I have found more devious ways to change my small coins into big ones. While hanging around the train station this evening (as you do), I noticed that the whizzy new vending machines take 5p coins.
Needless to say, I first tested that it was happy to accept 30 five pee coins in exchange for a delcious bag of peanut M&Ms. I can confirm that it was indeed happy to do so.
A bit later I had another idea, and returned to test it further. This is one of those machines that counts up how much you're putting in, but doesn't keep "your" coins in a special place so that it can give you back if you ask for them. No sir. So if you stick 40 five pee coins in (which takes a while), all it will know is that you've put £2 in. So if you press the 'refund' button, instead of getting back a pocket full of silver, it gives you back a single shiny £2 coin. Much better.
I am pleased with this discovery and shall be using it to exchange all my small silver coins into nice big ones. And if I get any more £2 coins along the way, then that's great too. (I take the view that they're too nice to spend, so I "save" them in a little pile on the table.)
So all hail vending machines. As someone famous once said, "you've just got to know how to work 'em."
Wednesday 30 January 2008
Tuesday 15 January 2008
Loose Change
Today I came up with an evil plan to get rid of the numerous unwanted 5 pee, 2 pee and one pee pieces that are cluttering up my home. Yes.
Oh sure, I could count them all up and put them into those silly bank bags like some kind of sucker. But no. My plans for exchanging these small, bulky, unwanted currencies into larger, denser, more powerful coinal instruments are devious and evil, oh yes.
Item! My local train station does not always have a helpful man (or woman) behind the ticket counter to sell tickets. In their absence, a 'Permit To Travel' machine is offered. The idea being that you put some coins in, and get a ticket saying how much money you put in. This is almost as good as a ticket (except it isn't a ticket, so isn't) but at least it lets you get on the train without people jumping on you accusing you of being some kind of manky non-fare-payer.
But my point, and I do have one, is this. The permit to travel is often refunded to you IN CASH, rather than taken off the money you pay for the ticket once you eventually find a guard.
Do you see how this works yet? The guard will usually hand you back a nice shiny pound coin - and not the pocket full of loose change that you originally unloaded into the machine. Thus, useless small money is exchanged for useful big money. No commission or anything!
So it was earlier today that I found myself at the train station, funnelling all of my 5 pees into the Permit To Travel machine. It takes a surprising amount of time - and once I got up to about £1.60 worth of loose change, the machine took against me, clearly deciding that some kind of shindiggery was going on, at which point it promptly dumped all of the coins back into the coin return tray. Which is behind a flap which now WON'T OPEN because of all the 5p coins behind it! Swizz!
Further dabbling revealed that the machine was also not in the mood to accept a regular pound coin, perhaps on account of the fact that it turned out to be a New Zealand dollar. It has a kiwi on it and everything. Somebody obviously slipped it to me when I wasn't looking. Bah.
Anyway, eventually I turned still more loose change into a permit to travel, and a bit more precision thumping resulted in me being able to open the flap and retrieve the rest of my change which was so rudely rejected on the first attempt. Next time I go to the train station, I'll do the same thing again. Slowly, more and more of my loose change shall be converted into proper money. And then I shall be king of the world.
On a side note, the machine says it only takes "5p 10p 20p 50p £1 £2" but I wouldn't mind betting that it'll take 1 pees and 2 pees as well. I'll have to try that next time too. Can you even contain your excitement?
Oh sure, I could count them all up and put them into those silly bank bags like some kind of sucker. But no. My plans for exchanging these small, bulky, unwanted currencies into larger, denser, more powerful coinal instruments are devious and evil, oh yes.
Item! My local train station does not always have a helpful man (or woman) behind the ticket counter to sell tickets. In their absence, a 'Permit To Travel' machine is offered. The idea being that you put some coins in, and get a ticket saying how much money you put in. This is almost as good as a ticket (except it isn't a ticket, so isn't) but at least it lets you get on the train without people jumping on you accusing you of being some kind of manky non-fare-payer.
