It’s not much of an accolade. It’s like winning the tallest dwarf competition, or being the most endowed eunuch, but it’s the biggest tribute I can pay to the bloke who is almost single-handedly keeping Subsistence Broking in booze, I mean, in business. It is said — often by me — that every customer gets the salesman he deserves but in this instance it may not be true because heaven knows “Rude” deserves so much better. I know this may sound a bit rich but he is the grumpiest, most curmudgeonly, old croak out there on the buyside and I love him for it because, well, people say the same about me on the sellside. Rude: I salute you.
The relationship began at dinner some 15 years ago. We were on a crowded, raucous table of celebrated hedge funders and lairy, bull-market brokers and there was one mouthy dealer slagging off sales-traders as phone jockeys/glorified receptionists/order monkeys to all and sundry and complaining that none was worthy
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