George Frangeskides, Chairman at ALBA, explains why the Pilbara Lithium option ‘was too good to miss’. Watch the video here.
McGlone was stabbing feverishly at the keyboard of his intermittently functioning RNS Sending Machine when Michael Brown, visiting from London, entered his office, bone-china teacup in hand.
The company's CEO swivelled towards the newest member of the boardroom, throwing himself back into his chair and grinning wildly, “Hey, Mick... just about to hit Send on a real rippah of an RNS!”
Michael winced on hearing his dismembered forename. He smiled politely and extended a hand towards a seat near his host's highly polished executive desk, “May I?” then perched himself and his neatly cut two-piece suit onto its edge.
“An RNS, you say!” Michael began searching the table-top for a convenient doily on which to place his cup. “May one enquire as to its subject?”
McGlone tossed his spectacles onto his desk, “The subject, me old mate, is...” he moved his hands in the air as if outlining a newspaper headline, “... Slogger McGlone buys two million Seeing Machines' shares!”
As this news was the last thing Michael Brown had imagined he would ever hear from the CEO, he almost choked mid Earl Grey sip.
“Yeh, two million of the little...” The CEO punched the air then removed his Seeing Machines baseball cap, flipped it around, and refitted it back-to-front. “Whadayathink?”
Michael was now unsure if McGlone was requesting a critique of his dress sense; a comment on his share purchase; or advice on hat-wearing etiquette - which, as every English gentleman knew, clearly stated a hat should never EVER be worn INDOORS! Michael smiled, glancing around the room, then slowly felt his gaze being drawn back towards the improperly worn, thoroughly unsuitable and, quite frankly, ridiculously inappropriate hat for someone of McGlone's vintage.
“So, Mick...” McGlone was now curious as to why his visitor had fixed such a glass-eyed stare towards the top of his head. “Mick! My shares! Whatdayathink?”
Michael gave a start, almost tipping tea into his lap, “Sorry! What do I... so, you... you've actually... purchased...”
“Couple ah days ago. They're being delivered as we speak.”
Curious, Michael ****ed his head to one side and forced himself to stare at his own shoes, because, as far as he was aware, the delivery of stock market share certificates had ceased many years ago. So the fact that the CEO was having his delivered – and this news on top of the shock that he'd actually bought some of the company's stock - was causing more than a little mental upheaval. So-much-so that he suddenly discovered he'd unwittingly sat his cup on the unprotected surface of the glossy tabletop. He quickly retrieved the cup, cradling it to his chest with both hands, then asked, “Excuse me, Paul, but did you just say... delivered? Who... who... who has shares delivered in this day and age?” Michael's fingers whitened around his teacup, as he was sure he'd just emitted the sound of an amorous barn owl.
A knock on the office door disrupted the conversation. The door eased open and an unfamiliar face appeared in the gap. “Delivery for a Paul McGlone?”
McGlone shot to his feet, rubbing his palms as he rounded the desk, “In here, lads.” He pointed both index fingers at a spot on the floor. “Stick them right here.”
Two delivery men, one supporting each end of a huge brown box, carefully manoeuvred their load through the doorway, assisted by McGlone waving his arms like a race-course bookie. The men slowly puffed and shuffled their consignment across the office, eventually lowering it onto the designated spot.
“Do I need to sign anything?” McGlone patted the box, smiling at it as though it were an obedient Labrador.
One of the men turned, nodding, “Yep, but first we'll get the rest off the truck.”
“Jeez! There's another one THIS size?”
The delivery man turned as he left the room, “Hey bud', there's another nineteen of these things!”
McGlone spun on a heel towards his visitor, “Hear that, Mick? Two million shares need TWENTY of these things!” He turned, looking around the room, “Where d'you think I should shove them?”
Michael eased forward in his seat, trying desperately to delete the vulgar response to McGlone's question that was now bouncing around inside his head, and peered at the huge container. “Paul, I don't think... I'm fairly... fairly sure this isn't right!”
