Constantly Being Screwed

I have my mind on my money, and my money on my mind, as I believe someone once said. And why not, because it seems that if I didn't watch my finances like a hawk, I would constantly be getting screwed by banks and big businesses, all working together to part me from my pennies. It will not do.

I spend a lot of time looking at spreadsheets, constantly analysing, correlating, examining the performance of my many investments. I'm not into shares, I think they're a fast way to lose money (never mind my former colleague who has virtually retired on the millions he made from them) and I am not the type to put my capital at risk. No sir. I believe the proper term for this is "risk averse", and so I am, at least financially.

The problem is, even your friendly local building society is not to be trusted these days. Earlier this week I visited the website of my friendly local building society, which is in fact neither local nor friendly. I already have a modest deposit with them, and this week I noticed that they offer a savings account offering 6.4% interest. This is very good, so I applied for it. This morning I got the leaflet through telling me that everything had been opened. I logged on to check my account details and discovered that in the 5 days between my application and the account opening, the interest rate HAS ALREADY GONE DOWN and is now only 6.15%, which is less!

What a complete waste of time that was. But even then, the disaster was not over. No. For with the same society I also have an ISA. (Everyone should have an ISA.) Yesterday it paid me 5.65% per month. Which is a bit rubbish, but interest rates have been going down over the past few months. Today the website tells me that they offer 5.9% on ISA deposits. Whoo-hoo! An increase! More pennies each month for me. Or rather, not for me at all, because you see this ISA which pays 5.9% is a new, different ISA, and different from the crappy 5.65% ISA that I have. Which, by the way, now suddenly pays only 5.55%, as a further insult.

I bet they thought I wouldn't notice! Well I did. No good heels and bums and charlatans, all of them. How am I to retire by the age of 40 at this rate? They obviously know that ISAs are a nuisance to move around (you can't just take the money out and put it in somewhere else, you have to 'transfer' it so that it stays tax-free.)

Those bowler-hatted chaps at the Bradford and Bingley are on thin ice. But I may yet have the last laugh, because I've just opened a 6.49% savings account at.... Northern Rock. So that'll be interesting, eh.

Ant: The Movie

Having surveyed other "proper" blogs, I notice that every so often it is required to pick up on one of the popular internet phenomenons (or "meme"s) and make it yours. Therefore, I have tracked down the latest groove that's got all the cool cats swinging:

This one is based on the (totally and entirely true) idea that the 'shuffle' feature on iTunes (and/or your iPod Shuffle) is entirely psychic and can predict your future like some kind of Magic 8 Ball. Thus, when it comes to be time to make the 'movie of your life', your shufflesome friend can provide the soundtrack to fit.

Try it yourself. See what your iPod picks for your movie's Opening Credits, Song For A Winter's Night, Falling in Love, Breaking Up, Prom Song, Life's OK, Mental Breakdown, Driving, Flashback, Getting Back Together, Getting Married, Sex Scene, Shelter Song, Birth of 1st Child, Final Battle Scene (not sure what that's for, unless you are Ryu from StreetFighter II), Death Scene, Funeral, End Credits.

Here's what the mysterious appley forces predicted for me. This is totally true.

Opening Credits:
Rock With You - Michael Jackson
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hK3Y1Ehv9c

Song For A Winter's Night:
Starchild - Jamiroquai
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UifY4k1KNw

Falling in Love:
Raincloud - Lighthouse Family
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kzJcbvRxnrg

Breaking Up:
Whole Lotta Love - Goldbug
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GmIFFVTbsE

Prom Song:
You're The Real Music - The Kids From Fame
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQhmOU_qHCo

Life's OK:
Universal Speech - The Go! Team
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksmI9hnWJXc

Mental Breakdown:
Dreamer - Livin' Joy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86btbPOFfaE

Driving:
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays - N*Sync
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-vsmrTrL0w

Flashback:
Block Rockin' Beats - The Chemical Brothers
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhFoYiBz0z0

Getting Back Together:
The Take Over, The Break's Over - Fall Out Boy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zElEs8yw7fw

Getting Married:
Weakness - Stevie Wonder
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1Mw7nX38qs

Sex Scene:
Mistake No. 3 - Culture Club
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5o2mHtmzu4

Shelter Song:
Nervous Breakdown - Carleen Anderson
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CA_-DXem7kU

Birth of 1st Child:
Your Woman - White Town
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVL-zZnD3VU

Final Battle Scene:
Sing It Back - Moloko
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSgC969oUgo

Death Scene:
I Knew You Were Waiting For Me - Aretha Franklin & George Michael
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuU0cJ_iW8w

Funeral:
You'll Never Stop Me Loving You - Sonia
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nMp3YvL6mg

End Credits:
C'est La Vie - B*Witched
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIJPPprDcVQ

Everyone knows that iPods are psychic, really. I wonder what this says about my future. Other than that I am clearly destined to die in some bizarre breakdancing contest. Which I suppose is not such a bad way to go - and at least my funeral will be well-attended by people dressed in snappy 80s fashions. Who wouldn't be delighted by such a thing?

