Economics through the medium of Children's TV

I think kids need to be taught the basics of modern economics at an early age. I certainly remember the episode of Postman Pat where Pat striked for fair pay with his union. Pat, sitting, unshaved next to a flaming bin with his trusty black-and-white cat still going into work.

"SCAB!" he shouts, vociferously. "SCAB!" as Jess saunters in. She doesn't mind. She's on triple pay for her efforts, that mercenary feline.

And the episode where that Polish immigrant undercut Mrs Goggins' pay because he didn't have to work for minimum wage

But then got busted by the Border police in one of the most mundane raids of all time. Eventually, they gave the job back to "The Gogginator", but only after she had campaigned for months on an unfair dismissal charge. She was eventually awarded £200,000 plus legal costs.

And that episode of Thomas the tank Engine where rising fuel costs caused Thomas to run a restricted service, and was frequently delayed, leading to a downturn in passenger numbers, leading to less money...

It was a vicious cycle and eventually Thomas' line was axed by the Fat Controller, who had incurred loses frequently on that journey and couldn't stand it anymore.

The most heartless one was when the Teletubbies’ acres of land were bought up at a reduced price by a home-builder who saw an opportunity, and although they had legally only signed away equity, they couldn't afford the court cases to fight it (Having spent the income on Tubby toast and custard) and were promptly kicked off when the owner got planning permission.

Dark days. It's a housing estate just outside Bristol now.

I remember when How 2 did a brief section on the Keynesian model of modern economics, and compared it to the more outdated economic models, such as Smith's 1776 work "The Wealth of nations" (My favourite book older than the entire nation of America).

And of course, Art Attack and SMart were frequently trading blows over who could best explain the fluctuations in trading price of significant artworks to kids.

That episode where Neil Buchanan used the great Titians to explain supply and demand to the audience was great, particularly when he explained artificial inflation through deliberate lack of supply. He related it to the 1973 formation of OPEC in a manner best described as masterful, before showing how oil prices quadrupled from three to 12 dollars a barrel (Those heady times before now) thank to OPEC's embargo of the US (We of course, remember this was because of the US opting to support Israel.)

Of course, this isn't happening any more (To be fair, based on my track record of factual accuracy, you can be fairly assured it wasn't happening before now either), so I have taken it into my own hands to put out a modern day lesson:

Carl the Cowboy, Bob the builder's new arch-nemesis, who undercuts Bob's best offers for local development projects, yet delivers a shoddier job on the final result and takes significant risks on health and safety, but is still raking it in, forcing Bob, the conscientious workman, to start taking jobs cash-in-hand and evading the taxman to make ends meet, having already let go of several key staff, including Wendy, who's administrative role was deemed superfluous in the modern, cut-throat world of building. Eventually, this leads to a tax investigation on Bob for failing to provide adequate receipts for the purchase of bricks (A schoolboy self-assessment error) and eventually, the closing of Bob's business. Bob, driven to depression, joins on as one of Carl's contractors.

So it's missing the happy ending, but hey, I'm hardly Oliver Postgate.

Political Metaphors Through the Medium of Camels

Camels, as we know, are divided into 2 groups, the Dromedary camels (Single-humped) and the Bactrian camels (Dual-humped). What is less well known, is that these two groups have formed a divisive relationship and frequently get into gang warfare between eachother. It was featured in "Ross Kemp on Gangs".

The Dromes gathered on the dune. They had immediately claimed the high ground, whilst the Bacs had to form a group at the base of the sand-mountain. The Bacs prepared for battle, and pulled out their switch-blades (Since the even-toed ungulates found it hard to use alternative stabbing devices, excluding knitting needles) whilst the Dromes gathered the mental resolve to defend themselves.

Suddenly, from nowhere, a lone Dromedary camel appeared on the horizon, galloping towards the skirmish. "Wait!" he cried, when he was suitably close. "Wait! Look at yourselves! You're camels! What does it matter if we have one hump or two, we're all camels together! How can camels develop without unity!? A united Desert us surely a better Desert!" he exclaimed, because he was a particularly forward thinking camel.

The camels stared at eachother for a moment, when suddenly a Bac spoke out. "Typical Dromedary response to their failing leftist agenda!" and the Bacs murmured in agreement. "This is the expected response of the left-wing!"

