On November 1st (scroll down to check the post) I predicted a Market Crash.

THe Dow opened at 13,924 that day.

Nine days later - at around 5.30pm - the Index has plunged to 13,130.

“Fantastic, Sally!” I savour the admiration in your voice. “Almost eight hundred points. How much have you made?”

Er, nothing.

Tragic.

I’ve made a rule that when I’m too busy to focus on trading (and moving to Spain means I am toooooooo busy) then I simply don’t trade. I’ve lost too much money in the past, trying to monitor positions while drains were collapsing, friends were visiting, and my love life was going to hell in a handcart.

Never mind.

Thank you to the seventeen readers who have voted in favour of me cutting up my Goldfish card in protest (see previous posts!). “I had no idea so many people would actually bother to email me,” I was boasting to my Best Friend Marianne over a farewell coffee this morning.

“Ha!” she snorted. “They’ll all be from Goldfish customer services, trying to get rid of you. You’re too much trouble, and you write nasty things about their competency.”

Some people are SO cynical…

Anyway, all my bags are packed and I’m ready to go. Leave from Plymouth on Sunday and by Wednesday, I should have arrived at my new apartment in Spain.

Bookmark the blog and come back for a visit if you want to know how I get on (or if you want any more of my predictions. For example: If I were trading on Monday, I’d probably go £1 a point BUYING the Dow. With a stop loss on 12,999. Unless, of course, it falls below that tonight… in which case, I’d have a careful look at my trusty ShareScope chats, before deciding what to do.)

If you never hear from me again, you’ll know that driving on the right hand side of the road didn’t work out terribly well…

By this time next week, I shall be in Spain - hopefully somewhere south of Madrid - and despite the latest efforts of Goldfish to thwart my attempts to leave the company.

Are the Primrose Hill Latterati in league with my credit card provider to keep me in London? Or can Goldfish really be so stupid?

I suspect the latter (as opposed to the Latterati). Goldfish really does seem to have the memory of, er, a Goldfish. Having been assured by the dunderheads in Customer Services that yes, I now have two cards (I only ever wanted one, but the security number rubbed off - see previous post) and that they both worked, I continued to use the original card. Which they then proceeded to withdraw.

This led to my humiliation in Halfords, when I was attempting to buy a Tom Tom One V3 with sat nav to get to to Marbella. (It managed to get me from Hendon to Camden, so it’ll probably be ok.)

‘Card’s been declined!” The girl on the till seemed pleased to tell the whole store what was going on.

Fortunately, I had a debit card on me, so till girl was obliged to let me have the Tom Tom, along with two red warning triangles, that are apparently mandatoryin Spain.

I got home to a message saying my buildings insurance payment had failed to go through (not what you want to hear when you’re mired in a subsidence claim).

So the big question: Should I cut my Card in half because their customer service is so piss poor? Email me with your verdict - sally@sallynicoll.com - and I’ll do what you say. By the way, if you enjoy opinion polls and quizzes, and want to make a few bob, cut and paste this link:

http://www.sallynicoll.com/something.html

It’ll take you through to the YouGov site, and you can sign up to take part in surveys. In fact, they’ve just published the results of one called ‘What’s a Fair Wage?’ Apparently:

• The Prime Minister is worth £135k a year
• A best selling author should get £80k (I wish!)
• A Premiership Footballer should be paid £62k a year - as opposed to £150k a week

Personally, I’m in favour of market forces. Soccer stars might as well earn silly money while they can. But interesting to note that according to this survey your best selling author is worth three ‘good local plumbers’. Tell that to someone who’s just got the bill for unblocking a toilet…

“You’re not really going to live in Spain, are you Sally? It’s just one of your little jokes.” The Primrose Hill Latterati is in denial. And until about 8pm last night, so was I.

This is down to my friend Ken. I’ve known him for years, and even though he once sent me his CV, I still don’t know what he does. Every once in a while, I see him walking towards Chalk Farm tube wearing a suit - or he sees me dressed in similarly unusual attire - and we exchange wry smiles. He’s a regeneration consultant, or something.

Anyway.

Ken is also a Tottenham supporter, which is all the credentials he needs, so far as I’m concerned. And last night, I was his guest at Bleeding Heart Lane for the Carling Cup Match against Blackpool.

As those of you who follow football are aware, my beloved club is currently a laughing stock for the way it’s been conducting his business. (Business clothes doth not maketh the man. Clearly.) Manager Martin Jol was sent packing in the wake of the directors’ public sucking up to one Senor Ramos, lately of Seville.

Now here’s a little coincidence: So far, I have one piece of Spanish ID - membership for the English Supporters Section of Malaga FC (I’m going to have to do something other than write my book, make winning trades and sunbathe, aren’t I?). And guess what? Senor Ramos is the ex manager of Malaga FC. Actually, he’s been the manager of rather too many clubs for my liking, but we’ll save that for another time.

Back to last night.

RegenKen has the best seats in the house. Not only are they beautifully on the halfway line. They are also within earshot of where the Board of Directors sit, so we can pass the time by yelling Loud Bad Things. Best of all, however, they are above one of the staircases, so they come complete with a little brick ledge for you to bang your head against every time the Tottenham defence attempts to lead us out of danger.

Notwithstanding my bruised head, it suddenly hit me that I was paying my final visit to the Lane. For this season, at last. (Now there’s a Freudian slip; I meant to say ‘at least’!)

A lot of fellow Tottenham fans might think this is a good thing. Especially given that we were meant to be in the Top Four, as opposed to the Bottom Three by now. But hey, it means I really AM going to Spain. In just over a week from now.

I am in a frenzy of preparation, still. Recent Nicoll Awards for Customer Service include the DVLA, the Passport Office, whoever it is that sends out European Health Cards, the nice people at Direct Line and Mr RB, the very splendid structural engineer who is valiantly trying to work out why my house is subsiding.

Goldfish, meanwhile, managed to send me an EXTRA credit card, as opposed to a duplicate of its rubbishy one whose security code rubbed off (see previous blog entry). This means I have an extra £10k worth of credit. Which I shan’t use. Not even to start selling the markets when the Big Crash comes. (Incidentally, you read about the Big Crash here first. And when it comes, I plan to take all the credit for predicting it, like real spread betting gurus do.)

So now I am off to start working out just how much you CAN fit into the back of a Ford Ka. Apart from me, Dow Jones and a computer….