Lies My Parents Told Me, Volume 2

I couldn’t have been more than about three years old when I began to take more of an interest in the great outdoors. And in particular, the enormous back garden of the house I grew up in. My memories suggest that the house too was enormous, but then again that perception might just be because I was awfully little at the time and so everything was comparatively bigger. A bit like Wagon Wheels. But I digress.

The back garden was home to many wonders of nature. Grass, flowers, plants of all shapes and colours and sizes. Much to interest a young mind – and of course, what toddler doesn’t want to help out and make sure that the garden is in good order?

The idea that it was possible to plant things in the soil, which would then turn into miraculous plants, flowers, space hoppers, and sturdy oak trees, was of course one which I found interesting. And so it was that I decided that I wanted my own patch of soil where I too could plant things.

I had become aware that it was possible to plant the tops of carrots in the ground, and that new carrots would grow as a result. I’m not sure how I obtained this knowledge, because I certainly don’t remember this ever happening. But nonetheless, the principle was good. Food comes from the ground.

My grandfather grew food in the greenhouse. This seemed like a good place for food to grow, but I was not always allowed into the greenhouse, so I would have to plant my food outside, in my own small patch of soil by the front door. My young mind saw no reason why these endeavours should not be equally successful.

Grandad grew tomatoes – or so I thought – in his greenhouse. I had not noticed them before, but one day, there they were. Since tomatoes must therefore be fast and easy to grow, I decided that I too would plant tomatoes. I don’t recall the exact mechanics of how I did this. Perhaps I asked for some seeds, perhaps I buried a tomato sandwich, or still more likely, maybe I just put a carrot top in the ground and expected it to become what I wanted. In those days I was used to things almost always turning out exactly as I expected.

I patted down the soil, watered it vigorously, and waited. Day after day I checked back, continuing the vigorous watering as I did so. (Plants need water, and hoses are fun to play with, so the double bonus rule applies.) But it seems that progress was slow in coming. A day is a long time when you’re three, so I’m quite sure that after three or four days, I would have been immeasurably upset and disappointed that my mighty tomato tree was not growing correctly. Perhaps it just needed more water.

I did not have much longer to wait, though, for it was not long after that my regular check of my heavily-watered patch of outdoor soil revealed that an entire tomato had grown, seemingly overnight. A very small tomato, admittedly, but a tomato nonetheless. Delighted with my horticultural achievement, I used my green fingers to expertly pick up the tomato from the soil upon which it laid. (Not, you will notice, any kind of vine. A professional tomato-grower would have noticed the absence right away.)

I proudly showed the tomato to the first available parent. I could tell that they were as impressed as I was, but apparently I had made an error in picking the tomato too soon – I was supposed to wait a while so that it would grow to be big and strong. We therefore returned the small tomato to the soil, watered it some more, and waited for another day.

The next day, the tomato had grown! Despite having been ‘picked’ from a vine that wasn’t there, an issue of minor detail which does not concern the busy three-year-old horticulturalist, my single tomato was coming along in leaps and bounds. I could tell that I had a fine career ahead of me. The following day, it was larger and larger still until I could take it no more and insisted upon consuming the tasty treat. As it turned out, I don’t think I liked tomatoes very much – that might have had something to do with being three years old, and quite a fussy eater even for that age.

Even so, my pride at having grown my own food was immense. I was pleased for many years afterwards.

It was not until a very long time later that the truth was discovered. My well-meaning parents had considered my constant visits to my well-watered patch of mud to be so endearing that they felt they could not leave me without the kind of result that my impatient young mind was seeking. And once again, my blissful naivety was targeted in another sinister operation.

A small cherry tomato was purchased from the supermarket, and placed in the corner of my budding allotment when I was not looking. The illusion that I had grown this was eagerly accepted. But how could the tomato continue to grow? Surely this was proof of my endeavours? No. Each day, again when I was not looking, probably when I was deep in blissful, ignorant, angelic sleep, the tomato of the day was switched with a slightly larger tomato.

Hook, line, and sinker. I didn’t find out for years.

I think I’m going to cry.

Have You Enough Adhesive?

For a long time I have been thinking that the one thing missing from my nearly-tidied room is some nice carpet. The problem with carpet, which my room has never been uncluttered enough to have, is that it's very hard to lay carpet if there are things on the floor.

