Learning early is the best way to financial health

You don't have to be rich to be good with money. Being good with money isn't always about getting rich, which is why I get shivers up my scrawny spine when I see adverts for 'Rich Dad' or 'Prosperous Parents'. The idea that the unwashed masses can achieve stellar returns by following the tips given by some 'guru' is noxious. The only reason these gurus are rich is because they make lots of money off the numpties who buy their books.

That said, the value of early learning should not be dismissed. After all, if my mother had not taught me to read at 1, I would not have been such a quiet child at 2. If my father had not taught me how to fish, I would never have been able to sew crayfish into my friend's curtains at uni.

One of the above statements is true.

However, I digress. I don't often brag about my parents and, considering that they are both mentally unstable and have poor fashion sense (sorry Old Tarf, but it's true) it's understandable.

However, with all the press releases and surveys I get at work about how terrible it is for first-time buyers, having to borrow from mum and dad, I thought it worth giving a bit of praise to my maternal unit.

My mum - nothing short of a financial genius.

I have seen how she came back to the UK in the early 1980s - hardly the time of equal financial and employment rights for women - with less than £700 in her pocket, unable to return to teaching, and a small daughter to bring up on her own.

I watched as she raised herself up, pound by pound, by clever saving, saying 'No' when the man from the Pru tried to flog her an endowment mortgage, and making expenditure less than her income - Micawber would have been proud.

Was it tough? Did we go without a few luxuries? Of course! Yet this woman managed to put me through private school and buy a house of her own and pay off her mortgage. And, now a pensioner living on less than £8000 pension a year (yes, a year), she is NEVER in debt AND still manages to save, when she's not gadding off around the Bodliean looking at early Church documents.

Moreover, she's taken on Barclays over unfair lending terms and won. She's scoured T&Cs of various pamphlets that pour through the door from providers and written letters to them and the OFT and who knows who else over what she deems to be sharp financial practice.

It's because of her that I got interested in saving when I was 16. I never, ever thought twice about putting aside a few pounds each week into my then Abbey National account. I didn't question whether or not to join the pension scheme at my first job - a defined benefit scheme - even though I was a highly qualified post-graduate, earning just £16k in what I thought would be a temporary job before I got my dream position preserving Anglo-Saxon manuscripts at the British Museum Library.

I didn't go against her advice when she suggested I put my bonus and, later, redundancy pay-outs into an Isa and start saving for a deposit. Every time, I have benefited from her good advice and sound wisdom.

I have never gone to her for money - she could not afford to support me through university education, but I took out small loans, worked during the holidays in a pensions office, and got a scholarship from the British Council for my MA, which helped me pay off my loans by the age of 22.

Perhaps rather than young people going off to the bank of mum and dad to help them onto the housing ladder, or to save up for a car, parents should take on the responsibility of educating children about money from a much younger age.

This is why I welcome the efforts of the Opposition MPs who are pushing for more debates on the Child ISA and a reprieve for the Child Trust Fund. Such schemes helped to educate both parent and child and that education is priceless. No matter how much - or how little - you have, learning early about saving is the very best financial start that any child can have.

Oh my darling Clementine

Oh my darling Clementine

I once put three small Clementines in my mouth at the same time.

I was doing this at a summer garden party, for the sole purpose of showing off to my then boyfriend's younger brother and cousin to prove I was 'cool'.

While I was Clemmed up, I heard a clipped female voice behind me calling my name.

I spun round - it was ... his Cheltenham Ladies' College mother standing there ready to introduce me to her family.

I froze with embarrassment for a second, and promptly ejected all three Clems out of my mouth into my hand. Before she could even blink in surprise, I tried to redeem the situation by 'splaining.

However, all I could muster was holding out the spittle-covered Clementines towards her in the palm of my trembling hand, saying "Clementines." Hurrr

The teenagers whom I (actually successfully) impressed were rolling on the floor laughing their EMO butts off.

Suffice it to say, I am no longer friends with the ex boyfriend, but his young brother and cousin are still in regular contact.

Quick Moment of Smugness

So I helped my ex find some work before Christmas because he is always moaning on facebook about not having any money - and moaning all the while going out with me about it too.