Removing a small pen-knife from a pocket, McGlone returned excitedly to his delivery, “What'snot right?” He slit the sealing tape from end to end, then, like a Christmas morning ten-year-old, he tugged the top flaps open and began throwing lumps of packaging over his shoulders. Suddenly, he froze and peered into the box. “Hey!” he straightened, paused, then grabbed his spectacles from the desk. “Mick!” he spun towards his tea-sipping colleague. “Mick! What should shares look like?”
Michael stood, momentarily hovering his cup above the table, then finally landed it gently onto a recently printed Amazon Prime receipt. He straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, and crossed the room.
Removing his spectacles from a breast pocket, he carefully settled them onto the bridge of his nose and examined the contents of the container. The box appeared to be full of small, sealed plastic bags, each containing multiple tiny metal and plastic objects. Michael glanced nervously at McGlone, then reached into the box and extracted a pink delivery slip. He unfolded the piece of paper, examined it thoroughly, then crumpled it to his chest and shut his eyes, “You've only bought - two million..!”
McGlone stepped closer, “Sure! But it's a start!”
“Well, don't send that RNS just yet, will you?” Michael coughed politely, “It would appear your two million Seeing Machines' shares are actually... two million Sewing Machine spares.
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P.S. Ah well, so near yet... sew far!
Baron,
Only another ten years and you'll be Down-Under collecting your set of cutlery.
A wee bit of frustration here over the last few days. Also some envy as our more verbose Swedish friends zoom up the value curve ahead of us.
So, to those feeling left behind, look at the developments involving Seeing Machines' technology during this year alone. Look who's adopting our tech': one of the world's largest semiconductor companies! Now ask yourself why they chose Seeing Machines if those other guys - so far ahead of us - are so smart?
Then there's our Occula technology being licensed by yet another global player. No doubt someone will soon try telling us a licensing deal is a sure sign Occula can't be up to much! That's probably why the front page of International Semiconductor News (I made this bit up) exclaims: 'Giant International Semiconductor Company to License Duff Technology From Naff Australian Midget!'
Now, correct me if I'm right, but if you were an international semiconductor giant - would you feel comfortable licensing duff technology from an Australian midget? (or was that imagined headline just a bit too long?).
Now look at the overall suite of top-end products we have on offer: Fovio, Occula and the ability to adapt our kit to fit any location any manufacturer so desires (that trick alone is pretty neat). And remember, our customers will have known about these developments way back - even before McGlone realised there were some words he just shouldn't utter.
So, there's no price-point we can't hit; there's no performance criteria we can't meet; and there's no chipset we can't integrate with. We have every aspect of this contest covered. So why are some of you: Watching the Swedish Game?
Now, bear with me as I shoot off on a metaphorical tangent...
Some say they've been here too long. Well, imagine this: you're climbing the world's highest mountain (yes, that one); or trekking to the South Pole (no polar bears down south - so, as luck would have it, you can only freeze to death). Anyway, after months of slog, you're almost there when, suddenly, you think: “Know what? This is taking far too long... I give up!”
Considering the strategies available to long term holders, bailing out this close to the finish line (or start line) might not be the best one. You see, the vast majority of this tedious and incredibly long pain-in-the-arse journey is over. Now, with Seeing Machines' technology being hoisted onto the shoulders of giants, our position in the world of Human/Machine Interaction is plain for all to see.
So stay focussed on what we are close to achieving, and please remember not to take that man too seriously... you know... that man: the one who claims he's already been hoisted onto the top of the world's highest technology mountain - powered only by an elk on a Chinese tricycle.
Seeing 2020
I was even more drunk than sgreen - so missed all of last night - and most of this morning (which, until this morning, I still thought was last night). No wonder I missed the quiz. Was the answer sausages?
P.S. What have I won?
A big thank you for your excellent research guys.
From early doors I've suspected Seeing Machines' technology could ultimately go further and do more than any of us ever imagined. Now, given recent developments, the only way I can convey my enthusiasm is to quote the world-renowned twentieth century philosopher Prof. D. Duck: “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!
