The Emperors New Clothes

Tulips - The original get rich quick scheme.

In the 1600’s the humble Tulip was introduced into the Netherlands from Turkey.  By the mid 1600’s Tulips were the Dutchies fourth biggest export earner. Then things went a bit nuts. Tulips became a luxury item and the wealthy started to line their estates with the garishly coloured flowers. Stripy tulips became particularly sought after and their prices went through the roof. People were paying the equivalent of 10 times the average yearly wage for one tulip bulb.  All of Dutch society dabbled in the Tulip exchanges, in the mistaken belief that the richest in society would always be willing to pay whatever the asking price to get their hands on tulips. Unfortunately they weren’t and over night the price of tulips crashed. Many people lost fortunes; the fools. It would be little comfort for them to learn, but they had just witnessed history - the bursting of the first ever stock market bubble.

Italian cycling fans are generally regarded as being the most passionate and are collectively referred to as the Tifosi. Much like the tulips on the Dutch gentries estates, they line the roads often in garish fancy dress and ring cowbells to exhort their hero’s to superhuman efforts.

France has much to commend it; fine wine, haute cuisine, haute weather, beautiful scenery and of course this year the chance to see me suffer up hill and down dale.  As a result of one or all of these factors a number of my extended family are planning on coming out to France next year. But mostly, I suspect it's to see me suffer. I will have my very own travelling Tifosi.

I decided to try and get my hands on a few cowbells to give as Christmas presents to those who are planning on making the trip out to France during the summer. However, my moral embargo on Amazon meant that finding suitable cowbells was more difficult than I had thought. I found a few on ebay, but was dismayed when my bids of upwards of 20 quid for a simple cowbell were unsuccessful.

I cast my net further and managed to find a company in Pennsylvania who sold the very same cowbells on which I had been out bid on ebay. Individually they were about 2 quid each, unfortunately you can only purchase these in bulk. My mind began to whirr and even a fool such as I could see that with the liberal application of a little entrepreneurial spirit and a sprinkling of a little derring do I could make a killing.  Even with the extra shipping required to get the cowbells across the Atlantic, I'd be quids in. I could just sit back and watch my profits grow, like tulips in the spring. By ploughing any profits back into my sponsorship fund I could go a long way to meeting my sponsorship target. I’d be eating nothing but caviar, wiping my arse on £10 notes and be bathing in champagne until Paris. Everyone would be a winner.

I put the order in 'toute suite' as they say in France. A day or so later I got an email back from the good people at cowbells.com to say that the cost of shipping would be more than I had anticipated, given that I lived in Glasgow, Scotland rather than Glasgow, Kentucky. I didn’t think this unreasonable and the margin of profit was going to be so huge that it was barely a drop in the ocean. And anyhow, captains of industry such as myself are used to overcoming trifling set backs such as this. I replied by return to get them to package them up and send them over, without further delay. After all, I had money to make.

Everything was going swimmingly until I happened to check the latest price on ebay for cowbells. I was devastated to find that in the intervening days the price had dropped by tulip like proportions. Where a week ago cowbells had been flying off the shelves at £20 a pop they were now barely making £3. My financial world had crumbled.
It was beans on toast for dinner that night. Then just to add to my fiscal woes, I got a letter from HM Customs saying that they wanted a piece of the action and had impounded my consignment of cowbells and were holding them ransom until I paid import duty. I cursed Osborne's impudency. I know we are all supposed to be in this together, but I hadn’t even made my first million before he was scrabbling for his cut of the pie. I immediately took the beans off the heat, popped the bread out the toaster, returned it to the loaf of bread and dined on cold beans. I was ruined. My cowbell bubble had well and truly burst. The fools indeed.

So if anyone wants a cowbell, I have a job lot. Whilst not exactly going cheap, they do make a rather pleasing clanging sound when agitated vigorously. You will be immediately transported to the high Alpe. Their mellifluous tones result in images of Heidi and Alpine meadows coming rushing to the inward eye. Not exactly the bliss of solitude, but as near as you’ll get in Maryhill.

I also have a tin of half eaten beans and a couple of slices of half toasted bread. I’d be willing to listen to offers.

I’m off to buy some Tulips.

From Glasgow, Scotland (not Kentucky)

N

http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Cowbell-Cycling-Cyclocross-Cow-Bell-/261151921759?pt=UK_SportGoods_CyclAcces_RL&hash=item3ccdde165f