A Drome took affront at this, and yelled back "Under Bac leadership, the budget deficits have been huge! Whilst under Drome leadership, the Desert has actually MADE money! You rely on us to keep this Desert afloat!"

Well, the Bacs were taken aback by this attack against their leadership-record, and launched a verbal assault back at the Dromes: "At least our leaders haven't been impeached for sexual misconduct whilst in leadership!"

Well, the Dromes weren't having any of this slander thrown at them, and heartily responded "At least OUR leaders haven't deserved to be impeached! I refer you to resignation of your leader after several key documents were stolen from OUR camel-offices by men in the pay of YOUR leader!"

By now, the original Dromedary who had called for unity had been pilloried on all sides, despite his failing being the failure of the Bacs to agree with his message of camel-unity for a better Desert. So he started break-dancing and spinning on his hump whilst the Dromes and Bacs fought it out in the background.

Birds falling out the Sky

Apparently, in Arkansas, birds have started plummeting out of the sky, dead. Many theories have been put forward to explain this, including "Fireworks, which have previously killed very few birds, have caused entire flocks to drop dead for no new reason." and "The Apocalypse is nigh".

I reckon it's a communal existential nihilism, as the flocks have, as a group, discovered their own mortality and how meaningless their own existence really is, and plummeted out of the sky. Killed by self-awareness. We never should have translated Nietzsche into Bird. I always said "This can only have negative consequences, stick to lighter stuff, like Wodehouse" (Pigeons love their Wodehouse) but they just didn't listen. Look at us now.

Apparently, fish have been washing up on the shore, dead. Some people have blamed pollution, but I reckon sharks have evolved to spread the message of their own hopeless lives to the fish, causing them to slide into a fishy spiral of depression and eventually take their own lives, making easy food for sharks. Philosophical hunters are nightmares, the lions famously lured the zebras into a cult society which ultimately ended with a group-suicide amongst the zebras to be closer to their eternal ruler. A nightmare.

I can just imagine them now.
"Haha, Shark, didn't catch me that time!" giggled Fish as he swam away.
"You're still going to die, Fish. You are a mere mortal. You cannot evade death forever. What is the purpose of your existence? Will you ever change anything? Or is the world without you the same as the world with you!?" yelled back Shark, which, although a long sentence, still carried well underwater.
"Perhaps he's right," thought Fish, swimming away. "Is there any point to it all? Why do I exist? Oh, goodness, it's all so meaningless! I know, I'll have a word with Dave, he'll know."
"Dave! Dave!" yelled Fish
"Oh, alright Pete? What's up?" said Dave, font of fishy-wisdom
"Dave, I'm having an existential crisis! What is the purpose of me?! What is the purpose of us!? Do we exist for a reason!? Will anything we do change anything ever?!"
"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" cried Dave to the school of fish. "Quick, let's end our misery now!" and they flung themselves onto the beaches like D-Day landers.

Or not. I'm not sure.

Statistics

This is a collection of cricketing statistics. Look away now if you don't want to take in this level of pointless analysis.

Australia all out for 98? That's the lowest first innings ashes score since England crumbled to all out for 77 in 1997 at Lord's, and the lowest Australian first innings Ashes score since their spectacular collapse in the 1909 series at Edgbaston, all out for 74. A game I'm sure none of us can forget, where England cruised to a ten wicket victory after Hobbs was lbw on 0 in the first innings but smashed a triumphant 62 in the second to see England home. Shame we went on to lose that series after V.S. Ranford hit a stunning 143 in the second test. That 143 not out was actually his test best, far eclipsing his otherwise not extra-ordinary average of 37.84, which counts his single test hundred and sole test six. Vernon Seymour Ranford certainly raised his game for tests against England.

If you discount Ponting's only half-decent performance in this series, a knock of 51 not out, his average is a delightful 7. Including that 51, it's 93 he's made in 7 innings so, even with his 51, his average is 13.3. Ponting is a man on the wane. Even Mitchell Johnson has a higher top score (62) and a better average (21). Eat that, Ponting!

I have stats pouring out of me today. Uh oh, I feel another one coming... Ricky Ponting has lasted an average of just 28.42 balls against the English bowlers. Even if he were to hit a six for each of those balls, graciously including the .42, he would score only 170, a full 87 runs shy of his test best of 257!

Statistics are great. I always become an amateur statistician in the Ashes period. It's the best thing about cricket.