Thank you Jimbo and Seeing. These stories are the only way I can contribute compared to you guys.
Best wishes,
Semiconductor - Gigantic Licensing Deal - Sandy
Paul McGlone looked towards his office door as it opened, “Nick, come in. I've been needing to talk to you. Take a seat.”
Nick DeFiore crossed towards a large armchair by the side of McGlone's desk. He settled his steaming coffee cup carefully onto the side table then lowered himself into the chair's deep upholstery. “So, what's up?”
“Nick,” McGlone hesitated, then rose to his feet, clasping his hands as if about to pray. “I know this might all sound a bit odd, but...” he took a deep breath and lifted his face towards the heavens. “You see, this is a very personal matter, and I want you to be one of the first to hear it.” McGlone paused, lowered himself back into his seat and stared at his fingers as they began to drum gently on the desk.
“You see, Nick, I've been dressing - differently - after I get home in the evenings”
Nick was in the process of raising his cup towards his lips. The cup screeched to a halt in mid air.
“I really feel a deep yearning to wear clothes that are more... more who I am - in here.” The CEO touched his chest gently with an index finger.
DiFiore slowly lowered his cup, “Dressing... differently.” He forced a smile. “You mean casual, right? Like joggy bottoms, that sort of thing.”
“Well... not exactly.”
“Straight into your PJs then?”
“Well... not exactly.”
Nick tightened one side of his face into a wary smile. “Fancy dress? A cowboy outfit!” His voice took a hike up an octave, “Please, God... Clint Eastwood?”
McGlone's eyes dropped towards the desk as he shook his head.
Nick leaned forward in his seat, “Look, mate, it's not all doom-and-gloom. There's special nightclubs you can visit... places where you can meet... you know...” He nodded at his boss like a giant bald woodpecker, “... people!”
“Clubs?” McGlone stiffened, staring quizzically at his friend. “People? I don't need people or clubs! What I need is to rebrand! What Paul McGlone needs is to rebrand himself!”
“How? By dressing like a...” Nick's voice was now registering a full-blown falsetto, “... like a SHEILA?”
“A what?” McGlone growled, “I'm not dressing as a... Here, look!” He began unbuttoning his shirt then tugged it open to reveal a skin-tight lycra top in electric blue. The motif across his chest was of a large yellow diamond overlaid with the red capitol letter S.
“When I tell the world about all these gigantic licensing deals,” McGlone stabbed a finger at an incredibly thick folder on his desk, “I'll instantly be transformed into...”
“Superman?”
McGlone groaned, “Not Superman, you tw... I'll be - THIS GUY!” He jumped to his feet and ripped off his shirt. There, emblazoned across his electric blue one-piece lycra suit, was the legend:
'Super Chips McGlone'.
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P.S. Well, the story about fixing the RNS Sending Machine worked, so...
Trust no one on these boards… apart from those who have earned that trust.
Cold Fish Pie,
It's always interesting to hear the opinion of others, so thank you. However, are you sure your interpretation is correct? Perhaps a re-read of the first few lines would cast a more favourable light on the old guy's intentions.
Best,
Sandy.
P.S. The title is also a clue as to the moral of the tale.
“There's gold here all right!” The old prospector was beginning to wonder why he even tried giving the kid a break.
The rookie kicked at the dry dirt, “What you saw back then was probably somethin' that just looked like gold.”
The prospector tugged his hat from his head and leaned close to the ear of his mule. “'Hear that, Chester, 'only-somethin-that-looked-like-gold'.” He replaced his hat then turned to face the youngster, “Yip, it sure was somethin' that looked just like gold, son, 'cause - guess what - that's exactly what it was!”
The young man shook his head, “I reckon the only way to find it is go searchin'. Ah'm headin' yonder...” he nodded towards a distant range of purple mountain peaks, “... to where the big finds were made a while back. At least ah know for sure there's gold there. See, I reckon the mother-load is never goin' to be... well, never goin' to be right there under your nose.”
