So, let’s take a walk through the microscopic hall of infamy and see which mini mischief makers could be to blame for the next round of poverty.

The Mountain Pine Beetle That’s Killing The Timber Industry

I have a sneaking suspicion that Mother Nature doesn’t really like beetles. Seriously, if she any affection for them they would never be born this ugly:

“Please don’t squash me – I can help you solve the problem of your neighbours out of control pine trees...”

It’s simply an invitation for the kids the world over to turn them into ex-beetles.

The mountain pine beetle is one insect that the timber companies of British Columbia would happily toss into the pit of no return.

Over the past 10 years or so, this six legged bundle of toxic fury has been responsible for decimating about 20% of the forests in the Canadian state. It’s easy to say something witty like, ‘There’s plenty more trees in the forest’ but the actual figure is about 105,000 square miles. An area eight times larger than Cornwall

The beetle’s larvae will happily munch its way through enough wood to put a pulp mill to shame but this isn’t where the problem comes from. As any doting parent knows, a regular source of food is vital for survival of the species. When its eggs are laid under the tree bark, the adult mountain pine beetle also introduces a fungus into the wood in order to stop the tree from trying to chemically repel the voracious larvae. But the side effects are disastrous.

The fungus prevents the tree from absorbing water and nutrients – a bit like an extreme Hollywood diet. The results? The tree dies within weeks – hopefully, unlike an extreme Hollywood diet!

The steadily increasing infestation has been blamed on global warming

So far, it’s estimated that this ecological disaster has caused about $36,500,000 of revenue lost from tourism alone. The decline in revenue from timber sales runs into billions.

Locust Plagues of Biblical Proportions

The Bible is full of tales of death and destruction. In particular, the Old Testament goes to great lengths as it attempts to portray God as someone who was easily angered by his beloved creations. Plagues of frogs, floods that wiped everything but the two of every animal Noah took into the Ark (don’t even start on the question of genetic diversity), famine, etc, etc…

Count yourself lucky you live in time far detached from the days when the Almighty could take offence at some apparently trivial sin – like eating an apple. In fact, given mankind’s ability to find mischief in just about any avenue of life it’s a wonder that we still exist at all.

But not all Biblical plagues are a thing of the distant past. What horrors still lurk in this age of technology and enlightenment? Locusts!

Like humans, ginger locusts are outcasts.

What? You don’t think an oversized grasshopper is frightening? Then you haven’t seen the original version of Quatermass And The Pit – I nearly wet myself (but I was only 8).

Locusts have a glaring Achilles heel – a lack or protection against a size ten shoe – that evolution really should have taken into consideration. They also have an insatiable appetite which, ordinarily, isn’t a problem unless a few of them decide to get together and feast on your crops. When I say ‘a few locusts’ I mean MILLIONS!

In recent years, it has been estimated that plagues of locusts have accounted for tens of billions of dollars worth of damage to crops in the middle east.

The financial impact alone is enough to make your eyes weep blood but the toll on mankind has been tragic with around 1.1 million people starving in 2012 due to the effects on food supplies. Admittedly, if you’re cynical, you’re probably thinking this is just God’s/nature’s payback for the damage the human race has inflicted on the planet.

The Black Death

Imagine getting a winter sniffle. Now multiply the effects by 100 times, add in a few pustules the size of halved tennis balls, mix with the extreme risk of departing this life and you have the Black Death.

Is there actually a bright side to death?

As mankind killing plagues go, the Black Death ranks well above its feeble cousin, the Spanish Flu. Fortunately, the plague was last seen back in the mid-1400′s. Even more fortunately, we’ve learned how disease carrying fleas were transported from house to house by unsuspecting rats (I’ve yet to see a thoughtful rat). Think of it as the animals kingdom’s version of a public transport service but with the passengers intent on massacring everyone they meet when they get off the bus.

Some of the more recent plagues to have popped up in recent history have been epic but it’s hard to put an actual sum on the financial overall cost.

Likewise, the Black Death is one of those once in thousand year events the impact of which is impossible to calculate. A bit like the hideous battering your pride takes when a drunken uncle strips naked at your wedding and proceeds to grope all the bridesmaids (and their mothers).

Let’s just say that, in modern terms, the figures would have run into trillions. Over half the population of Europe reduced to inanimate blobs of pus. The survivors had to do their best to claw their way out of a starving wasteland.