I think I'm saying what we're all thinking when I say Hussey (Average this series of 87.5) is the best batsman the Australians have and should be batting at 3, relegating Ponting to "Somewhere else, preferably not on the team".

Speaking of best players, England's finest, Alistair Cook's average is 115, but he still has the rest of this innings to raise that up to something ridiculous, hopefully by eclipsing his 235* test best against the Australians. Preferably raising his average to something around the 200 mark. His test average in general is 45.83, meaning he plays 2.51 times better against Australia (In this series) than all other nations. He's not even this good against Bangladesh (test average of 66.83 against them).

Let's take a moment to compare the two captains, shall we? Strauss has taken 5 catches this series, Ponting an unremarkable three. Strauss has racked up another test century (110), and could smash a passing bumblebee to the ropes with perfect timing, whilst Ponting couldn't knock a beachball lobbed to him by an elderly woman, or perhaps an infirm child, to mid-off for a quick single without edging it through the slips for four. Probably why his best is 51*. Strauss averages 40.33; so far, his innings hasn't yet ended in Melbourne, and I fully expect him to score that elusive triple century.

So Strauss is 1.66 times better as a fielder, and 3.037 times better on average as a batsman. What more do I need to say?

We haven't even LOOKED at the bowlers, but Graeme Swann has 5/91 against the Aussies in Adelaide, whilst their best spinner, Xavier Doherty, picked up 2/41, which sounds alright, but Swann's worst was either 2/128 or 0/51, whilst Doherty's worst was 0/107, or 1/158 (2/128 and 0/107 both coming in the same match, so not really a spinner's pitch). Siddle may have picked up 6/54 in the first test (Including that rare beast, the Ashes hat-trick) but also bowled 0/121 so "hit and miss". Australia's best bowling figures were Mitchell Johnson's 6/38 in the 3rd test off the back of his impressive batting (62), but without the confidence of solid batting to spur him on, he bowled 0/66 and 0/104 in the 2 innings of the first test, at 4.04 runs per over. Whilst England's Jimmy Anderson has been fantastically consistent, his worst figures being 0/15, his best being 4/44 and 4/51, desperately unlucky not to pick up a five wicket haul on either occasion. And Chris Tremlett, back in the side, has made a fantastic start, picking up 12 wickets in 3 innings for just 176 runs, including 4/26 and a five-fer. Even Bresnan's nipped in on the act.

The difference is, all of England's bowlers can have a good day, whilst only one Australian can. Yes, Siddle got 6/54 in the first innings, but he's picked up just one wicket since, and bowled a 0/121, and the best anyone else managed that test was 2/41. Yes, Johnson bowled 6/38, but he's only had 3 wickets in the other 3 innings, and bowled a 0/104. Hilfenhaus has picked up only 2 wickets in his 4 bowling innings. Ryan Harris is the only bowler who seems anything like a consistent threat, his worst figures being 2/84, his best, 6/87. The third test was the first the Australian bowlers dared to be in form at the same time, with Johnson and Harris picking up 9 wickets each, a six-wicket haul each in separate innings. As long as we can avoid that (And at 157/0, it's looking pretty likely that we have) England should be home and dry.

So, to summarise, England's batsmen have been on top, England's bowlers have been more consistent, and in general, England's fielding has been better (Trott's run out of Katich is a good example). It's no wonder, therefore, that England are destined to keep hold of the Ashes for at the very least, this series. Having made this bold prediction, I fully expect them to collapse to 201 all out, with an embarrassing run-out that'll be shown on Question of Sport for generations with that Inzamam-Ul-Haq wicket where the tripped over to Monty Panesar and basically fell over the wicket. I can imagine Sue Barker laughing at it now.

Banking Metaphor from Classical Mythology

Having read the title, you're thinking "He's going to tackle the thorny issue of modern banking by using a now outdated Greek mythological fable? Which one shall he use? Perhaps he shall compare modern banking's boom-bust periods to the seasonal whims of Persephone, wife of Hades! Perhaps he will use the boatman, Charon, who requires gold coins for passage across the rivers of the Underworld, as a simplistic analogy for the important but deplorable nature of mercenary banking! Perhaps he will describe their nature of allowing you to easily get into debt but making it hard to escape to that of Cerberus, three-headed hound who prevents escape from across the river Styx, making the point that it is a truly Herculean task to escape from the misery of debt, Hercules having defeated the dog as one of his labours! I wonder which of these three fine examples he will choose!" to yourself, possibly mumbling to yourself at the same time, and reminding yourself that you need to school yourself in the world of classics.