In return, he bitched about me to some girl he was chatting to online, who then wrote a mean comment on his facebook page about me being annoying (what? Two texts and one phone call within two months since we broke up, all of which were about getting him a job?? How is THAT annoying?!).

Has he even bothered to email or text me to say thank you for getting him some work before Christmas?

HA!

Anyway he then goes and buys an iPhone - so much for being broke - and then drops it into the bath, part of me wanting to be snippy here says this may have been while sending more dirty texts to his female friends (one of the reasons behind us breaking up).

Now he has ruined his iPhone.

DOUBLE HA!

What goes around, comes around. Not that I'm gloating, but I was good to you despite everything you did to, and have been saying about, me. Evidently there's justice in this world, and you've just sucked on its bitter end.

Okay, I am gloating. Serves you right.

What would you do for a free £5?

Free Fivers? Cor blimey, gov!

There are many things I would not do to gain £5.

One of these would be to sit in a bath of spiders. That, as Meatloaf might have once sung, I won't do.

Another thing I would not do for £5 would be to eat mint choc chip icecream. Oh no, the resultant endoscopy would be far more hassle than a mere fiver is worth.

However, if I were to see a chappy standing in the street, wearing a sandwich board saying: "If you want a free £5, stop me and ask: it's yours", I would happily shuffle over to him and hold him to his promise.

Of course, the initial shame as people see me begging for money would be offset by my demeanour. I would feign that I was merely bantering with him, saying something like: "Yeah, mate, what are you selling? You're having a lend" in a loud voice. I would look quizzically at him, pretending to be oh-so-cool about it, when really I would be doing a happy dance inside ...

"I got a Fiiiiiiver, I got a Fiiiiver, you haven't got one, your mom's on welllllfare"

...

After receiving my £5, I would then come back for more, changing my appearance by carefully-positioned hats, coats, etc. I might even wear a shawl like a hijab to maximise my money-earning potential.

However, I would be in just 0.5 per cent of the UK population. Oh yes, 0.5 per cent.

For when someone from money-saving ideas website Save.co.uk did just that - stand in the West End for a day offering £5 to people - more than 2,700 people passed by and only 16 people decided to take him up on this.

That's right. SIXTEEN.

Which begs the question, are we Brits too proud to take money off strangers? Or too sceptical?

Either way, 16 people who either 'had no shame' or were trusting enough to believe his statement went home £5 richer than when they started out.

If only 0.5 per cent of the population is really bold enough to take such opportunities when they arise, then it's no wonder that UK consumers are more than £3trn in debt (excluding mortgages) and only 24 per cent of the population have made savings in the past 12 months.

Amoxicillin and the edge of ageism

The Big W - doesn't look quite so good in jpeg as it did on the night

I am not an old woman, apparently. And I know this to be true, for a 15-year-old girl told me this on Friday night as she badgered me to go on the Waltzers with her at the Crystal Palace Firework display.

When I say badgered, I mean, I was shamed into it by her assertion: 'What's wrong with you? You're not an old woman. You're not going to die.'

This would seem heartless, but then again there were only two of us youth leaders and eight 'young people' and someone had to pay for all the rides while the other stood next to the 1960s fairground equipment and hold all the 'stuff'. Seven teenage girls = a lot of stuff to hold. I opted for probable death rather than standing around in the rain with a bunch of handbags.

Thankfully I lived to tell the tale - despite the best efforts of the shady mulleted travellers who were trying to dislodge the change in our pockets by spinning our seats around at an alarming pace.

However, my voice did not survive the night. I think it fell out of the 'Hellraiser' and I've not seen it since. In its place I have had swollen tonsils, a sore neck (which I claim is 'whiplash' but is probably just my advancing years) and £30 down despite only going on 3 rides and eating one portion of curly fries. Not sure how that happened - as a financial journalist I'm usually extremely good with money. I reckon it's still rolling around the Tunnel of FEAR.

Add to this the requisite Annual Release International conference on Saturday, where I was wedged into an old Salvation Army hall next to the most icy air-con unit; and the all-too-familiar 'Pizza Express, South Croydon' dinner experience with church friends in the evening, and by Sunday I had tonsillitis.

