And if you fail to execute it properly, you will leave with a hand full of gold dust. Or a fractured ego.

There is a moment in every trader’s life. The moment who’s consequence will be relived and enjoyed on the 7th yacht of the 7th island off the 7th sea (with the 7th wife).

Or the moment that landed your bank in billions of euro of debt a la Jerome Kerviel, waking up for the rest of your life in stripes – or about a fortnight as in his case if you can get them to  release you under formal investigation for breach of trust.

I met my EX for dinner.

The decision to go was a good one.

The time was right. I was ready to hear about his new girlfriend (which no doubt he would have), and I was ready to see him without throwing myself at him. I was ready to treat myself like an individual with respect. I was ready.

And it was going well. Chit chat, new girlfriend, chit chat, work, chit chat, you’re looking great, you’re looking great….

It was good to have him as a friend again.

And was all fine till I grabbed my coat. “What are you doing?” he said surprised and (flatteringly) earnest. And then I slipped. “I wanted to go before you wanted to go,” I said smiling, and then realised that truths are only funny, quaint or cute if they diffuse situations rather than create them.

It was a bad exit strategy.

But then I guess I win on leaving him.

I went to bed with a handful of gummy bears and devoured a bottle of the ‘open in case of emergency’ Champagne that has been chilling behind a half eaten cucumber for a while now. My extra soft duvet devoured me, tipsy and sugared. Not quite my detox plan, but considerably better than falling tipsy into bed with an equally sweet but far more detrimental papa bear.

At least I avoided the worst case scenario.

Positioning wise, I certainly dreamt up new possibilities.