Well, you have provided three magnificent ideas, but since you largely thought them alone, I decided to go with Prometheus. You, of course, already know the story, Prometheus the Titan steals fire from the gods and gives it to the mortals, sentenced to be chained to a rock and have his liver pecked out by an eagle, liver grows back overnight, so on and so forth.

"Oh," you mutter "Prometheus. Okay. I guess so."

See, you can pretty clearly draw an analogy from this to modern banking, where you, Prometheus (Or the "Consumer of banking services") have stolen the fire (Or "Good interest rates or a high-rate instant access account") from the gods (Or "Banks"). They then sentence you to a cruel and unusual punishment, such as having your liver pulled out by an eagle everyday, if you dare stray into overdraft. The liver then becomes your finances through the magic of metaphors, whilst the eagle becomes the greedy collector. Each night, you grow a new liver, or each month you get another paycheck, but then the greedy eagle comes and pecks it away from you. And so the cycle repeats indefinitely, in perpetuity.

On reflection I think I liked your ideas more. Well done. You clearly know more about analogous Greek mythology than I do. I shan't question your authority on the matter again.

Now, I should stress, I am not an economist. I went to London and purchased a three-stringed violin with a broken bow from a car boot sale, so it is pretty clear I am to financial astuteness what rickets is to international athletics. But debt seems like a pretty bad idea. I offset the minimal cost of a broken violin by travelling by coach, in which karma decided "John, you helped an old woman put her things on the trailer. You deserve a double seat!" so I'm only mildly exhausted. Besides, at least I bought a broken violin rather than a watch I saw at Harrods (I went there to take in the shocking opulence and exorbitant prices. I'm pretty certain they nearly didn't let me in because my shoes weren't carved from solid ingots of gold) which was a pretty pricey £459,000. I can't actually think of anything that watch could do which would justify except stop time itself, like Bernard's Watch. £459,000. I'm still...£459,000. For a WATCH. That's more than a pretty decent Atomic Clock. That's more than a pretty decent house! Although, I saw a house for rent in SW1. A mere £16,000 a week. It came with 2 staff rooms. I'm genuinely struggling to envisage a scenario where anyone has enough money to buy a £459,000 watch and take it to their £832,000/annum house. But what if you want to buy rather than rent? There was a nice little place for £5.25 million. And instead of mere ROOMS for the staff, it has a whole annex. I have not the words. Just...I have to go lie down.

Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics

In 1972, West Germany hosted the Olympic games (Famous, sadly, for the assassination of 11 Israeli athletes, rather than, say, home-grown West German female high-jumper Ulrike Meyfarth, who became the youngest woman to win the Olympic gold in high jump (And indeed, any individual athletics gold) with the Fosbury Flop, a technique that was, at the time, not particularly popular (It is, of course, now ubiquitous in the modern high jump) when she equalled the world record of the time), and a mere two years later, went on to win the 1974 World Cup (A thrilling 2-1 win over the more creative and exciting Dutch team in the final, a cup victory which could have not have been more of a robbery if Gerd Muller was holding a shotgun to Cruyff's head whilst waving his balaclava-clad team-mates to put the world cup trophy in the back of one of three coloured, unmarked Minis, which then darted through the city of Munich, at one stage driving through the sewer network, to arrive at the meet point. Indeed, the last anyone ever saw of Muller after this game was him walking towards the back of a bus teetering over the edge of a cliff in the Alps mumbling "Hang on a minute lads, I've got a great idea!" in German).

Greece too, hosted the 2004 Olympic games (In Athens, no less. Zeus himself won gold in the discus over Norse god Thor, who claimed to be better in the hammer throw. The Norse got their own back when Loki and Odin won a hotly contested men's double sculls against the experienced pair of Greeks, Apollo and Hermes. Moses and Jesus were adjudged to have cheated and fell foul of the rules after parting the river and sprinting along the empty gap and running along the water respectively. They retaliated to this accusation by the turning the river into blood and putting a plague of locusts o'er the land, to which the Olympic Federation responded by calling them "Worse losers than the 2018 England World Cup bid"), and that SAME year, Greece lifted the European cup (The 2004 tournament being labelled the dullest football cup since records began, but popular opinion holds that the pre-record 1908 FA Cup was almost as dull, and if Richard "Dickie" Smith hadn't accidentally performed a Cruyff turn around the Arsenal left back whilst attempting a simple backpass in the quarter finals, it would have been a dead-heat in terms of monotony.)

