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the time and, most importantly, trusted his judgement when it came to pricing in the FX and commodity markets.
    â€œHey Jay,” called Toby as he was trying to get the attention of his pal. “Will we order some food for the table, the Wagyu beef with those hot sauces and the Hamachi and jalapeno starter?”
    Jay nodded and then continued his deep conversation with Kai whom he had known for years, way back to when they were students at Birkbeck.
    OK, thought Toby. I guess I’ll be the dynamic motherfucker who goes to all the bother of trying to attract the all too good looking waiters or waitresses to take an order, despite the fact that it’s my credit card that’s behind the till racking up the bill. At least I’ll know I’ve ordered what I want. These two neer-do-wells can like it or lump it.
    Toby liked Jay and Kai. When the three of them were together he called them J-K, partly because it saved a millisecond of time compared to saying both their names in full and partly because it conjured up visions of that Jay Kay singer bloke with Jamiroquai. The songs were rubbish thought Toby but the crazy frontman had a passion for supercars so he couldn’t be totally useless.
    Toby looked like a man who liked his beef. He was slim once, maybe even twice, but years of sitting in a chair, looking at a screen had taken its toll. He was thirty-nine years old but looked well older than JJ who was three or four years his senior. He didn’t go to the gym, he didn’t swim, he didn’t cycle. He didn’t have kids to keep him on his toes either. Indeed, Toby was a bit of a sloth, but he had his hair, his own teeth and no STDs to tell of, despite a few risqué encounters and, relevant to his continued employment, his trading brain was as sharp as a great white’s teeth.
    Toby tracked down Fernando, the waiter. He had no idea whether or not he was called Fernando, but he had that dark, Hispanic look about him, like Antonio Banderas or that tennis geezer Verdasco. Or it could just be Nobu’s lighting and he was like Casper the friendly ghost in daylight. Toby placed an order and went back to J-K. They were out of their deep conversation, and K beckoned Toby a bit closer.
    â€œTobester my man. What do you think about gold? You’ve got a great track record on it and we’re seeing a lot of activity in the hedgie space.” To Kai everything was a –ster. The Queenster, the Boltster, even the wifester and the kidster, if he had any. But he was a smart kid i.e. under thirty, and the guys at JP Morgan held him in high regard.
    â€œAh, the barbarous relic,” replied Toby, recalling what John Maynard Keynes, probably England’s best ever economist, had called the shiny metal. “Gold is unique. It was once the centre of the international monetary system. No other commodity has ever been that. Central Banks hold it in reserve by the tonne. Indians love it (dot, not feather), rappers stick it in their teeth, Californians used to kill for it and children are told they’re ‘good as gold’, not platinum, or titanium or any other –um. So the first thing to realise about gold – is that it’s special.”
    When it came to business, Toby was always serious. There was no sign of any effect of his now four Sonic Screwdrivers as he continued to present the potted history of gold to J-K, whether they wanted it or not. He was one of only a handful of financial types who could speak while eating and not simultaneously spray half munched bits of food over his attentive audience. Toby had skills. During another mouthful of delicious Wagyu beef, Toby now turned his attention to the current position of gold.
    â€œGold yields no income, it’s not a bond, it’s not an equity and it’s not a currency deposit. When global interest rates are high, holding gold in your portfolio has a substantial opportunity cost. If the price doesn’t go up