When Nigel met Ronald

Long, long ago, in a land far away... Well, actually, not that long ago and in a land quite close to here... there lived a foolish man called Nigel, who had a really clever, and incredibly beautiful, daughter called Billion. Nigel's daughter Billion had gorgeous golden-blond hair and was a mathematical genius. She was also a professor of astrophysics at the prestigious University of Fingerinhoe in Essex, England (er... yes, that is a real place... although it doesn't really have a university. Call it poetic licence).

Nigel, who was divorced, and Billion, lived happily enough in the windmill that Nigel owned but, being foolish, Nigel wanted more. And he knew how to get it. He wrote a letter to the newly-elected President of Greenland, Ronald Grump, asking him for a job. President Grump had very little to do, on account of having solved most of the continent of Greenland's problems in his first day in office. He did this by signing 100 executive orders, thus making Greenland great again. Greenland's problems were mostly to do with how bloody cold it was for 49 weeks of the year. For the other three weeks it was of course extremely bloody cold. President Grump was still working on this one. He wondered whether this man, Nigel, would be able to help, and so invited him over to a meeting in the Oblong Office of the Ice House, which is the official residence of the President of Greenland.

The meeting was cordial enough.

"Ah, Mr Nigel. Welcome and come in,"

"Good morning Mr President. Thank you for agreeing to see me."

"You are very welcome, or did I already say that? Well, in any case what can I do for you, young man?"

"I'd like you to give me a job in your new administration, Mr President, Sir."

"What do you mean, you'd like a job in my administration? Have you got anything you can offer me?"

"Er... well..."

"Do you, for instance, have a solution to the infernal cold we have to suffer in this barren place?"

"Well... erm... er..."

"No matter, I have solved the problem anyway."

"You have, Sir?"

"Yes, I have. I just signed executive order number 101, to change the name of 'Greenland' to 'Warmland'."

"'Warmland', Sir? But it's not warm. It's very, very cold."

"Well it's not green either and nobody complains about that."

"Oh, yeah, I guess."

"So what else can you offer me?"

Nigel had to think about that one. He thought and thought and thought but, being a little foolish, he couldn't think of anything. Except money.

"I could offer you a large sum of money sir?"

"Oh yeah, how large?"

"Um... er... five million dollars?"

"Five million dollars? That's nothing. Don't you know I'm a billionaire and all my friends are billionaires, too. You don't get to play golf in my Merrybargo resort in the barren south of Warmland, unless you are a billionaire.

"Okay, let's make it 100 billion dollars, then. Would that do?"

The President was impressed by that. With $100 billion dollars in the bank, he could afford to fire that irritating billionaire who kept popping up and doing stoopid dances when he wasn't asked to. That car maker and space man, or whatever the hell he did, Waylon Must.

"How in heaven's name is a bloke called Nigel going to make 100 billion dollars?"

Nigel had to think about that too. He probably couldn't make $100 billion. But his daughter was very clever, she had a PhD (whatever that was) and so she probably could do it.

"Not me, Mr President. My daughter, who is very clever, despite being very beautiful. She could make $100 billion in no time. That's why I named her 'Billion.'

"Okay... so how's Billion going to make $100 billion."

Now, Nigel wasn't so hot on the detail and so he had to think about it. Having thought about it, he didn't have a clue and so he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"She's going to weave it, Sir."

"Weave $100 billion?"

"Yes, Mr President. She's going to weave it from straw."

"From straw?"

Now that he'd said it, Nigel thought it was a somewhat rash thing to say. But, having said it, he wasn't going to back down.

"Yes Sir, she weaves bitcoin out of straw."

"Okey dokey. You got three days."

"Three days?"

"That's what I said. Bring me the money in three days or I nuke your little windmill in... wherever it is. I know it ain't in Warmland but I am sure my boys in the Warmland Air Force Taskforce will be able to find it."

"But three days?"

"Oh, you still here? Hey, Secret Service guy in the dark glasses... Mr Nigel is leaving right away, gottit?"

O ~ o ~

"You promised what?"

"I said you could weave a few billion dollars in Bitcoin out of straw?"

"Jesus, dad, I got a PhD in mathematics, not in Bitcoin weaving."

"Well, I am sure you will do your best, honey."

"*!#*!!!"

That night, Billion sat in her bedroom, on the bale of straw that her father had considerately put there, wondering whether there was, indeed, a methodology for weaving straw into Bitcoin. She hit the academic networks and research papers. Still searching (she was tempted to use AI but decided it was unethical) at midnight... when... suddenly there was a puff of theatrical smoke and a strange horseman appeared at her bedroom door. He was rugged looking, bare chested and quite ripped. He was riding a grey-white horse which, inconveniently, crapped on the carpet. The strange horseman was almost good looking... if you didn't look above neck height.

"Hi babe,"

"Hello."

"I'm... oh, never mind who I am. I have come to help."

"Come to help? You know how to weave Bitcoin outa straw?"

"Sure do!"

"Go on, then."

"Okay... but it comes with a price."

"What price?"

"On delivery of the aforementioned $100 billion in Bitcoin, you must give me your firstborn child."

"But I haven't got any children."

"That's okay. I'll take a down payment of a kiss, and you can deliver the firstborn when it is bornfirst."

"Oh, okay then. It's a deal."

"What? You agree?"

"Sure, why not? Sounds fair to me. Although I insist on closing my eyes and holding my nose when it comes to the kissing bit."

"You don't want to know about the get-out clause?"

"No, not really."

"Awwwww… but I was really looking forward to telling you about that. Go on... Ask me... Pleeeease!"

"Oh, alright then. What's the get-out clause?"

"If you can guess my name, you get to keep the firstborn."

"And the kissing part?"

"Mmmm, well you are rather beautiful, and I do find the idea of kissing you quite appealing…”

"Okay, you get a kiss, either way. But no tongues."

"Done!"

"Done!"

"Right, I'll get on with it then."

So it came to pass that the strange horseman with the bare chest, and the somewhat badly cut-out face, spent three nights weaving $33 bn worth of Bitcoin each night. There was a tricky moment when everyone realised that three times 33 billion is 99 billion and so $1 billion short but the situation was resolved when the horseman agreed to do a bit of overtime before breakfast.

Then came the climax in our drama (oh, grow up, just because I use the word 'climax'...) when the question of get-out clause came up.

"Okay, Billion, you know the deal. Guess my name, and I let you off the firstborn clause."

Billion chuckled to herself at this because, of course, we all know the story of Rumpelstiltskin.

"I know... oooh, oooh, oooh, I know it. It's Rumpelstiltskin, isn't it?"

"Rumpelstiltskin? No it isn't. What a stupid name. Whatever gave you that Idea?"

"So, it isn't Rumpelstiltskin?"

"No, of course it isn't."

"What is your name, then?"

"Well, if you must know, it's Vladdy Pookin... OH SHIT! That's given the game away. Oh well, at least I still get a kiss (no tongues).”