But my point, and I do have one, is this. The permit to travel is often refunded to you IN CASH, rather than taken off the money you pay for the ticket once you eventually find a guard.
Do you see how this works yet? The guard will usually hand you back a nice shiny pound coin - and not the pocket full of loose change that you originally unloaded into the machine. Thus, useless small money is exchanged for useful big money. No commission or anything!
So it was earlier today that I found myself at the train station, funnelling all of my 5 pees into the Permit To Travel machine. It takes a surprising amount of time - and once I got up to about £1.60 worth of loose change, the machine took against me, clearly deciding that some kind of shindiggery was going on, at which point it promptly dumped all of the coins back into the coin return tray. Which is behind a flap which now WON'T OPEN because of all the 5p coins behind it! Swizz!
Further dabbling revealed that the machine was also not in the mood to accept a regular pound coin, perhaps on account of the fact that it turned out to be a New Zealand dollar. It has a kiwi on it and everything. Somebody obviously slipped it to me when I wasn't looking. Bah.
Anyway, eventually I turned still more loose change into a permit to travel, and a bit more precision thumping resulted in me being able to open the flap and retrieve the rest of my change which was so rudely rejected on the first attempt. Next time I go to the train station, I'll do the same thing again. Slowly, more and more of my loose change shall be converted into proper money. And then I shall be king of the world.
On a side note, the machine says it only takes "5p 10p 20p 50p £1 £2" but I wouldn't mind betting that it'll take 1 pees and 2 pees as well. I'll have to try that next time too. Can you even contain your excitement?
Monday 14 January 2008
No Camera, No Laydeez
On my way home this evening, I passed by a large billboard at London's glamorous Waterloo station. It was an advert for a new camera by Samsung. Its message was simple:
"Imagine expressing your emotions with optical zoom"
Huh. I had not considered that before.
That said, the range of emotions that I could express with a camera is probably fairly limited. And not just because I have a limited range myself. I mean, even the finest and most considerate lover might have trouble expressing a full range of emotions armed with only a cameraphone. Of course, that lover would probably be French, such people being well known for being exceptionally artistic and frisky, so there is also every possibility that the camera might actually be useful to at least express some things which the language gap could not convey. For example, "je voudrais a acheter les piles" (I would like to buy some batteries) - conveyed by holding up the camera and pointing at the battery flap, adding, "uh? uh?" for good effect.
Alternatively perhaps perfectly expressing your emotions with optical zoom is the pinnacle of high art. I wouldn't be surprised if we don't see it at the next Edinburgh Fringe.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Come one come all, witness the amazing Johnny Samsung, who can only express his emotions with optical zoom, the original and best zoom-based emotion expressor, not to be confused with Johnny Kodak next door who can only express his emotions with a clearly inferior digital zoom. All those other Johnnys are just imitators. Marvel as the amazing Johnny Samsung presents the emotion of arousal!"
(Johnny angles his camera upwards, and extends the lens)
"Thrill to 'I have had too much to drink tonight!'"
(Johnny angles his camera downwards, retracting the lens)
"And of course, premature illumination."
(A confused-looking Johnny points the camera at himself while examining it, and inadvertently sets off the flash, causing him to fall over.)
I wonder if I have too much time on my hands.
"Imagine expressing your emotions with optical zoom"
Huh. I had not considered that before.
That said, the range of emotions that I could express with a camera is probably fairly limited. And not just because I have a limited range myself. I mean, even the finest and most considerate lover might have trouble expressing a full range of emotions armed with only a cameraphone. Of course, that lover would probably be French, such people being well known for being exceptionally artistic and frisky, so there is also every possibility that the camera might actually be useful to at least express some things which the language gap could not convey. For example, "je voudrais a acheter les piles" (I would like to buy some batteries) - conveyed by holding up the camera and pointing at the battery flap, adding, "uh? uh?" for good effect.