Could I rest? No! I am 'not old' and I am 'not going to die'. An EMO told me so, and therefore Sunday I was up early, making sodding cards for people and baking a Sticky Banoffee Cake for the dear folks with whom I was going to lunch that afternoon.

Skipping church in the evening was a good idea, although that meant five phone calls from the young teens at church, asking how I was and had I seen their latest photos of me on Facebook - apparently having lent them my camera 'TO HOLD' they managed to take about 20 shots of my jeans-clad BUTT in various poses at the Fireworks party and posted them on Facebook.

Now this is where child protection policies fail. If I had done that = disgusting perv and off to jail, no passing Go, no collecting bail. However, a bunch of 15/16-year olds can do that to ME and - presto! My posterior becomes public property in punishment for me missing junior church.

Those pesky kids!

The only upside to the whole weekend's debacle was the fact that, because actually I AM old, despite what the Yoof assert, I keep a medicine chest in my bathroom and I had some old Amoxicillin tablets left over from when I had tonsillitis last year.

This was a Godsend - I have now got my voice back and my glands have decreased in size, allowing me to be able to shout.

By the time I see the youth group next Friday, I shall be able to tell them all what I think of their mockery. And hopefully get my camera back from them.

Easy chilli chocolate cake

200 grams of dark chocolate.

or 100g dark, 100g milk for a sweeter flavour

SAVING: You can get huge bars of lovely chocolate from Lidl for less than £1 that can make two cakes. Also, Sainsbury's basics offer 100g bars of dark and milk chocolate for about 30p each. Bargain!

150g of slightly salted butter

Melt the two above ingredients in the microwave or in a saucepan if you live in the Dark Ages.

When slightly cooled, stir in 5 eggs, individually. Stir well after each addition.

When even cooler, add a tiny pinch of chilli powder and one Tablespoon (yes, only one tablespoon) of plain flour

Stir, pour into a floured dish about 22cm in diameter, cook on gas mark 4 for about 20 mins and take it out when the sides are slightly spongy but the middle is a little wobbly (not runny, but wobbles).

Leave for 24 hours to set in a fridge, or for as long as you can without being tempted to dive in with a spoon.

Decorate with crumbled fudge pieces if you like or whatnot.

What is shampoo used for nowadays?

I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair

Has anyone noticed a trend among shampoo manufacturers, whereby their product now claims to do everything except the primary function of shampoo - namely, to clean your hair?

Read the blurb on your bottles of shampoo and see if I'm wrong. You never see any shampoo bottle purporting to leave your hair clean. No bottles seem to think that such a use is worthy of note, despite it being the only reason that we wash our hair.

No, nowadays, shampoo seems to be marketed as if it is designed to do everything else:

'Leaves hair smooth and silky' (so the fleas can't cling on?)

'Hydrates thirsty hair' (since when can 'dead' protein growth be thirsty?)

'Makes hair luscious and thick' (like ice-cream)

'Leaves hair glossy and manageable' (I've given up with the sarky comments)

'For that nourished effect'

'Leaves hair swishy and smelling great'

Yes yes yes, all these things are nice side-effects but what I really, really want is to get a nice clean feeling after a sweaty night where the cat has been sleeping with his butt on my head. I. Just. Want. Shampoo. That. Cleans. Hair. Can you do that for me, huh, mr Shampoo Producer?

'Removes all trace of cat-butt'

That will be the day.

That will be the day.

Of dead barn owls and dodgy correspondence

Not in my Freezer

I think I promised you all a story about a Dead Barn Owl and a passive agressive note.

Today's events have reminded me that this is owed to you. Today's events being of course an email sent by one person sitting near a printer on one floor of the 6-storey office, emailing the entire UK operation of our company and saying:
'Some personal correspondence has printed to this printer. Please let me know who you are and come and claim it'.

Which, if you are going to send to EVERYONE in the company, must of course ellicit a spate of ridiculous emails, one of which was sent by me:

'Dear XXXX' Thank you for your email. Is that my medication form? If so, please will you remove the details about the pills I take. My boss does not know I am on medication for serial obsessive disorder.'

