I don’t know many professional traders. By professional, I mean traders who work for a bank, a fund, an institution of some sort. Nowadays I’ve heard you need to have some degree to become one – and an FSA exam. My fellow traders are like me; people who got fed up to be told what to do or who couldn’t get a job anymore because they are ” too old” ( i.e. above 45). But they are guys who still want the money.
Now lots of people have distorted glasses when it comes to trading; you have the ones who believe that it is evil, that only greed drives you, you’re a bloody useless capitalist ready to take the wool out of some poor workers stiff back and you will end up in the streets with no one to cry over you. You have been warned. The others think that you are going to be the next big guy, flashing Rolex and Ferrari with two blonde girls to body guard you. They want to be in your shoes. What make are they by the way? You have Tods as slippers, haven’t you?
The 3rd cathegory is far more discreet. They are the ones who knows. You don’t make money in one day and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what to do. You may end up having a Porsche , but it will mostly remain in the garage while you sweat behind your computer. Your wife wears Prada, Armani and Gucci, but you wouldn’t know your kids names as you never see them. The reason you’re not divorced is that, for all that you know, your wife’s lover might have been in your bed for the last ten years but as for you, you sleep in your office. You drink tons of coffee- tea if you’re English- and you look 15 years older than you really are.

So what does it take to become a trader?. You have to want the money, all the way deep down inside. If you think you do but somehow believe that money is dirty/ tacky/ undeserved- you’re fucked. Then you have to have an open mind. The market always have the last word- and the last laugh. What you think is going to happen doesn’t count. It is what you see that matters. You have to be ready for the market; you must have at all time an answer. If you don’t, it will be like driving a car without knowing how to brake.
You have to be disciplined. The only way to find out what you are worth is to have a trading plan, including some money management ( no, you don’t bet all your money on one horse only), some risk management (how much can you take and how much are you willing to suffer?) and a strategy. You should always know when you buy, when you sell, when you cut your losses. And you have to be prepared to have losses- they happen all the time. Keep a journal and write down everything- how much you put on a trade, your strategy, the time of your entry/exit/whatever and the outcome.
Once you have all this, you start working. It means you try a strategy, you play it until you know even in your sleep what you’re doing and you back test everything you have done. Then you learn another strategy- once you have started making some money. If you lose more than 40% of your initial savings- stop. You’re doing something wrong. Have a look at your trades. Review one by one each of them. You may discover that between 10 and 11 Am you’re not good and make bad decisions. You may discover you enter your trades too late. You might even discover that your strategy makes you nervous or that after a loss or a gain you blow it. Find were your weaknesses are- and you will find a path.
In most of the books I have read the emotional side of trading is reduced to a few paragraphs on what the French call ” de la psychologie de cuisine” ( cooking psychology, i.e. such basic stuff that your 4 year-old kid could tell you what it means). Truth is, you are going to ride on a roller coaster. And you’re gonna puke many many times. You have to have good nerves and be ready to take a few punches in the stomac. You have to be focused and hold on to your dreams. If you’re in only for the money, you’re lying. You have to love the game. If it gives you white hair within the first 6 months, get out. You’re dead already and you don’t know it.
Now you will always meet a trader who’s cleverer than you are. Some lie – they are easy to spot. Some brag – but soon reality takes them back to earth. Some have ups and downs. Some never say a word. You can work with a guy 12 hours a day and not know that he has a mother, a wife and speaks 5 languages. All you talk about are the markets and your latest trades.
You will never stop learning and you will have to be adaptable. The tools, the markets, the people change all the time. History sometimes repeat itself but sometimes not. Learning is never enough you will have then to apply what you’ve learned.
When you start dreaming about it every night you have a foot in the door.
And if you go that far…You will wake up on your death bed. I guess. Give me the time, but before that, I’ll say : ” show me the money!”.

PS:Oh yes. Every little hiccup is a she. Currency is a bitch, trades are hookers, and so on. I don’t care, I am a bitch myself and take great joy to see these tough guys on their knees because of a “she”. Told you I am mean.