Alternatively perhaps perfectly expressing your emotions with optical zoom is the pinnacle of high art. I wouldn't be surprised if we don't see it at the next Edinburgh Fringe.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Come one come all, witness the amazing Johnny Samsung, who can only express his emotions with optical zoom, the original and best zoom-based emotion expressor, not to be confused with Johnny Kodak next door who can only express his emotions with a clearly inferior digital zoom. All those other Johnnys are just imitators. Marvel as the amazing Johnny Samsung presents the emotion of arousal!"
(Johnny angles his camera upwards, and extends the lens)
"Thrill to 'I have had too much to drink tonight!'"
(Johnny angles his camera downwards, retracting the lens)
"And of course, premature illumination."
(A confused-looking Johnny points the camera at himself while examining it, and inadvertently sets off the flash, causing him to fall over.)
I wonder if I have too much time on my hands.
Saturday 5 January 2008
OMG! SHOOZ!
OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! I must have THESE shoes as well! When did this happen? When did they start making excellent shoes like these? Why did nobody tell me?
What happens to the happy shoes if I get these? Wearing one pair means I wouldn't be wearing the other.. how could I do that? How could I even choose between them when they are clearly both of equal and inescapable excellence?
Could I wear both? I could wear them both, couldn't I! That would be doubly excellent. I'm sure I could pull it off. If I can find some neon socks to match them - I'd need a different colour on each foot, obviously, otherwise I'd look stupid.
If I find out what size my feet actually are, I'm pretty sure my credit card is going to take a fashion beating. But who wouldn't be delighted by that? Maybe I need a new look for the new year. Hey, maybe I could wear a red dog collar to go with it... goth is in now, right? I shall name my new look 'Neongoth' or something like that. I'm sure it'll be cool.
Because Everyone Loves Shoes
I must have these shoes! These shoes are simply the best thing ever and I must have them. Don't you think? I really do think I should have a pair of shoes like this. I don't have a pair of shoes like this already. No shoes like this in my life. A gap, a space left unfilled by such happy shoes. It would be wrong not to buy them.. wouldn't you say?
Wow, this must be how ladies feel all day long. I feel your pain, sisters.
Wednesday 2 January 2008
Hi Finance
I spent an hour or so this evening organising my bank statements. Financial records are always important, and for some reason I've never felt able to throw away any of my bank statements, ever since I first opened the account 20 years ago.
This is not to say that my record-keeping has always been so scrupulous - after all, the tidy pile of bank statements you see, pictured right, has not been all in the same place for a long time. But as I spent most of the year tidying up, each time I found a bank statement, I returned it to one place where all bank statements would hereinafter be stored. Eventually, I had rounded them all up safely in one neat place.
Or so I thought! Not until this evening have I become aware of the full carnage of my lax attitude and financial procedures. For you see, of the 492 statements that my bank has so far sent me, over the years.. 25 of them are missing.
Unacceptable! As many as 5% of my bank statements are still unaccounted for. I have no idea where they might be. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have thrown them away. But surely I've searched and tidied anywhere that stray bank statements could be hiding. So where could they be? I wonder. What am I to do, how am I to live my life, for example, without statement 106 from April 1994?
I suppose I could always ring the bank up. "Hello, can I have a copy of statement 106 please? And these 24 others..." But then again they might say "You must be nuts, we don't keep stuff from the last century." Even if they could service all of my requests, I could be looking at £125 in bank charges just to get copies. Are they that important to me? Well, I can answer that one straight away - no they're not. A complete collection is one thing, but cold hard cash is quite another. And besides, I might find the missing statements one day. Imagine how upset I'd be if I'd already paid £5 for a copy. Compare to how happy I could have been at finding a long-lost piece of financial history. No, I don't think we'll be paying for any copy statements now. They're really not that important.
That said, I'm still finding a strange reluctance to throw them away. All three inches and two kilograms of them. Of course I'd scan them first (got to keep records, after all)... but somehow having the originals is nicer. Who knows, one day they might be art. I could have a room in the Tate somewhere, with the artist's actual bank statements as wallpaper. Who wouldn't be delighted by such a thing?
Hm. Maybe I'd better get the shredder ready.
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