News in Brief

Everyone made a great fuss over Paul Newman, but did you know that the supposed 'nice guy' of Hollywood actually committed a series of bank robberies with an outlaw by the name of the 'Sundance Kid'?

From the journals of Dorothy Wordsworth

July 25th: Failed to get out of bed this morning. Finally emerged at 4.30 p. m. o'clock. Wm. busy transcribing a conversation with a cowherd that had taken place the previous afternoon.

July 26th: Incident with a hard-boiled egg, Wm. was unaccountably angry. Baked a pie. Ate said pie. Sate quitely for a while. Wm. drank heavily and raved. Turned in a little after ten.

July 27th: Found a pustule on the underside of my foot. I forget what became of it. Wm. wrote another ghastly exemplum for young siblings.

July 28th: Walked in the afternoon near a stone wall. Found a jackdaw, lately mauled by a badger. Wm. much amused.

July 29th: A drowned cow washed up by the onion patch. Ignored a tramp, cuffed a stray infant. Must go into town and throw up in the apothecary's window-box.

Untitled, apparently

I recently had a free weekend, and decided to take a trip up to visit an elderly maiden Aunt of mine, who lives a life of genteel poverty in the wilds of Northumbria. I got on the train and opened a small cask of amontillado and an attache case full of periodicals. As we headed north the scenery grew progressively more rugged and dreadful, and train itself suffered a sad and progressive change, from the shining modern conveyance I had first boarded to a clanking diesel monstrosity that grew more shabby and stained as time went by, electric light fading to gas, until it disappeared altogether and left me standing on the tracks with my attache case in my hand and the firkin of sherry empty on the ground, as night closed in fast around me. I had little choice but to shoulder my burden and proceed along the line northward. Eventually I came to a small and ramshackle hamlet. My arrival was greeted with the barking of dog, and a man clad in clerical collar and tricorn hat poked his head out of a doorway.
'Yeel be warnting a roum for tha nicht' he stated, in a grotesque dialect unfamiliar to my ears. I answered with ready enthusiasm.
'Please, if you would be so good.'
'Yeel be needin ta goo oop ta tha Abby for tha' he cackled, pointing a horny finger toward the dark Gothic spire which loomed on a crag over the village.
I hied my way toward the landmark with trepidation, and smote thrice on its heavy oaken door. Judge of my surprise when the door swung open, without the hint of groan, to reveal none other then Lord Mandelson, dressed in a v-neck jumper and ermine robes. I explained my predicament, and in no time at all he had ushered me in and sat my in front of the fire in a fluffy dressing gown with a beaker of sprightly young burgundy by my side. The Baron, I noticed, preferred a rather darker and frothier vintage, which ran in sticky rivulets down his chin as he greedily supped. His furniture was simple and tasteful, of a modern style, made almost exclusively of brushed aluminium. I asked expressed my admiration.
'Oh yes' he said, 'they were the gift of a friend. I had to pay the import duty of course, but the tariffs were surprisingly reasonable.'
He stood up and walked over to a large and bubbling cauldron. I followed, eager to see what could be afoot. As he cast his taloned hand over the liquid, the surface became at once lucid, and I was able to see, within the depths, a remarkable vision of the Tory Headquarters. David Cameron and Boris Johnson were stripped to the waist, though with their white ties still round their necks, and they had large cigars in their mouths. They were holding Gideon Osborne by his ankles and banging his head on the floor.
'What do you have to say for yourself?' cried Mr Cameron.
'I neither requested nor received money!' ejaculated the unfortunate Osborne, only to receive a renewed drubbing against the floorboards.
'Stamp on his face! Pull his ears!' squealed an excited Michael Gove from corner, where he was standing with Johnson and Cameron's respective coats in his hands.
'I, I, I'm very sorry for an error in judgment!' stammered out Osborne. The Tory twosome dropped him to the floor.
'Now get out' growled Johnson, his usually warm feature contorted with malice and port, and Osborne fled the room under a hail of champagne bottles.
Back in Northumblerland, Lord Mandelson again ran his hand across the surface of the liquid, and the scene faded into opacity.
'It looks like 2009 will be a good year' opined the Baron quietly.'

Long live the Krugerrand

In these times of heightened financial uncertainty which is justly dethroning the dom Engels from their ivory tower of Capitalism. Perhaps the world will use recent events to reflect on its dangerous addiction to fiat currency.

With the contingent threat of inflation and forgery, I advocate the return to a more stable form of tender. The humble gold coin- more specifically the Krugerrand. Weighing in at approximately 1oz, just one of these coins at today's prices would purchase exactly 380 pork pies from Tesco. It is both portable and beautiful, bearing the image of our great leader, Stephanus Johannes Paulus Kruger (Paul Kruger).

Widespread use of the krugerrand would usher in an era of stability and peace not seen since Calvin Coolidge

Morbidity

It was the first Monday of the week, there being several dotted around just to trip one up. With some trepidation I made my way to the Harley Street "Wellness" Clinic. It caused me no end of panic on my way there; that they had slowly shifted the term from "Medical" to "Wellness"- not simply the absence of illness but a positive state of good health. It seems unfair that they should raise the bar so, but unfortunately I do not make the rules (rest assured, doctors will be first against the wall when the revolution comes).

I was slightly disappointed to find my check-up was to be supervised by a nurse as opposed to a doctor. Somebody had paid good money for this and I felt short-changed. She took me through a series of grueling tests, extracting blood and urine. I was then informed that my body's ability to react to cardiovascular stress would be tested. The nurse claimed this would involve me lying down with a heart rate monitor attached to my navel, followed by zestful stimulation at some random moment. I feared she would pull a Smith & Wesson on me while I was forced to sprint on a treadmill. No firearms were brandished but I did have to jump off the bed in the most alarming fashion.

Simultaneously great swathes of data were being collected by an angry IBM in the corner of the room. This personal information will, no doubt, be passed on to the highest bidder in some dingy underground cock-fighting ring to Nigerians so they can manufacture my biometric details.

When the battery of terrifying and emasculating tests had reached their conclusion I was ushered towards the computer which began spitting out red warning signs. My anti-oxidants were decent enough but I was "high risk" for pretty much everything else.

The nurse told me I would be stumbling into my thirties with diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure and possibly cancer. This is surely the moment where they would cross-sell me a weekend at their all-inclusive spa. No spa offers came. Instead some vague exercise routine was scrawled on the back of a "Wellness" pack and I was given a bottle of water, a granola bar and a banana. I was then shoved out into the street, index finger still bleeding from the blood test.

I thoroughly recommend that all Post-Newt readers remain blissfully ignorant and stay away from medicine.

On a cheery note, I hear Dogtooth is roaming around the Pembrokeshire coast with a sack full of billiard balls looking for theists. Good luck, they're fast.

I rather enjoyed this

I stumbled upon this link and decided that it is best of fight fire with fire.

So, here, I will attempt to explain how to create a synthetic asset. Let's say we wish to make a copy of a share in Exxon Mobil- that is a security that mirrors the risk and return of Exxon Mobil shares.

Call the current market price of Exxon stock p.

Create a derivatives contract which includes:
1. The "right to buy" several Exxon shares in three months time at price p
2. The "obligation to buy" several Exxon shares in three months time at price p
The money we will make from selling at step 2 pays for our activities in step 1, the net cost is zero

What we are left with is a security that has cost us nothing but must correlate to the price movements Exxon shares because in three months time it will unavoidably be exchanged for Exxon Stock. In the meantime it is an asset with a market value which can be traded

I am sure this is the most boring entry yet to be published on Post-Newt. However when one considers the Socialist Youth of Scotland, it seems just right.