You get two kind of people in life: those who brokers deals and those who are plumbers and they don’t usually have much in common. A plumber like my Uncle Fred generally doesn’t know a thing about what a broker does and I doubt a broker could fix the loo in his own house if his life depended on it. In fact if I’d told my Uncle Fred that I was going to broker a deal he would probably have offered to lend me his wrench or his hammer. But Uncle Fred mixed a lot with the kind of people who did broker deals, on the fringes at least, because he was always being called to the estate of some wealthy toff or other to address their upper class toilet issues, which are, although they would never believe you, exactly the same as everyone else’s.

Uncle Fred has lot of far-fetched stories to tell that are usually true, but the story of the day last winter when he was summoned, and I do mean summoned, to the estate of Lord Snotley Something or Other, one of London’s top brokers, is one of those stories that reminds me that I’d rather have a plumber than a broker for an uncle any day. He got into his beat Fait, which dates back to 1967 but Uncle Fred is a sentimental man and he fixed his first toilet after driving forty miles in that car and nothing will convince him to replace it, and headed for the estate in weather that should really have been a national emergency. There hadn’t been snow like it in over twenty years they said and the roads were a virtual death trap, but Uncle Fred was unconcerned and his normal unhurried self, trusting the Fiat to get him to the broker safely. He always had a false sense of security did Uncle Fred.

Despite a rather difficult journey during which Uncle Fred had to stop and get out of the car twice, once to help a little old lady who had slipped on the ice and then to pick up a lamb that had actually frozen in the middle of the road and couldn’t move, he arrived in great spirits and requested some more for warmth and fortitude when offered tea by the butler who served the brokers. The butler told him that the Lord was upstairs in the toilet and Uncle Fred, who was rather well educated despite his accent, laughed inside as held back from saying “you mean the room in which the toilet resides I assume”.

Uncle Fred has pretty much seen everything when it comes to toilets but this was a new one. The Lord was knelt on the floor literally up to his shoulders in the actual loo. He explained that he had dropped his cellphone into the toilet while trying to use the facilities and broker a large and important deal at the same time. Uncle Fred swallowed his tears of laughter and opened his toolbox but the Lord yelled “No damn it all Fred, you have to broker the deal for me first!” He rattled off the number and instructions to sell five millions shares of Lloyds immediately as it was going to fold the in the next hour and Uncle Fred dutifully took out his own cell phone and made the call.

Having saved the broker a small fortune and his reputation, Uncle Fred then freed the Lord and went home for egg and chips in front of the fore. Along with his cheque from the Lord there was a short note. Uncle Fred passed it to me with a smile and said “Here’s yer birthday present lass.” The note read: Buy Barclays NOW.

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