Those lucky enough to have survived found themselves caught in a perfect financial storm: the remaining workers realised that easy money could be made by fleecing the ruling classes.

Who ever said no good came from pestilence?

Become A Human Canonball

Want a sperms eye view of the world? Then being fired out the civilian equivalent of the Iraqi supergun will give you the unique perspective you’re looking for.

"Give me fertile ovum or give me death"

As with any career that involves being close to explosive ordnance, the risk of death is high. But that’s what we’re after – risk.

Imagine having never felt the nauseating claustrophobia being forced into a space you’ve never experienced before; hearing each tick of the second hand of the clock as time passes ever so slowly by; the shock wave that propels you forwards into the unknown.

Sadly, the great EU meddling in cleanup made the human projectile a dying breed. Even Sir Edmund Hilary would have turned away from the mountain of red tape and bureaucracy that has wrapped up the circus industry. So bad is the EU tampering that entertainers now look like they’ve spent their lives in some form of bizarre S&M bondage dungeon.

Mavis had long suffered from extreme cramping in her feet.

But, as with any risky money making venture, there is a chance that you could meet your maker. But at least you won’t be dueling with Uzi’s as you attempt to carve out a prime piece of real estate in which to flood the market with designer drugs but there have been fatalities.

Rent Yourself Out As A Mercenary

People like Chris Ryan (aka ‘The One We Wish Hadn’t Got Away’) and Andy McKnob (aka ‘I’ve Sold Out My Old Mates But It’s Ok Because I Can Talk To My Money’) have made an absolute fortune from writing about their daring, yet dubious, exploits. Other men want to be like them and women apparently swoon (or at least suffer from ‘loose underwear syndrome) in their presence.

Two of these mercenaries appear to made of papier mache.

But the problem many mere mortals face is that the SAS selection course is hard; bloody hard. Rumours persist that special forces soldiers have the stamina of an Olympian coupled with a ‘hidden intelligence’ not usually found in infantry soldiers!

So what’s the next best thing for our aspiring risk takers? Become a mercenary. Most of the companies involved in this kind of work like to view themselves as ‘private military contractors’ (PMC’s) but a soldier in a paid, private army is a mercenary. End of. But don’t be under any misapprehension – most PMC’s have strict employment rules. If you have no military experience you’re unlikely to get in. Save your efforts for a third world mercenary outfit.

The precise amount you'll be paid by a third rate mercenary outfit.

This is where the risk taking really kicks in. Most UK PMC’s have very attractive rates of pay and benefits but unregulated companies are another story altogether. If you’re serious about experiencing the thrills of being shot then go for it.

Be warned: if you’re captured then it’s unlikely the UK diplomatic service will be rushing to prevent fellow prisoners from making love to your arse!

Human Guinea Pigs Are In Massive Demand

As far as I know, there are two types of guinea pig: one is a term used to describe a person or animal that volunteers their services to the likes of the medical experimentation industry. The other is a small, furry rodent much loved by children and frequently seen on a kebab stick, grilled, following the Peruvian guinea pig festival.

Little did Larry and Reg realise that the winners of the guinea pig festival didn't retire to a holiday cage in Hawaii.

Now, I’m assuming that being spit roasted isn’t your thing so let’s delve into the murky world of human experiments.

To be fair, although there are risks, the chance of growing a second head or something really handy, like gills, is unlikely. This industry is very tightly regulated. But there have been unfortunate cases where human guinea pigs have found out they were allergic to the drugs being tested – after they died!

Offering up your body to the gods of science is not a fast track to wealth and riches. In some cases there is a risk of death. But, ironically, you’ll need a clean bill of health before Dr Death can inject you with enough growth serum to turn you into 400ft high marshmallow!

After being subjected to a battery of tests, your genitals will be shaved and coated in a thick film of petroleum jelly. Following this, you’ll be given huge quantities of laxatives in order to turn you intestines inside out in order to ensure you’re ‘purged’.

Be prepared to crap yourself inside out in the name of science.

Ok, I made up the bit about shaven genitals and laxatives but you have been warned – some of the side effects can be very unpleasant and if anything goes wrong you’re on your own.

Apply For Decontamination Work

The security services have done a pretty good job of keeping the public safe from the vicious reach of religious nutters and terrorists. Sadly, the human rights lawyers of the UK have done a stirling job of keeping those very same lunatics safe in houses paid for by taxpayers.