The prospector chuckled, spat through his tobacco-stained teeth then slapped Chester on the rear, causing him to skip sideways. “Tell me somethin', son: d'you know the difference between a stupid mule and a stubborn ass?”
The young man tipped the wide brim of his hat upward and furrowed his brow.
“Well, ah am well acquainted with both critters!” The prospector took a step forward. “But - right naw - ah aint quite sure what one ah'm lookin' at.” Again, the prospector chuckled, fired a stream of tobacco juice onto the toe of his left boot then slowly ran a hand along Chester's back. “But you go straight ahead. You keep on lookin'. You keep on searchin' and you keep on tryin' to get rich by never stoppin' an' diggin' a while.”
The young man gathered up the reins of his horse, swung up and into the saddle then peered down at the prospector, “There's nuthin' here old man.” He urged the horse forward and they moved off. “Nuthin here but dirt.”
The old-timer politely raised his hat, then, picking up his claim marker, he spat at a target on the dirt, planted the stake on the spot and began beating it into the caked earth with the back of his shovel.
Once the post was firmed, he hobbled the few paces to the crest of the hill and nodded towards the distant rider. “That's right, son. It's never right there under your nose.” He turned, rubbing his palms, “Gittin' cold, Chester! Let's git that fire lit.”
Retracing his steps, he ran a hand gently over the mule's muzzle then paused to look up at the emerging stars. “Just you an' me again, boy. Well, you, me an' this.” The old man reached into a saddlebag, removed a cloth-wrapped parcel and, hunkering down in front of the mule, carefully unwrapped it. “Ya know, Chester, it's never right there under your nose. Is it, boy?” He slowly removed the sparkling nugget from the cloth and with both hands raised it to the stars. “But, sometimes...”
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For Baxter (with care) and Shrey (hey, he's young).
Shhh!
I will say thees only once... I em still a membur of Tem Tree-undered – I just kep eet very quiet.
Congratulations to you both. Hold on tight.
Best wishes,
Sandy
I'm disappointed in Safestocks. Okay, we can all have an off day, but as a journalist/blogger, that last article on Seeing Machines sounded more like an early morning version of me rather than any credible analysis. What market insight is required to point out past errors? All we shareholders know exactly, to our cost, where we've been. Surely a focus on where our latest chip-set has placed us would be more analytically relevant right now.
So, if you'll indulge me, here's my take on how things are shaping up. But first, I need to take you back in time...
Slowly, you're eyes are getting heavy. Your drifting away, far away. Back you go. Your eyelids are closing - they're now shut and... you're drifting... drifting...
Now, imagine a world where the word imminent no longer exists (are you imagining? Okay, I know it's difficult! YES - and you're tired! But PLEASE just TRY IMAGINING!).
So if Paul McGlone could never have uttered the imminent word, where would his credibility be now? Might everything he's said since suddenly become much more - credible?
Now... I'm going to move you forward in time. You're beginning the journey. Slowly at first, but faster now, until - you're reading the last two Seeing Machine RNS releases.
What's this? We have a fancy new chip! It's an all singing, all dancing chip! An upgradable chip! A cheap chip! It's a spare capacity chip! A chip that plays happily with everyone else's chips! A cover all angles chip! It's a... it's a pure stroke of genius chip!
So could it be possible that Paul McGlone will immi... imminen... shortly become our Seeing Machines chip hero?
You see, what I see here is quite different from Chris at Safestocks. We now have a product/s that the whole semi-conductor world can buy off-the-shelf. Their purchase costs us zip, but each purchase sends a little 'ker-ching' straight to our bottom line. That means (hello, potential investors) that Seeing Machines have reached the business equivalent of the Holy Grail: a place very few companies ever get within ARM's length of (oops, caps lock stuck on there).