Some months ago, an inspirational idea hit me. Carpet tiles! Carpet tiles are the thing, says I, because carpet tiles are square, and can be laid down one or two at a time, wherever there is a spare patch of floor. I can lay the tiles at a time of my choosing, whenever the flooring underneath is temporarily unencumbered by having something on top of it.

Needless to say, this idea did not meet with universal approval. I ran it past my best interior design consultant. She made all kinds of noises like "Euurrrooohh!!!! It'll be like an office! Eeeooo! No! No! No that's horrible! Don't do that" and similar admonishments which I don't recall. Nonetheless, the advice was against me. "Carpet Tiles: Don't Do It", which I think was a song by Grandmaster Flash back in the eighties.

Bravely I chose to ignore this advice, sure in my mind that I am the ultimate arbiter of style and fashion. Earlier today I measured up. 123 inches by 169 inches. That's "ten foot three by fourteen foot two" in old money, and given that your average industry standard carpet tile is 50 centimetres square, that means I need... 58 carpet tiles to make my room nice.

"Have you enough adhesive?", one carpet tile website asked me, in a manner which I chose to find entirely charming. Also a good point. I may need two or three tins of spray adhesive to cover my floor, apparently.

I had a look on several websites and couldn't find any colours I liked. Browns and reds and greens and blues have this nasty habit of all looking the same, really. There was a nice emerald green.. and a bright-ish blue.. but how to choose? Which colour is best?

And then I realised.. they're carpet tiles. I can have both!

But if we're mixing colours, then why stop at two? And that's when it hit me. I want lots and lots of brightly coloured carpet tiles, just like the picture at the top, there. Sadly the website that I stole that picture from doesn't seem to have ANY of those colours. But no matter, now I have a plan. A design for my floor. A design for living, no less. I have seen my carpet, and it is multicoloured. Just like me.

Changemaster III: Takin' It To The Bank

OK, so I didn't get around to it yesterday, but today I took all my bagged-up change down to the bank. Now, let it not be said that this signals the retirement of the great Changemaster. No sir. But despite my perfectly devilish ability to turn small change into big change armed with nothing more than my incredible wits and agility, there are times when you just have to pretend to be 'normal people' and do things like mortals do.

Today was that day. And since I was taking something like 17 bags of nuisance copper coins (quaintly entitled 'bronze' by the banking industry), the mighty Changemaster took his silver small change along for the ride too. Sure, I could have shoved £25 worth of 20ps, 10ps and 5ps into vending machines up and down the country, in some kind of serial change exchanging shakedown that would arguably have made me the most wanted man in Britain*, but if I'm going to be inside a bank... may as well get rid of the silver at the same time, huh?

£75 worth of change weighs an awful lot, I discovered. The lady behind the counter did not seem entirely pleased to see me, and did seem concerned at first as to whether I had properly counted and separated the coins, rather than having just filled the bags up with random change like some kind of hobo. Nonetheless, our business was soon transacted, and it wasn't long before I had not only disposed of about 5 years worth of change, but also six months worth of small cheques and postal orders which had been sitting on top of my filing cabinet awaiting a suitable banking opportunity.

In some strange way, putting money in the bank feels an awful lot like tidying up, and just as satisfying. I must do it more often.

* - alright, I realise this isn't actually illegal, but it sounds good, huh?

I Am Not Jealous

This afternoon I found myself wondering whatever had happened to an 'old face' from one of our parent companies. So I looked them up. And I found out about what they'd been doing in the last few years.

And they'd been busy. Turns out that while they were with 'the company' they had a sideline which earned them a cool quarter mil. (That's a quarter of a million pounds, in new money.) Very nice. But having earned that kind of money, they left... and in the few years since then, they made at least another half mil on top of that.. And what is worse, by means of rubbing it in, they even published a book at the same time.

Jealous? Me?

Yeah. Especially as they did pretty much the same kind of work as I did. Then again, I consoled myself with the thought that I'm pretty sure I could have made a million in ten years too, if I'd had the drive and talent. A colleague reassured me that my rich ex-colleague was in fact not remotely talented in any way. Wait, that doesn't make me feel any better! Dammit!

I am not jealous. I am not jealous. But by way of proving how insanely jealous I'm not, it did make me think that maybe if I really want to own enough money to buy the City of London (and perhaps a nice penthouse flat too), perhaps I need to get off my bum and do more.

Maybe tomorrow I'll take those bags of 2p coins down to the bank. Well, it's a start...

Changemaster II: Nobody Gets Away Cleaner

Today is the day it went down. Days, maybe even weeks of planning, coming together in the ultimate change-exchanging shakedown of the century.

Military precision would be required if all my pockets full of change were to be subtly and cleverly converted into coins of larger denomination. No detail could be overlooked. The plan was perfect. Monday was the day it would go down. In and out, the exchanges made before they even knew what had hit them.