Tell me where the benefits office is or I start firing wildly into the crowded streets.

Now, if the bearded followers of Osama bin Laden had their way, they’d be lavishing gifts upon the citizens of many a fair country; gifts such as chemical and biological weapons. Imagine the delights of being hit with nerve gas so virulent that your spine shoots out of your arse!

The thing is, if a nightmare scenario like this was ever unleashed upon the world, who would be responsible for the cleanup work? If you’re thinking, ‘decontamination team’ then you’d be absolutely spot on.

"Yes dear, your arse really does look big in that suit."

Also known as hazmat cleanup, this job requires little in the way of skills. As long as you don’t wet yourself and run away at the slightest hint of a loud noise you’re pretty much guaranteed an interview. Most of the employers specify on the job training which amounts to saying, ‘If you’re still alive on Friday afternoon, please, please come back on Monday because you’re now the most experienced team member we have.”

Got any better ideas? Thinking of opening a shark petting zoo? How about a party games company for adults – just think of all the fun you can have playing, ‘pin the tail on your drunk uncle’. Let us know and we’ll put your name and idea up in lights.

Magnums of champagne were swapped for cans of Red Bull. 10 bedroom mansions in Chelsea were downsized to 5 bed villas in Henley and Porsches were traded in for Aston Martins. You’ve got to feel for them.

Enough of bashing the banks and their dirty sub-prime tricks that screwed the global economy: you want to know what good can come of the recession, right?

The Death Of Competition

"Would you be a good chap and hold my sword – in your head?"

So you think humans invented competition? Wrong? Billions of years ago big amoeba were snuffing out there smaller competitors in the primordial equivalent of the St Valentine’s Day massacre. Fast forward 2 billion years and what do we have? The primary school egg and spoon race! No Uzi’s, no boxing gloves and no disemboweling other parents with your over-sized canines. Evolution took ran up the white flag and everyone came out a winner… quite literally.

But that’s not how competition is supposed to work. Fortunately, the world of business works on the principle of survival of the fittest. Sure, quality is important but what really marks a business out for the alpha position is the will to win mashed up a killer punch.

I would pay her to punch me.

What has this got to with the recession? The weak get eaten. As Apple, who launched the iPod during a recession, knows: you don’t share the kennel when you’re top dog. Instead, you crap over all the little dogs second rate MP3 players then retire to nonchalantly lick your balls as you survey your trail of destruction.

Alcohol Gets Cheaper

He wasn't bad, just misunderstood.

Contrary to popular depictions seen in the movies, the Prohibition era was a pretty grim time. Speakeasy’s were rife but they were run by the likes of Al Capone (far from the cuddliest guy you were likely to meet in the 1930′s). Alcohol was expensive; really expensive. On average, the price of beer rose by about 700%. Things weren’t quite so bad for spirit drinkers – prices rose by ‘only’ 270%! But this meant that only the richest could afford to drink safely whilst your average, everyday wino usually ended up dead in a gutter after being poisoned by the contents of their bootlegged booze (ingredients like benzene, zinc and acetone were not uncommon but can make you very dead).

"We're happy because we're not dead like the poor people are"

No matter what you think about ‘elf and safety’ it has to be said that you’re now unlikely to be poisoned by the local brewery. Regardless of your views on the demon booze, the big pub chains know that we want to be entertained. Booze and entertainment go hand in hand but nobody will go to the pub if it’s too expensive.

Result? Prices come down. Drinkers are happy. Profits are up. Pub owners are happy.

Casino’s and Book Keepers

Look what I won in the casino

If you’re religious you can probably see a pattern forming here: all the things you’ve been told are evil tend to thrive during economic downturns. Makes you think, doesn’t it?

The modern world has done a really great job of neutering man’s instincts. Health and safety regulations have made simple pleasures like base jumping a cardinal sin. Want to jump of the top of Canary Wharf with only a child’s handkerchief to slow your descent? Be prepared to swing from the yard arm (if you survive, that is). Risk is in our blood that’s why we have two of nearly everything: if one gets crushed, ripped or chewed off we have a spare so that we can carry on indulging our appetite for insanely risking pursuits.

And that’s where the casino’s and bookies take up the slack.

When the mile high tidal wave called recession strutted into town everything in its path was obliterated. Your life gets washed away in the blink of an eye. What do you need to recover? Money, lots of it. Cue a serious bout of gambling. Being men, we’re built to take risks but the casino’s already know this and the system is rigged against you ever making a serious winning. The only people getting rich are the book keepers and casino owners.

