29 days ago
‘Twas the night before Christmas and things were bad at the luxury London townhouse of Mr. Andrew Monk, a man who liked to be described as the City of London’s top small cap broker. Not one visit but two from the ghostly figure in a Wrexham hoodie and now Monk could not find any way to get to sleep and was not greatly surprised when the large French Windows burst open again and, once more, a chubby finger beckoned.
29 days ago
Try as he could, Andrew Monk was feeling not very sexy Andrew after the visit of the ghostly figure in a Wrexham hoodie. “Surely everyone knows how important and well connected I am” he repeated over and over again to himself. But he just could not get to sleep.
30 days ago
The fragrant Mrs. Monk had left for the family’s Cornish Mansion, Dun Broking, some days previously. Very Sexy Andrew, as he liked to refer to himself, had been detained in London by a series of meetings with other terribly important men and so was set to fly down to the Cornish Riviera early on Christmas Day. For now, he found himself alone in his West London townhouse just a few doors away from Jeremy Vine’s pile.
472 days ago
“For fuck’s sake you ghastly foreigner and all round oik I told you to sod off” screamed in unison both the world’s leading chartist and CEO of Lift Global Ventures and Aloysius as once again the windows of the chartists luxury apartment were flung wide open by the ghostly apparition. “Nadolig Llawen” said the ghost once again and beckoned the great technical analyst to come towards him.
472 days ago
The world’s best known chartist and CEO of Lift Global Ventures had a long discussion with the only bear who should not be serving a life sentence in South Georgia, that is to say Aloysius. They concluded that the ghostly apparition from earlier in the night was a ghastly oik probably a foreigner too, speaking Frog and all that, and so should be disregarded. It really was beddy byes time. But the great chartist struggled to fall asleep. And then….
472 days ago
I got up early to do part one of my Christmas Carol series today. I had been lying in bed thinking about it and some of the jokes for hours. I hope you enjoyed it. Part two will be tomorrow when we also start our tips of the year, a series of 20. Today I discuss Versarien (VRS), Cellular Goods (CBX) and “the gang” and Advanced Oncotherapy (AVO) where – with the shares now at less than half of par – matters are getting critical and the final collapse could be imminent.
475 days ago
‘twas the night before Christmas and the UK’s best known and leading chartist and CEO of Aquis listed Lift Global Ventures was perched on the edge of his four poster bed. His faithful teddy bear Aloysius urged him to consider snuggling up with him underneath his duvet, adorned with the Harrow School crest. But something was playing on the mind of Europe’s leading technical analyst, Mr Zak Mir.
848 days ago
T’was the night before Christmas and it had been quite a while since the great entrepreneur had welcomed not one but two strange men into her bedroom. And she was not enjoying this experience and had a nagging feeling that things could only get worse. Perhaps if I hire another firm of lawyers I might get an injunction against these misogynists, thought Julie to herself but before she could take that much further the windows of her small rented Zurich apartment burst open….
850 days ago
‘twas the night before Christmas and Julie was back in her bed, alone once again in her rented Zurich flat, after the departure of the ghostly, and no doubt misogynist, figure. But once again sleep eluded the great businesswoman, devout Christian and MBE.
855 days ago
‘twas the night before Christmas and Julie Meyer was hanging up some particularly expensive stockings, naturally bought on expenses from her Ariadne days, in the mock fireplace of her rented Zurich apartment. “I know that I have been a good girl this year and if there is nothing in there in the morning that just shows that Santa is just a horrid old misogynist like the rest of them” muttered Julie to herself.
1219 days ago
‘Twas the night before Christmas and as the snow fell faster and faster, harder and harder, outside his mock Tudor mock Georgian newly build Gloucestershire mansion, Mr Neill Ricketts was of troubled mind. The ghost of Christmas Past was bad enough, but then he had been visited by the ghost of Christmas Present, what would happen next?
1220 days ago
Try as he wanted, Neill could not quite rid his mind of thoughts of that ghostly apparition, the ghost of Christmas past. He tried counting sheep. But more and more of his shareholders kept running away. So he tried to count RNS statements about bogus deals and collaborations that had never amounted to anything. He started with non-deals from 2013 and this game kept him going for a good three quarters of an hour but at some point in mid 2017 he lost count. And at that very moment, the windows once again burst open and the room was filled with freezing cold air.
1221 days ago
‘Twas the night before Christmas and Neill Ricketts levered his corpulent self into a grand four poster bed in his newly built fake Tudor come fake Georgian Gloucestershire mansion. Bloody Hell, he thought to himself, the boy who left school at 16 with one GCSE in woodwork, (grade D) has done good. He stared at the wall at a large picture of his idol. And Elon stared back.
1948 days ago
‘Twas the night before Christmas. The man who liked to be known not only for his humility but also for being Britain’s greatest ever fund manager lay back on his disruptive Eve mattress next to his rather flatulent but ever faithful old poodle Dampers. Whilst his companion snored loudly, Neil Woodford was deeply troubled by not just one but a second ghostly apparition that night.
1948 days ago
‘Twas the night before Christmas. Neil Woodford had pushed the apparition claiming to be the ghost of Christmas Past out of the window’s provided by “our locks are as safe as our dividends” Kier and had now bolted them firmly shut.
1952 days ago
‘Twas the night before Christmas and the man who liked to be known as Britain’s Buffett paced up and down his bedroom, deep in thought. Attending the local carol service at the Church nearest his Country Estate, Neil Woodford felt that he had so much in common with the wise men but like the Shepherds he was this evening of a troubled mind.
