I have heard the call of the Old World, apparently. Visa in hand, it seems the first quarter will see me in the Land of Poisonings of Russian Dissidents. (In an eerie twist, I've actually had drinks in the hotel where the tea cups glow). My apprehension at the concept grows. Certainly, London has proved poison for any number of non-English bankers before me. My options however, find another position or join the press to the UK, leave me with little choice.
"You're the cheapest relocation in the firm," pointed out a Sub Rosa Vice President. "And how would Armin get along without you?"
It is not clear to me what the fate of Going Private will be after the move. I began this adventure as a way to give readers, particularly those not already in the business, a peek into the field. Perhaps, I reasoned, they might reconsider. Perhaps not. Either way they might go in with their eyes more or less open. That purpose, however, seems a little less served by a private equity diary written from London. Nor, I believe, does that form command much of an audience. (Not that Going Private is getting 200,000 visitors a day or anything as it is).
Going Private has been rewarding after a certain fashion. I have turned down or failed to pursue any number of book offers, advertising requests, first dates, media interviews and invitations to cocktails. I suppose that has been flattering. Still, I'm not certain I have really made much of a difference in the way I wanted. But, perhaps that's a self-serving kind of self-pity. The kind that is pungent with the aroma of vanity.
"Going Private" felt more rewarding than will "London on $2500.00 Per Day," I think. But, who knows, maybe my valuation is off. Still, we have a good number of weeks to enjoy before then.