But make no mistake, this new chip-set isn't new. All those months I've spent snarling over the breakfast table about the lack of serious action (I mean Seeing Machines action), these improved chips have been in development. Our management have been talking to their customers, analysing their market, and then moved - strategically. That move might even be seen by some as good management – might even be worthy of comment - if you were, say, an analyst.
Anyway, please remember this: when our CEO described our latest technology as a, “Significant breakthrough,” he did NOT, thankfully, prefix that phrase with a certain word beginning with the letter i. Because - as we all know - the word imminent no longer... Doh!
P.S. Oh, and when I click my fingers...
2020 might not be such a bad nom de plume after all.
If you're a new or potential investor in Seeing Machines, you won't have read a series of posts added to this board a long time ago titled: Reasons to be Cheerful. Those reasons to be cheerful weren't because this particular investor was having a good weekend, a birthday, or he'd won another £25 from his premium bonds (ERNIE, where's the £1 million?). No, the reasons this investor was cheerful - way back then - was because he was invested in a company in which he could see huge potential.
However, Seeing Machines and its investors have been through many ups and downs since then. But now, after all this time, that potential is even greater than ever.
But back to those Reasons to be Cheerful. Yesterday morning I came across the very first of those posts and had another read. The subject was how and why we won't be seeing driverless cars on any roads near you or me for a very long time. And that 'memory nudge' chimed in with more recent news.
As it now finally dawns on the Driverless Car Brigade that their mass market dream won't be happening any time soon, news arrived here recently that two major companies in the automotive supply chain had teamed up, and were already tacking away from the driverless car game to adopt a much more driver focused approach to road safety.
Veoneer and Qualcomm are jointly developing their next generation Advanced Driver Assistance System. For the uninitiated, ADAS is a clever system designed to save we road users from ourselves. So a very big reason why I'm so cheerful today is because both Veoneer and Qualcomm have also teamed up with - wait for it - Seeing Machines (see RNSs 6th and 9th Jan this year).
Now, dear new or potential investor, if ever there was a clue as to the future direction of Seeing Machines – having your Driver Monitoring System adopted by those two billion dollar giants is probably a clue.
But why would they team up with this little Australian company, worth peanuts? Well, Seeing Machines' technology has been evolving and doing what it does for many years - with great success, and that successful technology is being noticed - all around the world (do a wee bit of research).
So Seeing Machines now provide Veoneer and Qualcomm with a very small but very important piece of their next generation ADAS jigsaw, and without Seeing Machines' very clever little jigsaw piece - Veoneer and Qualcomm's giant jigsaw can't be completed
So, if you're contemplating investing in Seeing Machines but aren't yet quite convinced, here's a question: did Veoneer and Qualcomm select Seeing Machines technology because they thought it was second best?
Now, the answer to that question, dear potential investor, is definitely a Reason to be Cheerful!
Have a Good Day,
Plastic bags at the bottom of Mariana's trench! Whatever next? Kindly ask your friend Victor to keep his nose out of... where ever it is he has stuck it!
Really!
Yours,
Disgusted of Aberdeenshire.
Smokey knew there must be a wolf lurking somewhere in the forest. Although he'd never actually seen a wolf, he was positive there must be one.
Every day when he awoke, he drew back the blind and scanned the land between the village and the trees. A wolf had to be out there, somewhere.
As spring changed to summer, the grass grew tall, which made looking for the wolf difficult. Then one morning when Smokey awoke, he drew back the blind and - there - a wolf was standing among the tall grass. He ran from his home shouting, “Wolf! Wolf! Look out! Wolf!”
The villagers ran here and there, gathering their sheep and herding them to safety. They then set off to find the wolf and kill it.
Several hours later, the villagers returned, exhausted. They had not found the wolf. They had not found any signs of a wolf, and the dogs had not picked up the scent of a wolf.
The village elders sent for Smokey. They told him there was no wolf, and they told him how much disruption and distress he'd caused the village.
Smokey insisted there was a wolf. He had seen the wolf, and he was only trying to protect the villages by telling them there was a wolf.
