Where Chocolate Milk Comes From

I find it impossible not to be delighted by the label:

Know Your Change

Lots of people know things which they think are true, or that they're sure they heard somewhere.. but not everyone knows the real legal deal. Today we take a look at a popular 'fact', that being:

"More than 20p in change isn't legal tender".

Is it true, or just made up? Well, this one is true - sort of. What is and isn't legal tender is, rather helpfully, defined by law, and particularly the Coinage Act 1971 (as amended by the Currency Act 1983). This tells us that, basically:

- Up to £10 in "big silver" (20ps, 50ps) is legal tender.

- Up to £5 in "weeny silver" (5ps, 10ps) is also legal tender.

- Up to 20p in bronze is legal tender.

More than that, isn't. So if you're thinking of paying your parking ticket in pennies just to be a nuisance, you're fresh out of luck.

Hippy Food Update

While on a renewed tidying kick this evening, I noticed I still had those two litres of soya milk in the fridge, back from last year when I mistakenly got the groceries destined for those hippies.

Noticing that the 'best before' date had now passed - 05.03.2008 apparently - I decided that it was time to test it or toss it. So I tested it - tasting, that is - and found it to be.. actually not that bad at all. So I have resolved to use it up before it goes completely off. After all, it would be a shame to waste it.

I suppose now I'm going to have to start growing my hair long. Oh, wait...

Business Update With Antnoise

Welcome to the Business Update with Antnoise. Our top story tonight.. that Northern Rock savings account I opened? Screwed! On Saturday the interest rate went down to 6.25%. Which, by the way, is less than the 6.49% it used to be. Bah.

Meanwhile, in energy news, a gas and electricity bill of £250 has arrived. I'm not sure if this is good or not. Helpfully, my energy supplier has drawn me some graphs showing the deleterious effect I am having on the environment. I am sure these will be useful.

Apparently I can offset my carbon emissions by spending £55 on solar panels for Africa. That said, if I had my own solar panels maybe I wouldn't be using so much electricity in the first place. Why should Africa have all the fun?

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...