Allow me to expand on the reasons for my forced sabbatical.
It was Sunday, April 15.
Still groggy and hungover after a turbulent night trading the Asian session, I indulged in a snoozy franc over one of my customary haunts - MovingAverages.com. It was only whilst enjoying the dulcet tones of Songs of Praise followed by a heart-warming episode of Meerkat Manor later that evening that I became aware of my unshakeable stiffy.
This was one technical tool that was not shifting. I had been struck down (or rather, stood up by) priapism.
For those of you unfamiliar with this pernicious condition, 'priapism' is the state used to describe a penis that has been turgid for more than four hours. I was helpless victim of human osmosis. It was as if a suffocating stop loss had formed at the base of my shaft. No blood could break through. This was not a glorious, nostalgic erection from my teenage years, but an oppressive horn of swollen, venous meat. I was experiencing rigidity in the markets.
No amount of stimulation could suppress this stubborn spike. Febrile from my newfound status as Priapus (the Greek god of fertility) incarnate, part of me wanted to experiment with my poisoned phallus. But trading is a solitary profession - there was no options market.
Donning a pair of long-johns in a desperate attempt to conceal my monolith, I made a trip to accident and emergency. I was told I had suffered a blood clot, and an invasive operation was required.
It is from my hospital bed recovering that I write this blog. With my member now mummified by bandages and dressings, it is is pale shadow of the boorish beast it was before. Rather like the Euro, it feels used, abused, devalued and unable to satisfy Margaret Thatcher.
I haven't received a long term prognosis. Let's just say I don't envisage the price rising anytime soon.
There Will Be No Bunga Bunga with Berlusconi
