I tracked down Sir Fred Anderson Goodwin to Sicily where he is living in a small pensione. The irony of his abode did not escape me.
He agreed to meet me in a local hostelry overlooking the Mediterranean on one condition: I paid for the meal. Some things never change.
Me: Fred, why Sicily?
FAG: I wanted to experience life down at heel. But seriously, I like the people here. They are honest. I trust them and they trust me. They are good at keeping secrets.
Me: Regrets?
FAG: I’ve had a feud.
Me: Would you like to expand….?
FAG: No, I made that mistake at RBS.
Me: How do you fill in your day?
FAG: Each morning I wake up, I count my blessings. It’s much quicker than counting my money.
Me: How would you like to be remembered?
FAG: I’d rather people forgot. You’ll not tell them I’m here, will you?
Me: Do you believe in reincarnation?
FAG: I have to. I killed off RBS and just look at it now.
Me: If you had the choice, what would you like to come back as?
FAG: Probably a rat.
Me: Sorry Fred, you can’t be the same thing twice.
And at that, Sir Fred stormed out. I forgot to remind him that this was a cliff top trattoria and that it is not only shares prices that can plummet.
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