You’re lovely, all of you. And especially those who have asked me to break a cardinal rule. No, not that rule. Slap your wrist. I mean the one that says it’s impolite to discuss real problems. So Gertie finds herself on the horns of a dilemma.

Many of you have asked about this particular issue. It’s a thorny one all right. Not simple. At the same time, we mustn’t grow all somber and serious. The mind and heart don’t work properly when we get grim or pompous. There are so many of you and you all ask the same thing… All right, loves, I’ll do it. Just this once.

How to avoid the 2008 bust. Which assumes we’ll have a crash and not a slow dwindle of values on stock markets, or not a plummet followed by bounce-back as large investors troll for bargains. After all, people must place their money somewhere. Let’s not get technical about recessions and slumps and depressions and all the other "shuns". We’re talking about how to keep the few dimes and quarters you’ve scraped together through the years. You do have a few, darling, don’t you?

Now, I haven’t thought of these things on my lonesome. Some very generous dears have talked to me during flights to their weekend houses on the bay, the ones you need the seaplane to reach. And there’s a consensus of opinion, really. You’re getting the best minds in the business thinking about this, and Gertie has nothing if not a great memory. Speaking of great memories, I must tell you about a closely guarded investment secret. The salmon industry is a catastrophe, but the upside can be enormous, because its adjunct is often gambling revenue from first nation reserves. Interested in a speculative wager? That’s for another day.

Imagine you’re 40 years old with a million in the bank. There’s a reason for this. You’ll see later. Follow along, darling, and take your hand away. You’re distracting me. The million includes equity in the house, cash, market value of securities, the full monty. All invested in a nice range of names. Balanced prudently for income and preservation of capital. Nothing risky to the point of scandal, but no long-term government bonds either.

If you have another 20 to 25 years before retirement, the market will stabilize nicely long before that time. The value of your house will rise. You don’t have a thing to worry about except maximizing your position after the crash. If you care. And, really, why should you? That’s the key. There’s no reason to devote a moment’s thought to the crash, love. Simply and cheerfully strengthen your position at work. Add another string to your bow. Four season tickets to football or hockey never hurt. Invite people who will smooth your rise through executive ranks. Make friends a level or two above you. For those important games, aim at higher management. If they already have seats, they’ll think of you as somebody like them, reliable, one of the boys. Exactly what you want them to think. If they accept your invitation, make light of it when you get to the game. You’re there for a good time. Provide everything: food, drinks, a T-shirt. Offer souvenirs for their kids. Not a whisper about work, darlings. It’s fun, fun, fun. And invite them to the next game too. The idea is to get on a first name basis. Next day at the stockyards, and next week and month, they’ll remember you. Massage the social scene. Don’t trouble with stock performance. Your salary on the upswing is worth more than analyzing the market. Research, these days - let’s be honest - is like reading bird entrails, only without the predictive power, and oh so boring, boring, boring.

If you don’t yet have the portfolio spreadsheet I’ve described (you know, range and type of investments), get yourself there. It’s not hard. And ride out the tough times.

I give the same advice to younger friends and to unfortunate chums with a little less saved in the Caribbean.

The real concern lies - doesn’t it always? - with the grayhairs. They rely on the market for income, or will soon, and can’t wait for it to bounce back.

So how should mature loves, silver threads among the gold, gird their loins for the 2008 crash? These gentle darlings are close to 60 with under $2 million in asset value. At stake is whether they have a beach home or a simple condo, whether they take that annual holiday to cruise the exhibitions in Paris, can they afford a nice collection of wines for unexpected guests.

Well, the market is going to rock and roll before it bottoms. So we’ll start with the basics: aim for the good enough, not perfection. Buy early, when the roller coaster still has ups and downs ahead. And jump aboard when the little engine is low. Don’t wait for it to bottom; that’s bird entrails territory. The beautiful people will finish their business by late spring, so we can gather to sail and watch the puffins before the weather gets too, too hot. One doesn’t want the skin to get all leathery. That’s so George Hamilton.

Now what sectors to buy? I wouldn’t suggest this except it’s the consensus, dear. What’s Gertie to do, faced with advice from talented and good-looking darlings?

First, the hydrocarbons. The price will go up and up. Buy during a lull and watch the stocks bounce back quickly after the plummet. The reasons are complicated and involve another war. Which reminds me. We have to store up some lovely movies to watch during the worst days. Look for Bacall and Bogie, or if you like sultry, Sharon Stone can hit an occasional high C. Pity there’s not a man around today to carry it with her.

