Apologies for the general blogging hiatus around here. Multiple factors are behind this:
- Travel! Just got back from a terribly exclusive Alpine spa where I poached myself in mineral-thick thermal waters. Staying in for too long led to a peculiar lassitude I had never experienced before. I stuck the kids in the pool for half an hour before we left (they loved it, a huge enormous bath) and they slept the whole drive back, good as gold. Weekend before last was a work offsite. I have been all over the place. Too much time AFK, and Robert Fisk’s tremendous Great War for Civilization is keeping me from my Spinozan course work.
- New colleague! we hired this guy to provide us with “analytical bandwidth”. I think he will work out but as he is “ramping” (a word we use a lot in tech investing, I wish we didn’t) he is a bit of a time sink; I get home a bit tireder and later than usual. He annoyed the crap out of me the other day by actually knowing more than me about something — what on earth is a Zoran, or a Schottkey? I had to nod sagely and pretend I knew too. So I told him that “Veeblefitzers” were hot right now and he had to find me a veeblefitzer play. Now I feel really bad, I have nightmares about him asking the Goldmans semi analyst for hot veeblefitzer ideas. I think I will tell him monday that there’s a huge veeblefitzer glut and I’m not interested any more.
- Lack of inspiration! what is there actually to blog about? The subprime teacup tempest seems over, the tech market is er “ramping”, I am up 6% on my short AAPL long RIMM trade, and with a bit of help from Saint Bernanke, the enlightened optimism of the Felix-Baruch axis has stuck one in the eye of the schadenfreude-intoxicated prophets of gloom who want everyone to be poor (worse, if they were right, I’d be poor). Net net, all is right with my world, which is not a state conducive to stimulating blogging. Outside Fisk which I am 2/3rds through I haven’t read anything interesting in ages.
- Rugby! Actually, forget all the stuff I wrote just now, while all true it fades into insignificance in relation to the fact the World Cup is on. A few minutes ago the Australians were taking apart the poor Fijians, who got a few good tries in nevertheless. My 4-year-old daughter made the mistake of asking me who the Australians were so I told her — see the title of this post. The word “English” in our Welsh-Greek household is not a term of endearment, by the way. As I told her of the genocide of the Australian aboriginals and their replacement by the criminal classes of C18th England, I had the briefest of qualms about what I was filling her innocent mind with until I remembered that it was all true, and that I wasn’t even exaggerating (I might have left some stuff out). Right now I am watching the terrifying All Blacks suck the marrow out of the Scots, after having treated them to a particularly fearsome version of the Haka. The Scots and myself are doubly confused by some bright spark’s decision to dress both teams in what seems to be the same grey-blue kit. Probably the stench of fear coming from the Scots allows the New Zealanders to know who to tackle.
Anway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. If anyone can think of anything interesting I should write about, post it in the comments.