The next day when Smokey awoke, he pulled back the blind and once again saw the wolf. He ran out into the village and shouted there was a wolf in the pasture and all the sheep would be slaughtered.
The villagers ran here and there, gathering in their sheep and herding them to safety. They then set off to find the wolf and kill it.
Several hour later, the villagers returned, exhausted. Their was no wolf.
The village elders sent for Smokey. They told him of the distress he'd caused and that there were no wolves to be found, near or far.
Smokey insisted he had seen a wolf, and his only mission was to protect those villagers wise enough to listen to him.
The next day when Smokey awoke, he drew back the blind and, yet again, he saw the wolf. He ran to the door, then paused. Slowly, he opened the door then walked to the senior elder's home. He knocked on the door and, when the elder appeared, he told him the wolf was in the pasture.
Both Smokey and the elder walked back to Smokey's home, where Smokey pointed out the wolf wagging its tail in the tall grass.
The elder raised his spyglass and studied the wolf. After a while, he lowered the glass and handed it to Smokey.
Smokey focused the glass and... his wolf was a clump of tall grass and a rowan sapling waving in the breeze. Smokey lowered the spyglass, “Such a magnificent beast... but such a deadly threat to the whole village.”
The elder turned to Smokey and retrieved his spyglass, “Now the only question in need of an answer is - which one are you: a fool... or a scoundrel?”
As the newest appointee to the board of Seeing Machines, this was Mr Michael Brown's first visit to the company's HQ in Canberra. During the flight from London he had dug deeper into every aspect of the small Australian company, and also thoroughly research the background of each of his fellow board members.
Although still suffering jet-lag, there was a spring in Brown's step as, sharply suited, brief-case in hand, he strode along the corridor towards CEO Paul McGlone's second floor office.
McGlone's CV had read well. He came across as a no-nonsense type with the experience to drive the business forward; just what was needed at this stage in the company's evolution. Seeing Machines had the right technology; was partnered with all key industry players; and the product was about to go global. In short, the company's potential was staggering. So, with a man like McGlone in charge, what could possibly go wrong?
Brown approached the CEO's door, paused, fitted his best corporate smile, tapped the door and eased it open. “Hello... Paul?”
The office was empty. Brown slowly scanned the room, hesitated, then eased back out into the corridor. As the door clicked shut, a muffled shout came from inside. Once again, he cracked the door open. “Mr McGlone?”
From under the large executive desk, a voice shouted, “****! Toss! Faat!”
Brown's smile wilted, “Hello.”
A head popped up from behind the desk; the chin level with the table-top. The face wore a plump, ruddy complexion, topped off with a tall woolly hat. An ear-flap hung from each side of the hat which was secured under the chin by a thin piece of cord.
“Hey, bud! Have a look - is moy bobble ova they on the flo buy the doe?”
Blinking at the apparition, Brown slowly recognised the CEO from his file of company mug-shots. “Sorry... a bobble?”
McGlone scooped up a small mirror from his desk and began eyeing his hat suspiciously. “Yeh, it was they when oi put this on – nah it's bladdy disappeed!” McGlone swung a hand upward and pointed a finger at the top of his hat. The outline of his arm now resembled the handle of a teapot. “It's gone! Moy pom-pom!” He paused and looked towards his visitor, “Nah offence.”
Glancing sideways, Michael Brown reversed out into the corridor, “Mr McGlone, I've just noticed Mr DiFiore out here spitting coffee at the floor and swearing at the drinks machine. I'll just nip along and... have a word... give you a minute to...”
“Okay, mayt, then ya can get stuck inta fixin' that bladdy machine!” McGlone thumbed towards the RNS Sending Machine which constantly blinked a red failure light. “Tracey from National sent ya, roight?”
Brown smiled politely then, leaning across the door's threshold, pointed to the top of his own head, “By-the-way, that missing pom-pom... your hat's on inside out.”
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P.S. Dear fellow investors, at least we know that machine's still plugged in!