So, as you can see, England's 2014 glory is practically guaranteed already, but if more proof were needed, London has form with this, having hosted the 1948 Olympics (The handover of the Olympic torch from the 1936 games in Berlin was a little troubled) and then, a mere 18 years later, England held aloft the Jules Rimet trophy in their moment of triumphant jubilation.

Coincidence? I think not.

Technically, this is probably treason

Prior to her 1952 coronation, Queen Elizabeth (then merely Princess Elizabeth Windsor, Lizzie to her friends) found herself with a good deal of time on her hands, and she was inspired by her husband, Philip, whom she was dating at the time, to partake in the electoral process and try to do some good. As such, she fought hard for the candidacy of the Conservative party in Buckingham, but was ultimately turned down and went on to compete in the election as an independent, famously touring the streets of her people in a horse-and-cart driven by Philip, who went on to win the world horse-and-cart championships for Great Britain. Elizabeth, of course, was beaten to the seat by the Labour MP, Aidan Crawley, who went on to support Clement Attlee's 1945 government in creating the NHS (1948, fact fans), something Elizabeth always campaigned against. She went on to attempt to compete in the following, 1951 election, but after a comprehensive smear campaign against Frank Markham (accusing him of cowardice in the 1944 D-Day landings, an activity which the future Queen shone admirably, saving the lives of over 40 British servicemen, as well as meeting Admiral and future-husband Philip) she was promptly dropped from the electoral register and from that point on all royal family members were considered ineligible to stand as an MP in any seat. Many of her supporters went on to accept her as a beloved monarch after a contrite speech in June, a year before her eventual ascension to the throne.

Thin Lizzy were originally called "Queen Lizzie", after the now-beloved monarch but were forced to change their name after the success of 1970s icons, Queen, because their manager feared confusion between the two bands (And, of course, Thin Lizzy went on to release their most successful single, The Boys are Back in Town in 1976, just as Queen were really breaking through). They originally considered several other alternative names, including "Queen Vicky" (too similar to TV tavern The Queen Vic) and "Mean Lizzie" was considered by their manager to be a personal affront against the regal figure (Thin Lizzy, as an Irish band, weren't overly fond of British Royalty). "Lean Lizzie" was eventually settled upon, but recording studios were trending away from alliterative names, and, under pressure to release their debut album, they quickly settled on Thin Lizzy outside the recording studio. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Some of this may be factually inaccurate. I cannot guarantee factual accuracy or verify that this is not all largely fictional, but hey, neither can the Bible, and that's caught on like wildfire.

Twitter Joke Trial

Good news! Robin Hood Airport has been declared safe from the threat of jokes. They're cracking down very hard on this, just last month I was flying through there and was found to be in possession of a squirty flower and an exploding golf ball (According to the packet, the funniest joke in the world) with the express purpose of eliciting humour. I was appropriately detained for forty-two days on no charges, whilst police investigated me on the assumption I was secretly funny. Fortunately, after six weeks they had found no evidence of humour and therefore released me with no apology, and ironically, a strong anti-British sentiment I didn't have before, motivating me to be the comic genius I clearly am today to spite them. Nyah.

I am, of course, talking about the so-called "Twitter Joke Trial", where a joke, for some bizarre reason, was taken as a serious threat. Because, I'm sure I don't need to inform you, terrorists are well known for [a] publically announcing their plans on twitter, and [b] attacking largely unused airports of the North. Not a day goes by when I don't get a tweet from Osama saying "Look out Preston!". That said, I also get his other tweets "Fail Whale?! Typical decadent West!" and "Soz about the terrorism. Not! Lol."

The whole thing is pretty disturbing, but alas, such is the state of the world we live in. The police are pretty schizophrenic about what is and isn't inciting violence. Students riot at the Conservative headquarters, crazy Muslims Against Crusades group burn poppies on Remembrance Day, but let's go after the guy who made a joke on Twitter. Bah.

