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Dragon's den

Created:
9 May 2008
Written by:
Bernard Jones

WEDNESDAY 9 APRIL: Members only

Arrive at share club full of high spirits after investing my mother's commodity cash, and offer to fund a round for all members. However, the crackle of cheap trousers moving fast reveals that first at the bar is none other than Russell Traugh. The Ring o'Bells' own resident Yorkshireman is cheekily demanding a treble Courvoisier. However, Chantelle is serving and she's no fool.

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"That's £6.90 please, Russell," she says brightly.

"Cobblers! Bernie's buying this round. I heard him say so."

"Club. Members. Only," she said, enunciating each word through her black-lined lips. "You've never joined."

"C'mon, pet, I'm as good as in. Look at all the share tips and free advice I've offered you lot," Russell said.

"Unwanted advice, insultingly dispensed," noted Martin.

"You bunch of wazzocks. I should be treated as an honorary member, for God's sake," Russell whined.

"C'mon. £6.90, quick," Chantelle said. "People are waiting."

"Well, I'll have a lime and soda instead then," he grumbled, fishing out a grubby 20p piece from his pocket.

Chantelle put the brandy glass behind the bar, and poured the lime and soda. "So, that's £7.90 altogether."

"But I'm not having the brandy now!" Russell squeaked.

"I've already poured it. It won't go back in the optic, will it? Cough up now, or you're barred!"

"And a bloody pound for a lime and soda, what a rip-off," Russell groaned. We all watched as he fished in a back pocket, and pulled out the most mangy bank note we had ever seen.

"Sorry. Don't take Scottish," Chantelle said. "House rules."

"It's legal tender, you gothic horror story!"

Chantelle responded by taking a good swig from the brandy. "Cheers, Russ. Another insult, and I'll finish it."

Grumbling continuously, Russell pulled out an ancient wallet, held together with packing tape, and connected by a long chain to his Traughmatic Abrasives jacket. None of us had ever seen it before, and indeed were not likely to see it again. He took his one-and-a-half drinks and stalked off into the front bar.

KP Sharma, meanwhile, is urging us to look at banks. "They're discounting every piece of bad news," he says. "Look at Royal Bank of Scotland. £3.70p each, yielding 8.9 per cent! Come on Bernard, now that you've got your winnings, how about contributing a bit more into the club? It'd be very contrarian."

Harry says: "KP, can I just say two words...?"

"I know, Northern Rock," sighs KP. "But there has to come a bottom, and you can't recognise it until you're past it. All you have to go on are fundamentals. There really is an awful lot of damage already in the price."

I tell them that I'd still prefer a candidate to go 'short' on. I mention my foray into Rentokil, and ask for other candidates.

"What about Punch Taverns?" says Mike Delaney. "This place has been quieter than the grave since the New Year. Maybe their other pubs are down too."

"Yeah," says Chantelle. "I know what the problem is. Too many Russells, not enough Bernards."

SATURDAY 19 APRIL: Antichrist

We're off to see Brian and Janet for the day. Eunice nagged me throughout the entire journey about my 'lack of appreciation'.

"You haven't worn that lovely cravat that I bought you for your birthday, not once in two-and-a-half weeks."

"Well, I'd just feel like a refugee from The Amorous Prawn expected to say 'Rath-er' every two seconds. Besides, crimson's not really my colour."

"Bernard, you have no idea. Your wardrobe is drabber than a Volgograd council estate. A splash of colour would do you good. "

She joined sartorially-critical forces with Janet as soon as we arrived, and while Brian was on vegetable peeling duty I took refuge with the Antichrist in his bedroom. With the PC now removed, as a just penalty for his damage to Perfect Peter's bank accounts, Digby has renewed an interest in tabletop wargaming. However, looking more closely at his figurines it seems they are a mixture of science fiction and Dungeons & Dragons, using mythical beasts armed with flamethrowers and First World War tanks.

"It's called Warhammer 40,000," he says. "You could take me down to Games Workshop and I could show you how to play, if you like. I could let you have some of my Smarties, too, Grandad."

The mendacious mite certainly knows my weak points. No doubt I'll be expected to buy him something from Games Workshop, too, but it certainly beats discussing my wardrobe with my own dragon, so I'm game. Besides, it'll give me an insight into this odd retail phenomenon, which has in the past proved quite profitable for investors in the company.

MORE FROM THE SAGE OF SUBURBIA...

Read more of Bernard's musings at his IC home page.

Write to him at bernard.jones@ft.com

You can buy Nick Louth's two Bernard Jones books at a discount in the IC bookstore.

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