Is Google’s share price about to crash?

Could be about to follow Apple.

Following the poor performance of Apple shares over the past 8 months, many investors are starting to wonder if Google shares are about to follow a similar fate.

Apple’s share price has dropped from over US$700 in September 2012 to US$440 in May 2013. Over the same period, Google’s share price has increased from less than US$700 to over US$900.

What lies Beneath

Apple shares now trade a relatively low multiple for a tech company. The company currently has a trailing PE ratio of 10.5x and a forward PE ratio of 9.9x (for year-end 2014). This shows that the market expects little further growth from the company after 2014.

On the other hand, Google is valued highly. It trades at 27x earning on a trailing basis and 17x on a forward basis.

The Steve Jobs factor

There is no doubt that Steve Jobs was a revolutionary thinker. His multiple successes at Apple and Pixar are testament to that.

When he died, many felt that Apple would struggle immediately. However, these fears were quelled as Apple’s share price rose strongly. When Jobs died in October 2011, Apple share price was at US$400. Then, following a few months of static growth, the share price rose steadily to reach its peak of US$705 in September 2012.

The share price then declined heavily, dipping to as low as US$390 in April 2013, before recovering to US$440 in May 2013.

Why has this happened?

There are a number of possible reasons for this decline, including:

  • Apple’s upcoming products lack the enthusiasm they had under Jobs and although their previous products remain market leaders, they now face strong competition from the likes of Samsung, Google and Amazon.
  • Now that a couple of years have passed many of the best ideas that Jobs put in place – the ipod, the iphone, the ipad - have been used up and any new products going forward will have to be ones that he was not involved with. While there is no disputing that Apple still has a great design team led by Jonathan Ive, they perhaps lack the final decision over which new product to go with. Steve Jobs was notoriously difficult to argue with and that was surely one of his greatest strengths in pushing through products he liked.
  • With Jobs gone, Apple’s rivals sense blood. They know that Apple’s x-factor is gone and have therefore been more keen to innovate themselves. In short, the fear that Apple will always be two steps ahead is gone.

In closing, Apple’s core consumers loved Steve Jobs. They went wild when he gave his speeches in his turtle neck at product unveilings. They lined up to meet him. They slept on the streets outside Apple stores to be the first to get their hands on his latest gadgets. They miss him… and the market has finally started to realise it.

Google, on the other hand, is a different story.

Photograph: Getty Images

Andrew Amoils is a writer for WealthInsight

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism