Free at last, Free at last

Thank God I'm free at last.

Mom I'm a star!

It's not easy dealing with this notoriety. So far these musings have been featured in the Wall Street journal, Reuters, some Dutch website called Planet and even a Belgian daily called De Morgen. I've gone global, all that's missing is a mention in Pravda and something in Xinhua.

I'm pretty keen on the attention of the Dutch website, maybe they'll give me a chance at managing a football team in Holland, they are pretty good at football, don't care much for the Belgian's, they are useless at the beautiful game, but the Dutch they know what they are doing. The only thing is that they kit themselves up in that nasty orange gear which would really cramp my style. As long as I could skip all that orange stuff, I'd be happy to manage a Dutch team.

There's a lot of talk going about, some are saying I'm a genius and some are saying I'm a simpleton. Let's be very clear, I am neither, although I am pretty sexy and dress better than the average Jean-Pierre I'm just a normal French chap; I like my wine, I like my soft cheeses and I think the Citroen 2 CV is the greatest piece of design ever. To be sure, if I was a genius, I probably wouldn't have lost 5 billion euros. N'est-ce pas?

I have to admit that I'm getting a bit bored of this sitting about between interrogations. If anyone would be kind enough I could do with a little light relief. I've kind of got my mind set on getting the first series of Prison Break on DVD, I could watch it in between the chat's with Inspector Coluseau. You know Prison Break, its the one with that guy Scofield. I think watching that would be inspiring, but then again he was a structural engineer and I was a trader. Can't see how trading skills or lack thereof would help me in escaping captivity. Talking about structural stuff, I'm really regretting that I went into derivative products and not structured products, if I had chosen a career in the latter I wouldn't be in this mess, because all my positions would have been capital guaranteed. But c'est la vie.

Jail House Rock

So now I have experienced the inside of a jail cell for the first time. Inspector Clouseau and his friends picked me up and brought me here for a bit of a chat. 

I'm writing to you from the interrogation rooms of Paris' financial police. I was first interviewed by a guy called Jean-Michel something-or-other who wanted to know what I'd done with 5 billion euros. I thought it was blatantly obvious what I had done, I'd misplaced it in the planets only global casino and gone tits-up. 

They bought me my lap top and wanted to see what I had inside, thinking that maybe I'd wire transfered the money to an offshore account in the Cayman's. But this is where they slipped up. Jean-Michel is taking a break and the chap who was guarding me has sneaked off for a cigarette, or whatever it is policemen do when they sneak off. They've left me with my lap top. 

It has already been reported what a dab hand I am at computers, so as soon I was left alone, I set to work. Wireless is a great invention by the way, I was able to hack in to the financial police's database of suspects in custody. Gives a whole new meaning to the term safe custody (Sorry, banking joke, just couldn't resist it) I learned that the guy in the cell next to me is called Pierre Pompadou and he was arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour and stealing a policeman's kepi on the Champs Elysee. Well this was a no brainer. I quickly changed my cell number with his.

Monsieur Pompadou is set to be released in a few hours, just after the guards shift change. So as long as I get sent back before the new guards start their shift, what will happen is that when the time comes to release Monsieur Pompadou, in actual fact it'll be yours truly who gets to walk in to the Paris moonlight. While I get a fine and caution, poor Monsieur Pompadou is left owing 5 billion euros, give or take a few million. This is of course regrettable, but desperate times calls for desperate measures.

Knock Knock

I must admit I never for one single moment thought I would wish for the knock at the door to be from Jehova's witnesses. But there it is, the knock at the door I mean, and here I am, hoping against hope that the persons knocking at the door are standing there holding a copy of Watchtower magazine and offering salvation and God's forgiveness. I could do with a bit of divine absolution right now... or 5 billion euros, that would help matters also.

Knock Knock. There it is again.

You must excuse me I do believe the game is up as the Brits like to say. I think it is Inspector Clouseau coming to arrest me. If he asks me who I am, I will answer Jarvis the Butler and make a dash for it.

Wish me Bonne chance

A week gone by

It was last Saturday that things got decidedly wild and woolly as Tom Cruise likes to say. My bosses discovered that I'd hid a Euro or billion, under the carpet. We talked about it for a bit and well after 8 months of not taking a holiday I suddenly found myself most motivated to get out of gay Paris for a bit. So here I am, shan't tell you where, in case Inspector Clouseau is reading this.

Getting back to Tom Cruise, I'd quiet like him to play me in the movie. The only problem is that he's getting on a bit. A young Tom Cruise, like he was in Top Gun, that would have been just perfect. As for the movie, I mean to say Nick got a movie out of it and he's tubby, English and bald. What's more I beat him 5 to 1 at this trading game, so the minimum I deserve out of all this is a movie about moi. And such is my notoriety that I deserve someone better then a junkie Scotsman playing my debonair self.

Oh Dear

So here I am, one of the most popular names on the internet, coming in a close second to some porn star no doubt. Dubious company to say the least. Well at least some are saying I'm good looking. I guess one has to be grateful for small mercies at a time like this.