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===The South African credit-linked note and the misunderstood [[sw-æp]]=== | ===The South African credit-linked note and the misunderstood [[sw-æp]]=== | ||
It was two decades ago, a mild Friday evening in the infancy of the [[credit derivative|credit derivatives]] market. It was all to do with a secured [[note]], [[credit-linked note|credit-linked]] to the republic of South Africa. I had drafted it — elegantly, if I do say so myself — and [[Facsimile|faxed]] if off, as one did in those days, to our client, a giant investment bank, and the prospective purchaser. The week’s work done, I was putting my blazer on and groping for my brolly when the phone rang. | |||
I turned on my heels and regarded it resentfully. Should I answer? | |||
Valour got the better part of discretion, and I did. | |||
I | It turned out to be a partner from that famous derivatives firm<ref>Not famous. It was and, as far as I know, still is, a shipping and marine insurance specialist.</ref> Stephenson Harwood. He announced himself as the prospective client’s solicitor and told me he had some [[comments]] on the [[swap]]. | ||
Only he pronounced it “[[sw-æp]]”, to rhyme with “crap”, and not “[[sw-ŏp]]”, to rhyme with chop — something that, after [[Noel Edmonds]], you would think no self-respecting British child, let alone one who had matured into a [[derivatives]] whizz, would do. | |||
In any case, there went my Friday evening. In due course this chap faxed in his mark-up of the, er, [[sw-æp]]. He had rather gone to town on it, in a manner indicating only a passing acquaintance with the derivatives market, but great expertise in the complications that arise when one transports goods by sea. | |||
My supervising partner in those days was an excitable fellow<ref>''Highly'' excitable. To keep a lid on his blood pressure, he retired shortly thereafter and now runs a newsagent in Gillingham.</ref>. I confess it was with salacious glee that I trotted around and dropped the [[comments]] — which were as compendious as they were ill-informed — on his desk, the way an obstreperous child might drop a lit match onto a paper envelope of doggie-doo before leaving it on a neighbour’s doorstep, ringing the doorbell and departing.<ref>This is a variety of “knock-down ginger” called, we are informed, “shite alight”.</ref> | |||
It had the anticipated effect. Whilst the young [[JC]] was patiently explaining this unexpected setback to our client — a callow but quick young fellow from Dublin, in his first year out from Trinity College — the supervisor stormed into the room, his face a rich shade of puce. | |||
“I have never been so outraged”, said | “I have ''never'' been so outraged”, said he, “and I have covered his ridiculous mark-up with unspeakable obscenities! Filthy! Words that start with “c” and “p”!” | ||
There was the most exquisite pause before | There was the most exquisite pause before an Irish voice on the speakerphone interjected: | ||
“[[Conditions precedent]]?” | “[[Conditions precedent]]?” | ||
Latest revision as of 09:16, 23 February 2024
The South African credit-linked note and the misunderstood sw-æp
It was two decades ago, a mild Friday evening in the infancy of the credit derivatives market. It was all to do with a secured note, credit-linked to the republic of South Africa. I had drafted it — elegantly, if I do say so myself — and faxed if off, as one did in those days, to our client, a giant investment bank, and the prospective purchaser. The week’s work done, I was putting my blazer on and groping for my brolly when the phone rang.
I turned on my heels and regarded it resentfully. Should I answer?
Valour got the better part of discretion, and I did.
It turned out to be a partner from that famous derivatives firm[1] Stephenson Harwood. He announced himself as the prospective client’s solicitor and told me he had some comments on the swap.
Only he pronounced it “sw-æp”, to rhyme with “crap”, and not “sw-ŏp”, to rhyme with chop — something that, after Noel Edmonds, you would think no self-respecting British child, let alone one who had matured into a derivatives whizz, would do.
In any case, there went my Friday evening. In due course this chap faxed in his mark-up of the, er, sw-æp. He had rather gone to town on it, in a manner indicating only a passing acquaintance with the derivatives market, but great expertise in the complications that arise when one transports goods by sea.
My supervising partner in those days was an excitable fellow[2]. I confess it was with salacious glee that I trotted around and dropped the comments — which were as compendious as they were ill-informed — on his desk, the way an obstreperous child might drop a lit match onto a paper envelope of doggie-doo before leaving it on a neighbour’s doorstep, ringing the doorbell and departing.[3]
It had the anticipated effect. Whilst the young JC was patiently explaining this unexpected setback to our client — a callow but quick young fellow from Dublin, in his first year out from Trinity College — the supervisor stormed into the room, his face a rich shade of puce.
“I have never been so outraged”, said he, “and I have covered his ridiculous mark-up with unspeakable obscenities! Filthy! Words that start with “c” and “p”!”
There was the most exquisite pause before an Irish voice on the speakerphone interjected:
- ↑ Not famous. It was and, as far as I know, still is, a shipping and marine insurance specialist.
- ↑ Highly excitable. To keep a lid on his blood pressure, he retired shortly thereafter and now runs a newsagent in Gillingham.
- ↑ This is a variety of “knock-down ginger” called, we are informed, “shite alight”.