The time is 1pm. Synchronise watches. OK, just me. And I don't wear a watch. But let's not go into that. It's about to go down.

Target 1 - the Permit To Travel machine. Twenty five pees and two fifties go in, just like we rehearsed. A £2 "permit to travel" ticket comes out. A few minutes for the train to arrive and on board we go. Straight to the guard to buy a ticket. Payment by plastic of course, so for the permit to travel "I'll just give you that back in cash if that's OK?". Yes, of course it is. You're going to hand me a £2 coin, just like I have been planning for weeks. This is no mistake. You have no choice in this. It is going down.

A £2 coin is returned, and so, indirectly, 22 small coins have become one big coin. The game is on, and the train speeds the master change exchanger to...

Target 2 - the vending machine. Actually, two machines at this station. The carefully crafted master plan continues, as 20 ten pee coins are deposited into the machine. The second part of the plan is about to go down. Two not-quite-hard-enough-to-buy-anything presses on the number pad for show, a slightly perplexed look for the benefit of anyone who may be watching, and then a press of the 'coin return' button. The return tray clinks to life not once but... wait, four times. That is not in the plan. I was expecting a shiny £2 coin, in exchange for my 20 tenpees, but what I have is FOUR 50p coins instead. Larger, heavier, more of them.. not in the plan. This is not how it was meant to go down.

The issue is considered momentarily, but the principle is still OK and 50p coins are not that bad, even if they're not quite as nice as £2 coins. The plan is still on. Maybe the machine situated on the other platform will be more forthcoming.

Target 3 - a different vending machine. Again, in go the coins. Ten 20p pieces this time. All smiles, everybody's happy. Nothing to see here. You won't even notice when it goes down, so smooth is the operation. Just one touch of the coin return button and .... wait! No good! This one hasn't got any change in it! The irony! The self-same mechanism which lets me change my change into larger coins (rather than just returning the coins I put in) is now keeping my change hostage, not returning any larger coins, and not returning the coins I put in. I have to buy something from the machine. This was not part of the plan.

I scan the machine for which items may be optimally purchased to ensure I get the whole £2 worth of value back. Top right, the unusual sight of packets of 4 Ferrero Rocher thingies. £1 each. Perfect. I take two and retreat to the inside of a moving train to consider the failure of the well-planned plan.

It must be all over, right? There's no way this superb plan can work if lurking inside each potential change-giving machine is the wildcard that actually, sorry, there's no change and you'll just have to buy some crisps instead.

I consider the issue while eating the nutty chocolate treats. There must be a way to tell if the machine has any change available or not. It is a two Rocher problem, but I hit upon a possible solution, and as the train arrives in the big city, another machine is waiting at the end of the platform, positively inviting me to test my hypothesis.

I invest 10p in testing the idea. All seems to stack up so far. And then, a break for a few hours to do the whole Bruce Wayne "this is what I do when I'm not being a superhero" thing.

Some hours later. Back at the station. The platform for my destination is machine-free. Obviously the authorities are on to the jig. They know that it is going down. The game is on once more.

The train stops at another station where machines are plentiful. This is the place, just like we planned. A casual wander past two machines at the end of the platform. One of them is interesting but skilled observation tells the keen change exchanger that it's obviously not the right sort for what's going down. The other one is a contender, though. Easy to test... and the blink of an eye reveals that it has no change inside. Time to cross to another platform.

Next platform, and interference from people wearing yellow jackets. They're obviously here because they know it's about to go down. And it is, but when the timing will be so perfect, the moves so well-executed, the plan so perfectly perfect, they will never see what happens right under their noses. I will have my change. And I will not be buying no crisps, either.

Back to the machine that took my pants down earlier. The test confirms it still has no change. The expected result. Now to the next machine. It paid out earlier, but I still have £6 worth of change in my pocket and it's just rude to hit one machine over and over again. But the test... is good. It does work. And there IS change in this machine. OK, three times in ten minutes. It's doable. It is indeed time for it to go down.

£2 of change goes in. The correct misdirection for anyone who's looking and might suspect that I'm just playing with the machine. The coin return. And four 50p coins it is. Time to take a break and move down the platform. Lots of people here now, clearly looking out for the changemaster. Time to act cool and check the train times. No hurry. Nothing to see here.

Patience pays off when an arriving train distracts everyone. Back to the machine we go. Same deal again. A mix of 5ps and 10ps and 20ps this time. £2 in and four 50ps back out in the blink of an eye. Almost there. Just £2 more. And we do it again, back to back, no waiting.

It has gone down. It wasn't perfect. It might get noticed. But I'm already on a moving train, speeding away from the scene. I started the day with £12 of small change, and now I have this...



...which is much better, don't you think?

Maybe I'll just take my 2ps straight to the bank, though.