There are people in this life who make everything around them sparkle. Peter Morton was one of those people. He just couldn't help himself. Peter was unconventionally handsome, a wiry little ginger all covered in freckles. He was nerdy in a Ronald Weasley way but it was his charm and infectious laugh that made him special. As a financial journalist, he had the ability to take the driest subject matter and lift the words right off the page. He was at the forefront of a movement that turned bean counters into rock stars. He made money talk cool. I met Peter at the place I met most people in 1994, at Dapoe's bar at the National Press Club. Peter walked into the place and decided it needed fixing. So he became its treasurer. We became fast friends, spending hours playing tennis and drinking beer on various patios. We didn't have much in common. He was happily married, I was unhappily divorced. He wrote about numbers and lived in cool Westboro. I wr...
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