Coach Journeys

Because of the governments comprehensive spending review and decision to increase student tuition fees, I decided I had to economise or risk crippling student loans, so I took the coach to London where a lesser man would have taken the train or flown. "No no" thought I, "I shall take the coach. It is a mere £15." (This isn't strictly accurate, since my tuition fees are paid by the SAAS, but I wanted to briefly seem topical).

As I headed to the bus station, my heart was light and my spirits jolly. Anyone walking past me would have instantly surmised from my jaunty demeanour and hastily constructed and therefore musically weak whistled tune (A future number one, doubtless. Perhaps I shall licence it to Lady GaGa and eagerly reap the rewards) that I was in an almost unparalleled good mood.

Except one little girl (She looked about eight) who challenged me to a fight for no particular reason , which I declined graciously. Good to the statistics though a win is, I would have felt mildly like I was deliberately rigging improbably easy street fights to artificially boost my street cred, so I carried on, notable by my lack of fighting 8 year old girls.

Anyways, I arrived at the station in good time and settled onto the coach, an overnight double decker to London (Instantly, of course, my first thought was that as it was a double decker, and intending to travel on the motorway (Specifically the M6, fact fans, although the M1 down the east coast would have clearly been the better option) we were going to fall over and be killed. I could see the headlines in my head. "15 killed in bus accident, 12 page pull out on sport" although a mere fifteen deaths would have been pushed off the front page by Wayne Rooney breathing heavily or something).

Interestingly, Sian Lloyd, Welsh weather presenter (And on How 2, one of the most under-rated shows of my youth. Bring back How 2 I say) was on the coach. I would have felt she could have afforded more luxurious travel, but in these troubled times, how is a weather girl to get to and from the nations of the UK? (Disappointingly she is only the second most famous weather presenter I've ever seen, having seen Michael Fish competing in a 1997 village fete charity "It's a Knockout" competition, with actual host Frank Bruno refereeing, assisted by John Anderson in the peak of his Gladiators refereeing days. I recall them all being hit in the face with custard pies for donations, although I could be making this up/dreaming it in one of my many Bruno-Anderson-Fish trio of dreams (Particular gem, Michael Fish is the contestant on the final segment of Gladiators (The event was called "The Eliminator", named after ZZ Top's famous car, of course, although some claim it was named after their studio album. No one argument has won conclusively, but as an aside, I like to think it's the car that John Fashanu, legendary host and long-time fan of ZZ top named it after.) against Frank Bruno, refereed by John Anderson, obviously. Fish wins by the merest of whiskers after an unexplained hurricane knocks Bruno to the floor just yards from the zipline) so I was largely unimpressed.)

Anyways, for the Dundee to Perth segment (A gem of a journey down the M90 for fact fans eagerly digging our road maps to accurately understand the trip) I had a double seat to myself, but as the hour was still fairly early (8:40 pm, for those of you who are curious. Don't let it be said that I don't pander to the every whim of a fact fan), I made no effort to sleep, a move I later regretted because, at Perth bus station, a man so vast and gargantuan he had his own gravitational pull got on the bus and, as per usual, opted to sit next to me.

Now, I don't want to seem like I'm moaning, but Perth to London is a longish way, particularly when you go the crazy route of the M6 southbound and then off at Birmingham (To explain this, we also stopped off at Preston (Initially, I thought it was Manchester) so briefly, I felt I was on the wrong bus and was actually doing some sort of night tour of crap towns of the North of England) , so to be pinned to the window (I briefly considered having that faintly erotically charged fling over the armrest that two strangers occasionally have, but sadly he swelled well past the armrest, and that segment of the journey was written off, a shame as I had been slightly looking forward to it. There's nothing I enjoy more than gentle challenge for the armrest. It's one of the few thrills between two strangers.) for literally 9 and a bit hours was a tad dispiriting.

There was the briefest of relief when he flitted off to the toilet, but sadly, he came back after no more than 15 minutes, and with his disgraceful size had brought with him a new facet to his hateful personality: A smell. I shan't be vulgar about this smell, but to put it politely, it was not a smell you want to be pinned up against for several hours.

