>At the exclusive wine society that I am a member of, many

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>At the exclusive wine society that I am a member of, many people are born into money, so I often get asked about my family. I tell them that my father grew up in colonial Kenya, he was a working class servant of the local British governor. Mocked by the British kids for being poor, and shunned by the local kids for being a foreigner, he was an orphan who had nothing, not even a country to belong to. One day while bringing supplies from the market, he was surrounded by a pride of starving lions. Scared out of his mind he begged not to be eaten. He always told me he'd never forget the look one lion gave him, it was the pride leader, with an odd cross-shaped scar on its right side. It stared at him with a kind of mutual understanding between beast and man, that both were just trying to survive. The lions left without touching him. My father knew he'd been given a second chance, and from that moment on vowed to make something of himself. He failed miserably, and when I became successful I bought out his company and made him redundant. But that's besides the point. A long time later on a private hunting trip in Africa I came across an old lion patriarch, with that same cross-shaped scar on its right flank. I shot it in the face and had a rug made from its fur. Your business hopes are like that lion, I'm out.