I am a woman. My husband is a man. So far, so good. We are madly in love with each other. I can’t fall asleep without having at least my foot around his leg or my head on his shoulder. When I wake up in the morning his smell brightens my day. When I look at him I feel an overwhelming wave of tenderness. He makes me happy. He listens to me, rub my back when I am tired, support me when I get mad and he’s always there when I need him. He tells me he loves and he buys me flowers without having to cheat on me first. When we have some time together we always have something to tell to each other. We laugh at each other and each other’s jokes. Now stop puking.
So my life is paradise- or so I am told. My girlfriends envy me. My hubby is a great father, a fabulous lover, the best friend you can dream of. If I dare to disagree momentarily, women shrug their shoulders; he’s just a man, I should know better. Men start avoiding my eyes; they say I am clever enough to get everything sorted. So I am discovering that the war of the sexes still rages. Where is the problem? It is not the washing up undone, the socks across the room, the can of beer left on the chimney, the house chores that only get done by a female’s hand. It is not the fact that his work always seems to be more important than mine even though I may be this month / year the breadwinner of the family. It’s is not that, given the choice, I would happily sink in the sofa to read a book and let him do the thousand and ones little things that need to be done ( saw buttons, vacuum clean the house and the stairs, sort out the kids clothes, get rid of old paper junk, glue the pictures of the last 3 years in the family album….I could go on for ages). Instead you can find me doing all these things and more while he plays on his computer saying he’s taking a 15 minutes pause that usually last 2 hours and a half.
It is a no win situation; if I shut up, I have to do all the work. And the rest. If I talk, I am a pain in the ass. In both cases I ended up being unsatisfied. There is no egality in the bedroom.
Men I heard are quite proud of their passive resistance. They bragg that they couldn’t care less about the mess ( translation: I am above the unimportant), they joke that they are lazy, they just walk away and sulk. Women complain to each other in lengthy phone calls and long lunches and always end up the conversation by saying: oh well, that’s life.
But what life is it? Whose life?
I know the solution of course. I shall get a cleaning lady. Now who’s gonna pay for her you think?

As I mentioned before I am in the Uk at the moment – England for the ones who wonder. While I was watching ” The history boys” at the cinema, one of the character in the movie said that he was Muslim. ” Bastards!” cried a man among the viewers. I turned my head in his direction and so did my husband. But no one else did.
So what is the big deal here? English people are afraid of terrorism. Like most Americans as far as I know. Mr Bush has been quite relentlessly making propaganda for his war against terrorism. But a word like this is just a notion, an act; who hides behind it? Wars are not made by ideas but by men. Turns out that a bunch of extremists Muslims are now the ennemy. Mind you, in England the word is out that by 2025, the majority of the population will be Muslim. You can see necks sink into shoulders when you mention the fact. But so what? These people are already here. We talk to them, work with them, eat with them every day- and we don’t notice. Why? Because they are normal. They have nothing to do with the extreme that we fear so much and they are as shocked and as disgusted as we are. Worse now, they have to be associated with the shame – just because their beliefs have the same roots. Now wait a minute…I read the Coran and I read the Bible. They both say something similar: that was their God had to be the first God. Not the only one, the first before the others. So far, so good. But hey, listen, there is a twist: the Coran was brought to men by the archangel Gabriel- the same archangel who came to tell Mary that she was expecting the son of God according to the Bible. Two different religions, created by the same guy. Do you feel dizzy? It’s about time.
I don’t believe in God- I think I’ve said that before. I don’t believe in magic either or in aliens or in an overpowering energy of some sort. I do not believe that we are gods either, or part of him. I am a sad sod. What you see is what you get. And what I see, what the Bible and the Coran say, is that we are all the same.
Now go and blame someone else.

I went to see ” The Break Up” last summer. I was quite surprised to see a lot of young people (young= under 20) there as I would have thought that 1) chick flicks are an embarrassing place to be seen 2) how could any of them feel concerned by the subject 3) I had not become so prejudiced.
So this young guy sits just behind me with his flirt. He has pimples all over his face and greasy hair but you can still see him with his school uniform. She has one, the skirt has become ra-ra and she’s covered with make up applied with a trowel. He says:
– Have you been waiting for long? I am sorry I was late.
Her:
-Naaahhh.
– How long would you have waited for me if I hadn’t turned up?
-Oh,forever.
-You mean, what?, 15 minutes? 30?
-Yeah.
Silence.
-You could have gone to Starbucks, you know. I wouldn’t have seen you but you would, right?
– I went there.
The little guy:
-Oh woaw,man, I mean…You’re wild!

Not so prejudiced after all?