'Dear XXXX. Is that the fake passport I was trying to print?'

'Damn! If it's the picture of the naked dog, that is my cat's. Sorry, he has an addiction.'

'Leave that photo of my wife alone please.'

Poor boy.

But he's not as overtly passive-aggressive-obsessive as that OCD fellow in one department of our firm, who five years ago decided to email everyone in the global company - more than 15,000 people - with the following:

'Dear White KitKat thief. I know who you are because someone saw you steal my white KitKat from the fridge. Please come and admit it to me.'

I could not resist the urge to REPLY TO ALL...

'Dear XXXX. I am sorry to hear about your KitKat. I had the same trouble last week. I put a dead barn owl in the fridge and when I came back the next day, it was gone. I saw some feathers around someone's desk, and I know who it is, but they have not apologised or replaced the barn owl.'

Immediately you heard a storm of laughter ripple across the office and then the emails started coming in.

'Dear Mermaid

I am so sorry for eating your barn owl. I was trying to resist but it looked so nice.' (this was from our CEO)

'Dear Mermaid

I had the same experience with a horse. When will this thievery ever stop?'

...and so forth...

Eventually, IT had to send out an anodyne email to all, requesting people not to send aggressive emails about chocolate bars and asking that people do not reply all.

Seconds after that email came in, the head of IT rang me.

"That email was not referring to you. We are killing ourselves laughing about the barn owl. Best email we've ever seen and the man deserved it."

I had forgotten about the incident until I returned to my firm, 3.5 years after leaving it.

From the chap in the post room, through to the sales guys and even the CEO, everyone remembered the dead barn owl and said it was one of their fondest memories of me.

I am still not sure whether that is entirely complimentary, but at least I can stash my roadkill in the fridges here without people stealing them again.

So... the stalker has been stalked

Old viewers of my blog will have fond memories of my stalkingJeremy Paxman, Gary Oldman and that most wonderfully Byrnian-nosed Alan Rickman.

Snape in a Cape. My hero.

While that was all fun and no real harm came of that, apart from the time I broke into Paxo's North London house and shaved his cat - how we can laugh about it now! - it now seems that the Mermaid has herself been stalked.

Has been stalked? I meant, is being stalked. You see, a string of failed relationships saw Mermins take to the interwebs in order to find herself a suitable mer-man. And by suitable, she means one that stays. And by stays, she means one that a) puts up with her referring to herself in the third person and b) one that she wants to stay.

Anyway, reluctantly after my last relationship ended, I decided a) to stop referring to myself in the third person and b) get back on the sea-horse as it were. So I agreed to go on a date with some dude I'd been facebook friends with but had not had any contact with prior to one phone call arranging a 'date'.

BZZZZT! Wrong move, Mermaid!

From date one, the guy was telling me that he'd fallen in love with me and wanted to marry me. While this was of course very flattering, and I made allowances for the fact that he was American Italian - therefore pushy and passionate - I did not quite recognise all the signs of possessiveness, and so I took all his declarations with a sense of humour and went along with it.

Second date showed some weird traits. While again professing his love for me in a restaurant, he started talking about marriage. Our Marriage. In the SPRING. As a joke, I said: 'You've not even told your mum you're getting married and already you're planning the wedding?'

A few seconds later I went to the ladies' loo and while washing my hands, the door to the toilet swung open and shut. He was right outside, pushing the door.

"What are you doing?" I said, creeped out.

"I was hurt by you rebuffing my love for you" he said, explaining (explaining? Weirdo) that my comment about his mum had hurt him.

Now I know that you will all be saying Mermins, run for the hills. But you see I'd just come out of a relationship with a man I was wildly in love with. Suddenly having some guy for the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE actually tell me he loved me was overwhelming. I could not get my mind in gear.

So I agreed to a third date. On this date, he was perfectly normal. So I put aside that growing feeling in my gut - exacerbated by about 10 texts and 6 phone calls each day from him - that I should head for the hills and run, preferably armed with a machete.

