Good job I shut up and listened

The Trader: Happiness is when it's good to have friends in the same business

It's been a sociable week, because no one has been keen to make long-term decisions with the Budget hanging over them. Before the Chancellor reveals the exact details of his grip on the nation's purse-strings, there's nothing to do but watch the stock market go up and down, and the FX boys go short and then long again - or possibly the other way round.

Anyway it's not exactly a spectator sport, so I've gone out for a drink with Toby, who's one of my new, err ... And there's the rub. What do you call someone who does more or less the same job as you at another bank, and with whom you get on well enough to meet them after work?

If you asked people in the City, they'd probably look at you as if you were mad and say: "Well, you'd call them a friend, silly." But, if they really stopped to think, they wouldn't be half so sure.

Friends are people you can tell almost anything to, who will listen to you bleat on about the dreariest subjects and who don't mind if your make-up runs while you do it. They will tell you you're great and clever, and if they believe you're making a total idiot of yourself over something or someone.

But with Toby and the other "Errs" in my life, the conversation always runs along different lines. I walk into the bar where we've arranged to meet and after 10 minutes, I'm fed up, when Toby pants in and waves.

"Hello," he says cheerily, kissing me on both cheeks. "Sorry I'm late. Just as I was leaving, I got a deal to price up. Couldn't leave it for New York to get all the glory, could I?"

We find chairs and wine, and we talk in vague terms about what we've been doing today and yesterday, which is as far back as we can truthfully remember, though truth is not absolutely essential in these chats. Then we go on to funny stories about people in the market, the next weekend we have planned, and which banks are doing what to other banks.

Toby begins to look less than his usual happy, confident self. I ask what's up and he mumbles that it's nothing really and I say: "No, really, you can tell me."

He sighs. "Well, I've sort of been looking around for another job," he says. My jaw drops. "It's true," he goes on. "I can't stand it anymore where I am. So I went for an interview with a German bank, and I loved what I saw. It was a much more interesting job, with more money and responsibility, and really motivated people. It was about to fall perfectly into place, and suddenly ... But you can work out the rest." He stops suddenly, leaving me to finish the sorry tale in my head.

I feel depressed for Toby, then I notice my empathy's in vain. Toby's looking considerably happier. "Thanks," he says. "Thanks for listening to all that. I couldn't have told any of my colleagues, and when I try to explain it to my non-City friends they don't understand what I'm on about. It's so good to have friends in the same business."

thetrader@hotmail.com