I haven’t chosen to work. If I could have, I would have happily stayed at home, looked after my kids, do charity work and read all day. Of course I would have had a cleaning lady 8 hours a day and 6 days a week. Could have been a cleaning man, for all that I care, but I have my doubts about ever even meeting one. I guess I’d need a wife to be honest, but I am far from being a lesbian and I am afraid that by now it is not exactly the kind of experience I would even remotely contemplate, even drunk. Sorry sisters.
So here it goes. I usually wake up around 7AM. I go straight to my computer and do my set-ups for the day, read the news and generally get prepared to play the market. I am currently in the UK and do spreadbetting – an invention that make most of our fellows US traders green with envy. The reason? No taxes on spreadbetting- as long as you don’t start making a decent living with it. Then the tax man cometh along… Life is unfair.
The kids are usually up by the time I reach my desk. The girls run around with hundreds of demands while I try to figure out what I am doing. Sometimes I am patient. Sometimes I find it hard, especially if they have woken me up during the night for a glass of water or because they had a nightmare or…whatever. Parents know what I am talking about, the others…Welcome to your future. My dear husband usually defuses the frustration by taking the girls in the kitchen for breakfast. Between 9AM and 11AM – depending on the frenzy of the market, I have a shower and my breakfast. Then I start cleaning the kitchen/ the bathrooms, doing the washing/the ironing, dusting/vacuum-cleaning, and so on. Life is so exciting.
Hubby prepares lunch. He cooks, helps me to do the dishes, do the shopping, get the bins out and fix all my computer’s problems. He supports me day and night. I have a great guy, I am flucky (=fucking lucky). Now he hasn’t fallen from heaven and he has heard my screams as well as the whole neighbourhood when I didn’t find him helpful enough. Under this aspect, we are normal.
In the afternoon I get ready for the US market. Still a learning process – so I play the indices. Or I try to play. Between 3PM and 5PM, I stop. I usually spend then time with my daughters. We go to the park, do some shopping, visit exhibitions, go to museums. When it rains, we watch dvds, play with dolls, cook. Then it’s dinner time – usually a light one unless we have guests. Then I do my homework, which consists in reviewing my trades of the day, study the whole FTSE 350, prepare my trades for the next day and set up my alarms.
Once I am finished, I go and read a story to Olivia and Eugenia, after their bath, given by my sweet other half. Then it’s play time. I watch a movie, I read a book, I learn some new strategy that I can use for my trading.
I’d wish I could hit the sack by 10.30PM but hubby has a tendency to remain up until midnight. we have to compromise- I end up falling asleep around 11.30 if I am lucky.
And then I start again. Is it worth it? When you have small children, suicide is not an option. Just kidding.

Hi, hello, bonjour, welcome.
As far as you’re concerned, my name is James. Not James Bond, not James Blond, just James. Although I have chosen a man’s name, I was born and still am a woman. I have 5 kids to prove it – with pictures and films handy for the ones who believe what they see only. But I won’t show you this as I prefer to remain anonymous for the time being. Why? Because I can’t stand the idea of being stopped on the streets and asked about any content of this blog. So here you go, you have a first clue: I am ambitious.
I was born in 1964. I do not look that old, but I am committed to not growing old gracefully. This said, there is no way I am going to put any botox in my face. Whoever had this idea is a genius : poison your wrinkles! Sounds great to me, but at the end, who are you poisonning really?
I have been brought up as a Catholic but I am very sorry to say I was never a believer. I was 4 the first time I discussed my beliefs and I remember vividly the spanking that ensued right after the words came out of my mouth. I have been nonetheless forced to go to church until I was old enough to fight back – which turned out to be around my 14th birthday. Second clue: I grew up in a violent family environment.
I stopped my studies before finishing University. I studied philosophy, French literature, Russian ( forgotten by now), and psychology. English is not my mother tongue so I hope you will forgive me any grammar, spelling and other sorts of mistakes.
I have been married twice. My first marriage started in 1989 and was over in 2000. I was then left with 3 lovely little boys. Their names in this blog are fictious . My first son, Alex, was born in 1993. The second, Luca, in 1995. The 3rd, Martin in 1997. I met my second husband in 2001 when I thought that I’d never find love and was quite resigned to it. We got married in 2003. We have 2 little girls together, Olivia, born in 2002 and Eugenia, born in 2004.
In 2003 I realized that we had more money coming out than coming in. So I had to go back to work. I previously had been a McDonald employee, a cleaning lady, a model, a translator and a teacher. But I had no degree and had been away from work for about a decade. Although I wanted to go back to University I still had the children to look after, so I had to find a solution. My first though was “Who would ever employ a 40-something woman who has 5 kids and has been out of the game for more than 10 years?” The only idea I could have was “I need money so I should go where the money is.” I registered to a course about trading. I had no idea how it worked, what it meant, whatever. But I had to start somewhere- so I did.
I have been learning trading since October 2005.
I have multiple interests. I like reading novels, magazines, and if there is none in sight I am able to turn towards dictionnaries and the yellow pages out of despair. I read psychology books, trading books and any books I am being given. I will review them through this blog. I like movies- I tend more towards chick flicks and oldies movies, but my sweet husband prefers horror, thrillers and teenage comedies, so you should have a full panorama of different tastes. I am interested in nutrition, politics, environment issues, embroidery, knitting, travels, alternative medicines, NLP, hypnosis, and a bunch of other things.
I don’t know how I do it. I have been asked many times, but I just don’t know. I am quite sure that one day, 20 years down the line, we – women- will wonder why we have put ourselves under so much pressure. But so far I am doing it.
So this is what this is all about- marriage, kids, job, trading, and the rest. The exception is that this blog is about me – so for once I will not figure at the end of the list.
I have to warn you: I am NOT a politically correct person. And I swear. And I am not always nice. So if you don’t like it, please, don’t bother me about it. I have better things to do. My knowledge may be limited sometimes and my opinoins are only mine. You don’t like it, change the page.
Hasta la vista…and welcome to my world.