On the fourth date, when I went to his (shared) house and stayed overnight for church, the first thing he did was start shouting because I still had a photo of my ex on my facebook. He made me delete it, then immediately took a picture 'of us' for his facebook page.

I told him then that I was going to get up and get out but he apologised profusely and stupidly I stayed over (don't worry folks, I had the stubbornness to refuse to share his bed and stayed on an air mattress). During this time, he referred to his housemates as 'demons', lost his temper, ignored everything I said and generally annoyed me.

I didnt speak with him until Tuesday, during which conversation I explained that I wanted space and that he was being too intense. He agreed to back off.

Weds he explained that he was being intense because of things I was doing and, in some cases, I accepted a couple of his points and apologised.

Thursday we met up and I explained that I didn't want to go out with him unless he took it right back to square one and gave me my space. He agreed but actually didn't hear anything I said, because on Friday, he rang me to squeal about how I was taking a youth group at my church that evening and hadn't invited him, then how I had arranged to meet my best friend to take her to dinner to congratulate her on her engagement. As this was the first time I'd seen her since she got engaged in August, I wanted it to be just her me and her fiance.

Well he kicked up such a psychotic emotional blackmail rant about this that I dumped him - by phone.

But would he accept that? No! I had to spend more than an hour going round in circles on the phone while he insisted on meeting up with me the next day for a picnic! I had to get my friend to listen into the call so I could have some back-up!

Saturday he peppered me with texts because I'd removed him from facebook and cleaned my entire friends list (was worried that he'd try to send abusive messages to my ex, with whom I am still friends and who is looking more and more like Prince Charming next to this fruitloop).

Sunday he apologised for all of them and asked me if I was prepared not to be selfish and spend an hour with him to say goodbye!

Sunday evening he told me he still loved me and did I want a second chance before he started dating other victims - I mean, girls.

I ignored.

Monday he asks me if I want a massage and some soup. Again, I ignored his texts.

You may ask why I don't block his number. the reason is I want to keep tabs on this guy and have proof of his weirdness.

But if he does try anything, I intend to post the following letter to him:

"Dear Stalker

You are getting this letter because evidently you find it hard to accept the word NO.

I'm not sure what part of the word 'No' you don't understand. Is it the NNNNNN or is it the OOOOOOOOH?

Whatever it is, you are an absolute fruit-loop. What sort of baptism of the Spirit did you have? Was it 110% proof Vodka? Because it sure as hell wasn't anything like the Christian spirit of tenderness, gentleness, respect etc that we are supposed to show.

In fact, it's not even common sanity. Never in my life have I met anyone with such terrible emotional mental behaviour as you, outside of people who actually have diagnosed mental illnesses. And it's excusable in their cases.

You're probably still keeping your mother's umbilical cord in a jar somewhere in your room. Do you dress up as her at night? Because, Mr Whackjob Bates, you seriously have some issues to work out.

You accused me of having issues because I didn't allow myself to love you. Matey, that was not an issue, that was self-preservation. In addition to this, my friend Clare made me open my Christmas present early - it was a knife block - just in case you happened to wait outside my house, although because you are so wrapped up in your own pathetic gonad-driven self you paid so little attention to where I lived that you probably would end up in Scotland.

You also think that we have stuff in common so therefore we must get married. After two weeks of knowing each other you are so sure I'm the woman for you? Listen you gimp-sniffing freak-eyed loon, just because we like the same things does not mean I am your soul-mate.

For example, I love dogs, art and men in uniform, but I would not marry Hitler.

Because of your utter failure to realise that you have serious self-esteem issues, low social awareness, possible Aspergers and definitely some creepy, sperm-led emotional weakness that you think is love but which is just a sign that your corrupted little demonic spermatosa need to spawn the child of Satan in some human female and usher in the Apocalypse, you really are never never never never never never never never never never (etc) going to become my husband.

I would rather suck the toes of a flea-ridden tramp than kiss you. I would rather smear my face in the supporating puss-filled udder of a four-day-dead Mongolian Yak killed by an outbreak of the Bubonic Plague than ever, ever, ever see you again this side of Eternity.

