From a £99 Suit to the NYSE Bell 

The story begins with a commute and a choice. Picture Napa Valley mornings at four, a 62-mile drive to San Francisco, and a life built around the reward of quiet weekends among vines. That rhythm frames a deeper arc—one about risk, mentorship, and the compounding value of saying yes before you feel ready.

David’s journey goes back to 1985 London, when a teenager without university plans hunted for a way into finance and took a super-junior role in a petroleum department he barely understood. One BBC documentary later, he passed the interview, told a white lie about computers, and stepped into a world that would blend oil fields, trading floors, and the human networks that move markets.

Learning started with humility and speed. Early days meant calls to oil companies, understanding North Sea licensing, and decoding progress from drill depths and mud. He became a well scout by persistence—asking, swapping small pieces of information, and earning the trust needed to stitch together a bigger picture. Those skills—curiosity, reciprocity, and pattern-spotting—set the foundation for moving into mergers and acquisitions, where ownership stakes in producing fields traded like engineered puzzles.

When boredom hit at 21, David asked for more—and got Houston, along with a mentor who embodied range: a cowboy, a scout, a wildcatter. From there, the career stretched across continents, onto platforms in the North Sea, and onto the New York Stock Exchange balcony for the opening bell.

Technology and market structure changed the job, but not the essence of it. The London floor’s paper tickets gave way to screens, algorithms, and dark pools, where massive pension orders move invisibly to avoid slippage. The role evolved into advising institutional portfolio managers, shaping the flows behind everyday pensions and 401(k)s. The stakes rose—half-billion orders, billion-dollar blocks—yet the core remained human: judgment, timing, and the ability to gather the right information from people. There’s a candid honesty in admitting advice isn’t always right, but consistency, context, and clear communication build trust over cycles.

The people and places are vivid because the work lives at their edges. Helicopter landings on offshore platforms, the roar of blades, and the cold that makes noddy suits into a second skin. Dinner in Los Angeles where a finance director meets Wolfgang Puck. Serendipitous chats with Kiefer Sutherland and Oliver Stone that reveal how to meet famous people without fawning—be yourself, ask better questions, listen well. Keanu Reeves, embodying that quiet, grounded presence everyone hopes the famous still hold. These moments matter not as name-drops but as lessons in social intelligence, poise, and reading the room—skills as valuable as any spreadsheet model.

Threaded through is a philosophy that blends grit with grace. The “Inches” speech from Any Given Sunday becomes a personal mantra: life is decided in small increments—the six inches in front of your face. Careers and relationships move by inches, not leaps. When facing loss, divorce, or exhaustion, the way forward is immediate, tactical, and present. That outlook pairs with a clear stance on legacy: do right by your child, be good to your friends, and let the records of your kindness be carried by people, not plaques. The seven places to scatter ashes are a map of meaning, not a shrine to achievement.

It ends where it began: with mentors and movement. Boarding school on a cliff above the sea taught independence and perseverance—the kind that carries across borders and market cycles. Friends distilled into a true-ten test; mentors named with gratitude; and an arc that bends from a £99 suit on day one to a long lunch in Napa with Jerry Jones.

The advice is simple and hard: seek mentors, ask for the next challenge before you feel qualified, invest in relationships, and fight for the inches you can see. When chance offers a door, walk through.