Last week I had a lunch date. This is not something I get to have much these days. One of my postgraduate students, Crispin McDonal, contacted me through my university. I knew he\u2019d done rather well in the City but I had lost touch with him. So I felt a little flattered by the invitation to lunch and recalled how Crispin had been quite a darling. I picked out a dress that was probably a questionable choice; I don\u2019t know what I was thinking.<\/p>\n
His office was across the way from rather a swish restaurant called Nobed in Old Park Lane (Thomas informed me later that this was a haunt of celebrities \u2013 he follows that sort of thing).\u00a0 Crispin was welcomed enthusiastically by the headwaiter and was ushered to his usual spot.<\/p>\n
I was naturally eager to find out a little more about any significant events in Crispin\u2019s life since I last saw him but it was difficult to get beyond his ebullience about, well\u2026 money and his exploits in money. Much of it was making the prospect of the next hour across a dining table from him quite heart sinking.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2026 so we put in place an options strangle on Skinning Logistics as it was so obvious the sheep were complacent and volatility would explode. \u00a0When they announced bad results, farm animals stampeded and I\u2019m sitting on a massive profit from my put options – sweet yeah,\u201d he declared as we took our seats, completing a stream of consciousness I had lost track of five minutes after we left his office.<\/p>\n
Quite.<\/p>\n
Still I was impressed with his talk of back-door access to Trump\u2019s team, financing from mega-rich Russian oligarchs and advising Chinese developers. And he was looking forward to Harry and Meghan\u2019s wedding \u2013 yes, he knew Prince Andrew well.<\/p>\n
Crispin, who was always a bit of a porker, ate almost as much as he talked. He mentioned playing polo. I shuddered to think of the poor pony.<\/p>\n
After an age he allowed the conversation to edge away from himself. He asked where I was living and I explained. \u00a0His face lit up and he asked how we found Ash Court. I rambled through its attractions and attributes. He seemed genuinely engaged.<\/p>\n
But with a jolt we were back on all about Crispin. Off he went on his investment strategy in retirement homes (not only did he eat all the pies he seemed have fingers in all sorts of them). Suddenly we were talking about behavioural economics. He declared a \u201cfascination\u201d in the work of Kahneman. Suddenly I was interested.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know it never fails to amaaaaaze me the apparent commmm-plete abandonment of rational choice when people buy a home \u2013 even, no especially, the peasants who should be more bloody careful with their pittance. We\u2019re not talking bounded rationality here \u2013 it\u2019s trussed up Haaaaaaaaha!\u201d I assumed, at the time, present company was excepted.<\/p>\n
He went on: \u201cBut it\u2019s not just the buyers. Sellers are so crap at framing the options: \u2018There it is \u2013\u00a0500k, or two grand a month or whatever \u2013\u00a0take it or leave it.\u2019 There\u2019s no anchor, there\u2019s no working in the prospect. You know I have a thing\u2026 once you get a punter sucked in there\u2019s almost a perceived sunk cost fallacy at play\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
It made for a marginally more stimulating dialogue although his lack of rigour offended my academic instincts. He explained how his strategy was based on extensive study of the \u201ccognitive biases\u201d to which the elderly were particularly prone.<\/p>\n
Then it became sinister.<\/p>\n
His first big idea was about downsizing.\u00a0 He had discovered that old people who were downsizing tended to overpay for apartments as they saw them as cheap compared to their current house: \u201cYou see that\u2019s the anchoring effect,\u201d he explained helpfully. \u00a0He has even advising government that downsizing is the answer to the housing crisis given it clears space for the young.<\/p>\n
He declared with delight that: \u201cOnce the old dears are ensconced in their apartments, they rarely complain about anything \u2013\u00a0they\u2019re old school of course.\u201d Then he illustrated his point in a quivering, old woman voice: \u201cDon\u2019t want to be a burden you know.\u201d\u00a0 The progeny, he snorted, were very keen to believe that their parents were doing fine and the parents were equally keen not to disabuse them.<\/p>\n
A good manager, he said, keeps the maintenance costs to a minimum while he ramps up management charges without a peep from the residents. He almost burst with pride as he described the huge returns possible with the right gearing.<\/p>\n
As he brayed, Ash Court started to tarnish.<\/p>\n
Just as my disillusionment peaked, a delicious desert saved the day \u2013 a perfect sphere of chocolate patisserie.\u00a0 What I hadn\u2019t been told was that it had a liquid chocolate centre. It exploded all over my best dress as I bit into it. This was the dress that I had had dry cleaned specially for the occasion.\u00a0 Crispin came to my rescue with his napkin but I wasn\u2019t keen on the prospect of him pawing my d\u00e9colletage so I retreated to the ladies\u2019 room to clean up.<\/p>\n
However there was no discernable way to turn on the taps. I pushed everything that looked likely and even tried waving. So my dress remained soiled and my dignity unrecovered. I discovered later the taps were voice activated.<\/p>\n
On my return, Crispin somewhat ran out of steam. He clearly realised that he\u2019d failed to demonstrate that he was my prize student. A couple of air kisses and I left for home.<\/p>\n
Our apartment didn\u2019t feel quite so cozy on my return. I told Thomas I\u2019d had a marvelous time. I didn\u2019t share my newfound insight. I\u2019ve taken my dress back to the cleaners. How strangely resonant that phrase sounds.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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