And let me also get this straight: on the other side of eternity, there is an everlasting restraining order put upon you.

I'd say 'so bite me' but as you're too thick to realise that I am being rude to you and you'd take that as an invitation to partake of our enduring love, I won't. I will merely say that I am keeping my new knife set very, very sharp. And on me."



At least he loves me

Passive Aggression

The modern office is the best place for passive aggression. We are no longer allowed to beat minions with jagged broom-handles, nor are we allowed to stand over a colleague and berate them soundly with a volley of fitting, if unhallowed, epithets.

However, passive aggression is alive and flourishing in every office up and down the country - notes on microwaves, snippy emails, post-its left on the computer keyboard.

Many of these can take the form of anonymity - post-its are perfect for this.

Two of my favourites include a post-it left on my keyboard by the cleaner/Facilities: "Please don't feed the mice".

This referred to my leaving a box of cookies on my desk.

The second was an a4 sheet of paper sellotaped to the fridge, which read:

"Dear 'Bounty' Thief.. you know who you are"... which you can read for yourself below.

BountyThief

It's a doozy - no doubt written by the same person who, four years ago, complained about the theft of a White KitKat, which resulted in the whole Barn Owl Incident. More on that in another post.

Pensions, loan sharks and mermaids

My word! the Voices of Middle England have spoken. For shame! instead of bickering why not take the best ideas of both sides of the story and forge something positive, such as a solution to the problems of individuals not saving enough, the govermnent unable to bail people out and not having enough to live on in retirement.

We had a similar experience in Mermedonia a few years back. In the early part of the 19th Century, we had a massive power cut that lasted for 40 years. This resulted in a huge shoal of Merpeople being born - the highest for centuries - and, of course, 200 years later they're all coming up for retirement.

Working past 185 is not an option for many, as by now their fins require too much medical treatment and long-term care, as we know, is a hidden cost of retirement that many individuals and the goverment of the UK are not clear enough about.

Meanwhile the industry itself is proud of its high-cost protection packages but of course neither the State nor the average individual can afford to take out this sort of protection, let alone survive on their pensions - just as in Mermedonia.

So what did the Kingdom do? Simply this. Instead of encouraging Instant Gratification - allowing loan sharks to circle the waters with ever-enticing offers of buy now, pay later and hidden interest rate hikes - we banned such pernicious creatures from our media.

Instead, we spoke about delayed gratification - the need to put away those sand dollars now in order to enjoy life to the fullest after retirement.

Instead of making pensions boring, we spoke to individuals about what they wanted out of life, and helped them to see the financial reality of what they needed to do now in order to benefit later and to fulfil their dreams.

A pipe dream you may say. A mere fantasy. Maybe not. Sun Life of Canada has just launched its Sense Check at 60 - one of the most erudite and based-on-reality pieces of research that even those with basic fiscal literacy can understand.

If the government can encourage people to save more and to explain why in words and language that they can understand, and offer better tax incentives for savers, then we won't need all these clever products. People will be saving for a purpose and will be rewarded for doing so.

The Road Trip From Hell

Google's Chinese Traffic Jam
Just imagine, you're driving cross-country for the weekend, a simple journey of 100km on a multi-lane highway.

You've packed some fruit and crisps, some fizzy drink and charged up the iPod, ready for the road ahead.

But as you hit the heavy traffic, you wonder whether you made a mistake. By the time you are ensnarled in a long tail of non-budging traffic, your thoughts are on escape.

At this point, many of you might want to turn around and head back. But in the case of these thousands of Chinese drivers, turning around is NOT an option - they have been stuck on the highway for more than nine days. Read the full story here: China's 100km long traffic jam

They have been caught up in a traffic jam since 14th August and it is expected to last until the END OF SEPTEMBER.

Of this such Hollywood movies are made. And insanity. And a fervent, pathological hatred of fruit, crisps, fizzy drink, your iPod and the stinking, sweaty friends you were travelling with.

Barclays Bank - Payrolling the Burmese Junta

Augn San Suu Kyi


So it seems the unethical bank hasn't just been providing financing for Mugabe in Zimbabwe - it has been helping to line the pockets of the people who are keeping freedom fighter (and democratically elected president) Aung San Suu Kyi locked up under house arrest.