2672 days ago
Although the thick slice of finest Stilton and large port had done something to stop his tummy rumbling, London's worst Nomad, Mr Roland "Fatty" Cornish still felt considerably ill at ease as he waddled up the stairs at his luxury Chiswick Mansion. Two visits from two ghosts already had set his mind racing. He tumbled into bed and did his best to get to sleep, trying to count spotted dicks jumping over the fence and heading towards him. But he was never a great man for numbers and after twelve he got a bit confused.
2687 days ago
I thought it was a good name. Unusual and reminiscent of an era when Britain made things, was a truly prosperous nation and before we all demanded shelter from cradle to grave in the safe space underneath the great Money Tree. But the Mrs disagreed. And so our son is called Joshua not Ebenezer.
I saw a production of the Christmas Carol last week and poor old Scrooge got a really hard time. In the first party of the tale he is a hero, a wealth creator, a provider of employment, the sort of man we can all admire. Then those pesky ghosts arrive and in the space of a night they turn him into a Guardian reading liberal with a spine made of Jelly. The play ends with him giving Bob Cratchit a huge pay rise.
2702 days ago
Last year my three part Christmas Carol series starred white collar criminal Chris Oil. The year before it was fraudster Rob Terry. But who to go for this year? There are so many choices. I have a few ideas on my short list below but what do you think?
3047 days ago
As you will recall young Christopher Oil has already had his Christmas Eve sleep disturbed once by a ghostly figure, the ghost of Christmas past. But Chris convinced himself that this was nothing to concern himself with and was soon sound asleep dreaming about how he and his bestest friend Daniel might build a snowman in the morning if mummy allowed them to play.
3047 days ago
In this podcast I discuss Chris Oil's Christmas carol, part 1 HERE and parts 2 & 3 to follow. My Christmas Carol series always gives me great pleasure to write and I hope you enjoy reading them. And I beg you to fill in the Christmas win an iPad survey HERE. Then it is onto David Lenigas, Sam Antar, Petroceltic (PCI) and Wandisco (WAND) and to what little treats are in store for tomorrow. Ho Ho Ho. Finally i wish you all a Merry Christmas, none of this PC seasons greetings bollocks from me.
3048 days ago
It was the night before Christmas and young Christopher Oil stood staring out of the window at the Bed & Breakfast he liked to refer to as the castle. Outside, the snow was beginning to fall heavily and this filled Christopher with great joy. He turned round to look at an elderly lady sitting by the fire reading a bunch of papers marked "pension statement" and, barely able to contain his excitement, blurted out "Mummy, if it carries on snowing, will you let me make a snowman in the morning with my bestest friend Daniel?"
3149 days ago
Last year my three part Christmas Carol series concluding on Christmas day featured the Quindell (QPP) fraudster Rob Terry. In a prior year Evil Knievil featured. I was thinking about this year’s offering today but whose Christmas Carol will I be recounting?
To give you a flavour of what lies in store, the Rob Terry series can be found HERE.
There are so many obvious targets for satire from the AIM casino.
3405 days ago
After not one but two visitations from the ghostly figure of the grandfather of Christmas share blogging, Rob Terry was jolly glad to be back in his massive four poster bed. His faithful watchdog Cencord slumbered on, snoring loudly and oaccsionally licking his master's toes, but still young Mrs Terry had not returned from her girl’s night out and it was now quarter to midnight.
This created a vague sense of unease
3412 days ago
Yes it was all a dream, Rob Terry muttered to himself as he tried to banish thoughts of the ghostly apparition from his mind. He turned over to young Mrs Terry as if seeking confirmation. But she seemed still to be out with her girlfriends clubbing in Southampton. And she was not the only absentee from the marital bed.
One of his two faithful poodles Canakos had also disappeared. “I’m sure he will be back soon thought Terry, I’ve fed him lavishly for years. If not I’ll wait a few weeks and then announce that he has left.” But at least the ever faithful watchdog Cencord remained on guard, snoring loudly, oblivious to all around him, but occasionally, in his sleep, licking his master’s toes.
Suddenly the windows blew open
3413 days ago
It was the night before Christmas and all was still at the Country Club, Rob Terry called home. The great man himself had decided to call it a day early and was lying (as is his wont) on his enormous four poster bed. Young Mrs Terry had said that she was going out with girlfriends To S.Daddy, a new nightclub in Southampton and so Rob’s only companions were his two faithful poodles Canakos and Cencord who lay snoring at the foot of his bed.
The two watchdogs were definitely off duty that night, as every night, but Rob himself was finding it hard to fall asleep. He tried counting sheep. 1 + 1 makes 2, 2+ 1 makes 3, 2+ 2 makes 5, it went on but to no avail. Pulling on a Quenron corporate Christmas Jumper
3779 days ago
It was the night before Christmas and BBC Chairman Lord Christopher Patten lay in his grand four poster bed in his Country Estate, sleeping, but only fitfully.
Turning over to the left, he looked longingly at the bedside photo of his pet dog Chow Mein which disappeared mysteriously when he was in charge of Hong Kong.
Running Honkers, a European Commissioner and now in charge of the BBC, what a glorious career he had enjoyed, Patten thought to himself. Gosh I have done well.
But as he smiled with contentment Patten was startled so see a grey figure appear next to him at the bedside. The grey figure did not look particularly happy.
“I say” said Patten, “what are you doing here my good fellow? Are you one of those consultant Johnnies we employ at the Beeb. Look I know that you are on £1,000 an hour but is it not time to call it a day?”
The grey figure said nothing but beckoned to Patten to rise. Used to doing exactly what the consultant Johnnies told him to do Patten obeyed and did not object as he grey figure gripped him firmly by the hand.
Suddenly the two men were flying through the air.
