturing me on "the signs of the bottom".
Tuesday
I spent yesterday recovering from our Roman holiday. Grace is oblivious to my concerns about the inopportune arrival of the Italian with whom she spent a month back in 1999.
"Grace," I inquired, "how would you feel if I invited Marina on a weekend away with you?"
"James, I'd be utterly revolted. How could you even think of inviting an old fling on holiday? Last weekend was business."
Wednesday
To take my mind off my appalling fiancee I left early for the weekly Phantom Day Traders Investment Briefing. Only Yogi, our senior chartist, was there. Then, to my horror, in walked Roman.
"Hi guys," he said, to my intense irritation.
"Hello Roman," I snarled.
"Ah, you know each other," said Yogi.
"Yes, James and I spent the weekend together. He dated Grace after me."
"Actually, we're engaged. To be married."
The meeting got off to a dreadful start. The Italian insisted on trampling all over our best-laid plans to buy gold, minerals and banks. "No, you gotta be in agriculture! That's where the money is. Food prices are soaring. Dairy's the best bet. Buy milk and butter producers. I'd buy most of New Zealand's dairy stocks if I were you: they're making a fortune." Continued…