Also, on his return, he appeared to insist on ditching the vaguely meek legs together and went for the all-out legs spread apart. Frankly, I was becoming so miffed I very nearly told him that if he had to adjust his seating position to compensate for his grossly enlarged plums, there was very little chance he would be a balding 40 something on a coach from Perth to London. But I didn't, because [a] he was asleep, a quality I found triply annoying in him since it was his actual presence that was stopping me sleeping, and [b] I'm too polite and mild-mannered.

Sleeping! Most men put their efforts into sleeping as a single-task, but this man found time to fidget and snore loudly too (So loudly that at one stage he woke himself up, causing me to laugh. He glared at me, and I told him I had seen the face of Ron Atkinson in a pork pie, and it amused me) thus doubly keeping me from sleeping. The man was and always will be a one-man-anti-sleep-band.

Thankfully, on the journey back up, I had the double seat to myself, and thus, thankfully, had a lovely sleep on the way home,, despite waking up in a storm of wind and rain and thunder during which my driver thought it judicious to overtake on the motorway (M6 northbound, fact fans) whilst I merely opted for pinning myself to my seat in terror and gently moaning, considering sending texts to loved ones.

Fortunately though, we made it. So Coach Trip accurately reflects coach journeys. You'll be next to someone you don't like for an extended period of time, but it's cheaper than flying and makes good TV. If I get the chance, I'll implore the driver to let me vote off the guy sitting next to me.

As a caveat, some or all of this may not be true, and I reserve the right to completely make stuff up.

Real-Life Monopoly

As part of my reworking of classic board games (See Strip Scrabble), I turn the pointless eye of reality to the much-loved gem, Monopoly. This game has saved lives in WW2, it's blighted lives (Notably my grandparents when I had an unhealthy obsession with the game in my youth, much like, I expect, every child concerned with fiscal planning. My motto was much like that of Barratt, build fast and leave desolate wastelands in the cheaper areas. Pro-tip: always get Mayfair and Park Lane. I don't care if you have to promise to give a relative a liver donation to deal with alcoholism from raising a child so emotionally involved in Monopoly. Just do it) and it's been a household name for generations (Hence the archaic pricing. £60 for Old Kent Road? If you can find property for £60 anywhere, chances are there's an army unit clearing it out).

Still, whilst reliving my youth, and begging people to play Monopoly with me, I felt that this unrealistic slant against the modern world was less reminiscent of a better time and more a delusion to first time buyers.

First off, you start with an income but minimal savings. You don't start life with £2000, you start with nothing. Your income is £200 a board-rotation (Cheerfully, I decided you earn more than this, but you obviously have to take some money away for living costs. Food, petrol, insurance, it's not cheap). Therefore, in order to buy your first house (Your board-person is still living with your parents, and if you're playing monopoly, chances are so are you) you need to get a crippling loan from "Royal Bank of Halifax Natwest Rock", at an almost punitive interest rate. Then you buy your first house! Yey! Except it's ten times the price it was in the original game, because it's a seller's market, the housing business. No-one can go without a house.

That's when the trouble starts. Living costs increase. Your income is now £180 a board rotation. And you've got to pay your mortgage from that. Interest per board rotation is 14%. You better wave goodbye to putting money in that savings account. This new house better be in Spain, because you have nothing for a rainy day.

Let's be honest, how often do you win a beauty contest (I've only ever won 6 in my entire life) or have an aunt unexpectedly bestow some wealth on you? Maybe you've won a crossword competition for £100? Since random wealth is so rare as to be unheard of, Community Chests and Chance cards are replaced by the new "Bad luck" cards. These list a financial expenditure which you weren't expecting. For example, your boiler breaks down, and you have to pay a man to replace it, or you're in a minor car crash and the insurance refuses to pay out, or you have to fight a law case to protect your intellectual property, because Strip Twister has taken off and you want a slice of the profits.

Instead of going to jail, there's "Debtor's Prison" (Archaic, but what the hell, I tuck my shirt into my trousers, I'm clearly from 1812 anyways) where you go if you land on the "Go to Jail" square (Renamed "Overdraft charges", and instead of the policeman, there's a picture of Fred Goodwin frowning, possibly holding out his hand. We'd see at the photo-shoot, which we would do for four pence, because he can't keep his grubby hands off money. The overdraft charges on my account are testament to this). you can get out by paying your debt, or rolling a double. After three goes you get out free (I didn't want to be too harsh with this element of the game, as chances are you have no savings to pay with).

Anyways, it's less board game, more gritty real-life drama. Done.