George texted me at 11pm. Screenshot of a betting site. 30%. No message. Just the number. He's done this before. 2021 it was the Chinese mining ban. 2022, FTX. He doesn't say anything, he sends the n...

So how much do you have? The question that ended my evangelism.

He bought Bitcoin because he watched me, now he's under pressure. We sat together last week and I still didn't say it.

The world got unstable. Bitcoin fell. I’m still holding. But I’m not pretending that felt simple.

He’ll ask one day. Properly ask. I don’t have an answer yet.

I never told him to buy Bitcoin. He watched me long enough and did anyway.

Bitcoin is down. I know the routine. I still don’t like what it does to me.

Someone mentions their pension. I mention mine. I don't mention the other thing.

A Tuesday morning. £7,200 Bitcoin. Nothing happened and something changed anyway.

I'm not proud of it. I'd do it again.

2017. My closest friend spent three hours explaining why Bitcoin was a scam. He was brilliant. He was convincing. He was almost right.

Not my wife. Not my brother. Nobody knows the actual number.

Everyone assumes the mistake was a trade, it wasn't.

What if you’re not wrong about Bitcoin—just wrong about being certain?

Someone asks about Bitcoin. I lie. Every time.