In actuality it was two pence. And a couple of pounds.

Let me explain.

Loose change is a constant curse in this country. My trousers are sagging around my ankles with the weight of copper in my pockets – baring my arse for the world to see. Yes, I am that rich. Why would I ever need to buy anything with 1p coins? The Queen must have some sinister ulterior motives for turning us all into walking and talking lightning rods. Making use of the resulting conductivity for evil mind-control rays or some su – God Save the Queen!

Ah, where was I? Oh, yes. Loose change. As horrifically annoying it is to have too much of the bleeding stuff, you never even have the right stuff. When I do laundry the washers will only accept 1-pound coins. Three of the buggers per wash. Yes, three. I usually fill up two machines at a time. There is no need to waste any more time doing laundry than you absolutely have to, now is there? Except for the fact that you never, ever have 6 bloody 1-pound coins in your wallet by sheer accident.

No, big deal. I’ll just go down to the store and have them exchange my people-money into the native currency of the Laundrian Republic, won’t I? No, sir. That won’t do! What were you thinking, sir? Tricks may be for kids but convenience sure as Hell isn’t for Brits. Boldly I blasted open the store-doors just before closing time! Armed with a single 1-pound coin, an additional 2-pound coin, and a 5-pound note I prowled in on my prey; the lady at the register. With weary eyes she acknowledged my presence, ‘yes?’

‘Yes, hello,’ I said with thick Scandinavian accent that probably makes people think I’m thick. ‘Could you exchange these,’ I held up the 2-pound coin and the 5-pound note ‘for 1-pound coins.’ Panicked at the sight of a crazy Scandinavian with an apparent loose change fetish she started to glance to her sides for backup.

‘Uh, I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘I can only give you two pounds.’

‘Yes, fine,’ I said in the bitter knowledge that I would need 3 more pounds to satiate the Angry Sock-Eater. But, aha! In my mind I hatched an ingenious scheme. Nervously I reached for the coins she was handing me back. Could she tell that my intentions were less than pure? Had she noticed? Would she have looked more sophisticated with a beard? No, she wasn’t on to me. I successfully obtained the two washer-snacks. Success! And now for the tricky part.

‘How much is this disgusting Lilt pineapple & grapefruit soda?’

‘Uh, 99p,’ she responded with bewilderment on her face.

‘Great! I’ll have two.’ With an evil grin I reintroduced her to my neglected friend Mr. 5-pounder.

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 24th, 2009 at 11:58 pm and is filed under Humour, Rants. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.