Then the currencies. We’re talking the good old U.S. and Canadian dollar, loves. Why? It’s a matter of trust and size. The Chinese don’t have the trust, and the Europeans don’t have the size. Besides, foreign governments have placed so much of their reserves in the dollar market that they can’t afford to have it shrink much.

Next we check the fundamentals. This takes a few minutes of note taking. We want 40 to 50 per cent of our holdings in shares that produced decent dividends in the slumps of 2006 and 2007 and that dropped slower in value than the average and regained faster.

Forget the super-stocks that rocket into the stratosphere. They’ll always be with us, but the chance of hitting one is like finding a pure and honest soul, sitting alone, reading a cultured novel at a sidewalk café in San Tropez.

Lastly, there’s cash and friendship. You can’t have enough of either. There’s never a guarantee, darling, that anyone can get the investment profile right. But have enough intimate chums and some will carry you through the tough spots. The reverse is also true, not unfortunately but thankfully. When an old lover has uncertain moments, you must come to their rescue. They’ll do the same. You can live in their beach house if you must sell yours. But this equally means that your own house must be large. When your portfolio is bursting with health, you must be able to keep several friends at ease, in separate bedrooms, with quiet and private spots to turn the pages of a thriller and gaze at the pelicans.

Life is a pleasure with friends and cash. I’ve followed the courses plotted by these wise and discrete souls before, and ended up with plenty of both.

Till next time, darling.

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I’m back from a verdant idyll, darlings, and it has got some screaming hot buys. I’m thinking long run. No, that’s not a contradiction. Let me explain.

Unspoiled redwood forest. That’s what it is. Soaring eagles unafraid of human intrusion, humming birds, ocean inlets with rocky promontories on which sea lions bask, pools of perch, enough wind to catch the sails of your blue water boat and shady marinas with all the mod cons. And sweet water springs. Enough ferry traffic to run in supplies, but woefully inadequate for the jangling tourist. Four hours by boat from the nearest city or a few minutes by single engine seaplane, the seaplane that costs about the same as a car and lands snug up against your dock. You won’t believe, loves, how easy it is to fly a single-prop. I’ve done it myself and I’m a disaster when it comes to mechanical things.

This is a place to live. That’s why it’s an investment for the long run. Your neighbours watch your house while you’re away and you look after theirs. Homes are invisible behind the screen of winding forest paths. You don’t see a soul unless you want to. If someone is in Europe or South America, why, you meander their turf. You keep a general eye out, as they say. And property values hover a steady 30% behind the other fingers of shoreline, because truckers can’t invade. There’s no traffic. You can’t beg, borrow, or steal properties. You have to befriend oldsters who don’t have children and hope they bequeath you their five bedroom. Otherwise it’s hopeless.

The downside? There must be one. You have to like rain, for example. I mean warm rain, the kind that pitter patters outside the 360 window while you read snug and curled up with a cup of hot chocolate listening to the stereo. Warm so you don’t mind the walk to your skiff or seaplane to pick up your ex-spouses and their current dreadful mistakes. (We’re in the 21st century. We must be civilized.) Despite the rain, it’s bright enough to run electricity off the solar panels. We follow the green laws here. We separate different kinds of garbage and re-use whatever we can. Nothing goes to waste. Nobody minds, because everyone does it. There’s no feeling of sacrifice or pity me. Oh, and everyone is screaming rich in the nicest, politest way. You can get a tiny 20 acre for under a million and simply live on it the rest of your days.

A friend invited me for a couple of weeks. Did I describe Lance to you? Well, that’s for another time. Treated me like royalty. Didn’t have to lift a finger. Though I did, of course.

Especially the math. I did the math on the third evening. A work-up. Say I place a million in someone’s hands who sees to these little things. Someone who ensures that an elderly person loves me enough to deed me their lovely house. What do I need in the bank to add a few persimmons and radicchios to the mix? Is it just a contribution to Lance’s seaplane and the cost of a holiday or two? No, thinks I. There’ll be a quarrel. Permanent pals, however agreeable they are, have fierce arguments. Lance is the perfect gentleman, but experience says it’s safer to stay a separate person.

Don’t think I’m not tempted. The pressure of fashion and keeping up - what can I say? - lies sometimes like acid on the tum-tum. But the math was all wrong, or I’m too young, or Lance isn’t Mr Right. Maybe he put something in my coffee and I didn’t think clearly. So there’s this little piece of paradise, my friends, available for nothing. Perfect as a second home, a third, or even a first. One day a horrible person will pave some road and values will soar. You’ll make a fortune, I’m telling you. But first you have to guess where this is. Think about it carefully. If you’re clever you’ll find the spot. Goodness knows I’ve given you clues.

Till next time. Love you.

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