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Investor lock-out

Created:
19 September 2008
Updated:
1 October 2008
Written by:
Bernard Jones

TUESDAY 19 AUGUST: Dogged by misfortune

Looking after Nasdog for a week (again) while my dippy daughter Jemima and her fop-haired boyfriend Toby take another unnecessary and over-long holiday. Eunice persuaded me that we should take the overactive hound on a long jaunt across the South Downs. What a mistake that turned out to be. We packed the Volvo with wellingtons, Barbour jackets and all the other accoutrements of the dog-walking middle classes and set off. To begin with, despite some showers, it was rather invigorating. The trouble began when we had returned to the car. After Nasdog had dodged the towel I was pursuing him with, and instead shaken himself over the both of us, we put him in the back of the estate while we changed out of wellies. While I struggled with one boot one and one off, Eunice closed the back to stop the dog jumping out again. However, Nasdog leapt against the window and there was an ominous clunk. The car's indicators flashed.

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"What was that?" Eunice asked.

"You've set the central locking off," I replied. "Give me the keys a moment."

"But I don't have them," she replied. "I put them in the back with my wellies, while I put my moccasins on."

"What!" I roared. I peered through the rain-flecked back window and, sure enough, the keys were visible under the dog's rear paw.

"Has he locked us out?" Eunice said.

"You stupid woman, you've locked us out. Never leave keys in the boot of a car. I've told you that before."

"Don't take that tone with me, Bernard. I had to put them down while I pulled my boots off."

I was wearing only one boot, one soggy sock, a pair of now soaking corduroy trousers and a polo shirt. Eunice was in cardigan and skirt and unsuitable indoor footwear. All our waterproofs, my wallet and the mobile phone were snug and warm, inside the car with the dog. The only other car in the car park had just left, and we were alone at the end of a drenched country lane, miles from the nearest house. As the rain began to pour, recriminations began in earnest. Nasdog, sensing discord, barked furiously at us. I gave him some new names in retaliation.

"Don't blame him, it's not his fault," Eunice said.

"Very true, it's yours!" I responded. "Perhaps you'd be good enough to walk into the village and see if we can get some help."

"But it's miles. My moccasins will be ruined. Can't you go?"

"I see. It's too far for you to walk, but not too far for me to be expected to hop in a single wellington."

"Perhaps we can get Nasdaq to jump on the keys again?" Eunice said brightly. So we then commenced a half-hour game of tormenting the dog, tapping on the window, waving sticks and endless other ideas to get him to tread on the key fob again. Although he scampered around furiously, hurling himself against the window, he just never landed quite where we needed him to. Our relief finally came, an hour later, when another motorist came by and let me use his phone to reach the AA.

WEDNESDAY 20 AUGUST: Zotefoams results

Nasdog, perhaps sensing my irritation yesterday, has been all friendly wags and affection today. He even pulled the latest Chronic Investor off the coffee table and brought it to me. The magazine, a weekly reminder of what a miserable year this has been for my portfolio, had been lying unread since arrival last Friday. However, I couldn't help noticing that the saliva-soaked page in Nasdog's teeth mentioned Zotefoams, the very stock that the dog had helped me chose in our little game in the garden with tennis balls and which I bought for 82p on 8 July. I had completely forgotten about it, but now discovered that it had produced excellent interim profits, and the shares had jumped above 100p.

I looked at the dog, and looked back at the article. Unbelievably, Jem's dog really has helped me to a 22 per cent profit. And from the way he pulled the magazine over to me, he even seemed to know it. I called Eunice in to tell her my discovery.

"Bernard, you've been spending too much time with your mother. That dog may be brighter than you, but he's still too dim to pick shares."

"Not necessarily. The Wall Street Journal found in the 1990s that monkeys throwing darts at lists of shares did as well as professional fund managers."

"Oh. I hadn't realised that fund managers were supposed to be any good at darts."

"No, no. At picking shares."

"So should we have our savings with Eric Bristow? Is that what you are saying?" she asked.

Sometimes I give up, I really do.

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 the two Bernard Jones books at a discount in the IC bookstore.

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