Let me tell you about something I own which you don't.

I own shares in a tennis ball company, and the share price keeps bouncing up and down.

And the shares are only allowed to be carried around by ball girls and ball boys.

I've seen it, I was at the Newer York Stocks Exchange Wall Street New York and a broker on the floor said that they wanted 12,300 shares in the tennis ball company

Suddenly everyone on the floor went silent, all you could hear were the whirrs of the digital displays and the crinkling of paper printouts.

Bursting out of a door came a fast and spry procession of 65 children dressed in matching corporate sponsored ballperson uniforms, in their innocent, creamy little hands they were holding stacks of crisp clean, great smelling stock bearer certificates and corporate sponsored towels. They then started handing out the towels to all the floor brokers, who started to wipe themselves flamboyantly, the sweat flicking up off of the towels, filling the air with a salty mist.

I wiped the sweat condensing on my glasses and saw the children all crouch down on the floor and take turns sliding the stock certificates along the floor to the broker who ordered them. Every few certificates they would raise some in the air, waiting for the broker to beckon more.

I noticed some brokers at the trading station nearby start to weep, "Why can't the exchange of capital always be this beautiful?"

After gathering all the stock certificates, the broker then hurled them all up into the air and started to swat at them with his ledger, everyone on the floor started cheering. I decided to join in, so I clambered up onto a bank of screens and amongst the CNN newscasts I shouted tennis scores in an accent, '40-LOVE' '40-LOVE' '40-LOVE' - I was shouting the same score over and over but everyone seemed to like it-. Someone tore out a high frequency fibre optic table out of a computer and held it up as a makeshift net, everyone had a gay gay gay old time.

But silence suddenly started to spread, sounds again only of the whirring of the machines, the crumple of paper on the floor, and the sound of footsteps, getting exponentially faster to the point of self-damage, only one person would walk like that, it was the Lady Capital, she was dressed exactly like Lady Liberty, but she doesn't make that distinction. She surveyed the whole scene with a tut and said 'This is no place to play, this is a place of trade. Shame on you all, what would children think'. Then she started to walk back to her office, which was the Statue of Liberty, but she doesn't make that distinction. Her footsteps again getting exponentially faster until her lower half was a blur of twisted bones and sinew.

As the smell of her cartilage abated from the air we hung our heads in shame, but eventually after we reflected on our behaviour, we all returned back to our serious day jobs, for the rest of the day I managed to fluctuate the price of South American Cocoa so that it drew out a penis on the big stock screen.