Now, it has been discovered that Barclays Bank has been providing money to government officials and businesses. In embarrassment and as quietly as possible, it has agreed to pay £190m fines for breaching US sanctions against Burma.

TUC General Secretary Brendan Barber said: 'It's a disgrace that Barclays has been violating US sanctions and doing business in Burma. Foreign financial services are helping Burmese generals to loot the country's natural wealth and to fund a military accused of committing horrendous crimes against humanity.'

General Secretary of the Federation of Trade Unions in Burma (FTUB) Maung Maung said: 'My country is the worst place in the world to be a worker. The regime uses slave labour, rape, and torture to stay in power. Unions are banned and the jails are overflowing with those who have dared to speak out.

'With sham elections happening in November, the military looks like being there for decades to come - especially if foreign financial institutions are keeping them afloat.'

This scandal must be a wake-up call for the UK Government. We already know that insurance syndicates within Lloyds of London have been doing business in Burma, and now Barclays. What else has the City of London been up to? Why is the UK government allowing its already fat cat bankers to get away with such appalling breaches of human rights?

The bank had been charged with breaking the International Emergency Economic Powers Act and the Trading with the Enemy Act between 1995 and 2006.

Well, there was another multi-national corporation doing dodgy things in other countries, which also had an eagle for its logo:

The Nazis

Barclays Bank

Loose Change: Halifax backs up my earlier post

Well folks, you mocked me for my "how to save £264 a year" post earlier this year, but it is clear from this press release from The Halifax that yours truly is not so silly after all.

£42.9million down the back of Britain's Sofas
New research from Halifax reveals that Brits are not looking after the pennies when it comes to making the most of loose change. Two thirds of Brits (65%) regularly find loose change in a variety of places which could be put to better use.

With the average Brit thinking they have £1.61 in loose change down the back of the sofa, we could literally be sitting on £42.9million across the nation*.

Loose Change League Table

Unsurprisingly, pockets top the loose change league table with two fifths (39%) of Brits regularly finding loose change in them. This is closely followed by loose change lurking at the bottom of a bag (36%), in the car (27%) and down the back of the sofa (23%). (See table 1)

The research revealed that the highest value of loose change is likely to be found in a desk drawer (£3.59), closely followed by pockets (£3.38) and in the car (£2.44).

Brits also estimate they have an average total of £17.69 floating around in these places. This amount falls to £15.43 for women but rises to £21.03 for men.

Bend it like Britain

When it comes to picking up money in the street, the average minimum amount Brits would pick up is 50p (£0.54) However, this rises to 61p for men, where as women will stop to pick up an average of 47p.

Younger generations will only stoop for higher amounts compared to older generations. For example, those aged 25-34 years would bend down for a minimum of 87p compared to those over 65 years who would stop to pick up an average minimum of 24p.

Out in the regions, stooping snobbery comes in to play with residents in Yorkshire and the Humber bending for an average minimum of 94p compared to their neighbours in the North East, who will pick up a minimum average of 24p.

However, two thirds of Brits (66%) said if they saw a penny lying in the street, they would pick it up for good luck. This rises to three quarters of women (73%) but falls to three fifths of men (58%). Residents in Wales are most likely to pick up a penny (78%) with those in London most likely to leave it lying in the street (53%).

Jam it in a Jar

It does still appear that Brits like to save their coins with three quarters (74%) keeping their loose change in a set place, such as a jar. For half (47%) of hoarders, the coins are mainly coppers, with a fifth (17%) storing mainly silver coins and just 5% reserving it for £1 or £2 coins. A third (30%) said they save any coins.

Flavia Palacios Umana, Head of Products, Halifax Savings, said: "These figures prove that we should no longer ignore our loose change but manage these small sums more wisely. The old saying 'take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves' continues to be firmly the case. We need to recognise this, instead of leaving our loose change languishing down the back of the sofa."

SOMEONE HAS READ MY BOOK

This woman in her post dated January 18th 2010

Barefootjax

Bless her!