Not that kind of book keeper.

You, my friend, may as well keep your money for another bottle of cheap spirits wrapped in a brown paper bag.

Credit Card Companies

"Psst, we are your friends. Use us to buy useless crap and alcohol…"

Ever heard of a credit card lender going bust? In fact, have you ever heard of a card company going bust in a recession? It’s a little like locking Dracula in a blood bank and expecting him to starve to death – it isn’t going to happen! If it came down to a choice of battling the Prince of Darkness or a card lender then throw me some wooden stakes. Credit companies simply won’t die – they’ll keep on sucking the life out of your finances.

Card companies have lots and lots of money. It was fairly earned by convincing us that we could have all the shiny toys in the shop without ever worrying about how we pay for it all. Now, because we’re not mindless cattle shambling towards the abattoir, we know when we have to stop spending. We paid off our debts. Once done, we took our trusty plastic friend out the fields and gave him both barrels through the chip!

"Here visa, visa, visa…"

The lenders were worried; very worried. If every debtor managed to pay back their debts it would trigger a financial meltdown and signal the end of caviar lunches licked from the taut, muscular stomachs of Eastern European lap dancers. But they had one more trick up their sleeves: grotesquely extended 0% balance transfer deals. But we wouldn’t fall for that, would we?

Hook, line and sinker.

Creativity

Creative or just a freak?

Creative people are really creative. They do things that make me look like some kind of arthritic dinosaur thumping away at a keyboard. They also have a strange taste in clothes, stupid haircuts and talk with mockney accents. Vive la difference (whatever that means). I have nothing against anyone that has a degree in underwater basket weaving and works in a creative department… honestly. Just think of all those amazing marketing ideas we’ve seen over the years like… err… oh yeah, T-Mobile’s flash mobs. Really authentic. Made me want to buy rush out and buy a mobile on a crap network on the chance that I’d be mobbed.

Seriously, look at how people get far more creative during a recession. Your inbox is bombarded with ever more sophisticated scams. Sales teams go into orgasmic spasms as they attempt to entice you into buying even more crap that you really don’t need. Credit card companies launch what are unsustainable offers just to keep the money machine turning (by the way, as soon as life looks a little rosier, those deals will be killed quicker than a fly hitting your windscreen at 100 Mph).

Proof that your head and arse CAN co-exist in the same place at the same time.

In the creative stakes, everyone’s a winner baby… apart from you and me.

Holidays

Hey kids, mummy has a headache right now so could you clear the table for me?

Cheap flights to southern Europe, copious quantities of alcohol, vomit and a particularly stubborn sexually transmitted disease. Sounds like your average clubbing holiday in Spain. You’ve probably seen the television shows following groups of teens cheerily chanting ‘Ayia, Ayia, Ayia fucking Nappa’ as they’re egged on by their holiday reps. You may even have experienced the joys of a holiday like this (right down to a bout of shits caused by food covered in a fine coating of the waiters saliva).

But you still want to go on holiday, even during times of heavy, economic turbulence and you’re counting on desperate travel agents will be slashing prices. Wrong!

The cost of travel has pretty much hit rock bottom. A guy named Sir Freddie Laker gave the travel industry a pretty impressive right hook back in the late 80′s by inventing low cost flights. Sir Richard Branson claims to be a huge fan of Freddie and his ideas but I don’t see how that explains the sky high prices you pay for Virgin trains or flight tickets. Thin profits, like a thinning hairline, have to be protected. What’s the best way to do this? Increase the price of holidays.

The flaw in the 'Laker MkI' was that it could only carry one passenger.

You’re hooked and the agents know it. Why would they want to drop their prices? They know you’ll be back next year, credit card in hand and with a suitcase full of antibiotics.

Environment

Is it just me or would a marina and hotel development look awesome in this shot?

The environment has been going down the pan since chimps figured out how to tease bugs out a tree stump using only a small twig. Five minutes later they invented the internal combustion engine and, as they say, the rest is history. You’ve seen the signs: melting ice caps, deforestation and the spectre of ‘Saint Al Gore’ warning us about the impending ‘end of the world’ scenario. It’s enough to make you want to cry into your outsized, tie-dye underpants.

Well, good news tree huggers – the recession is officially good for the environment.

I think he may have missed the point.

People are traveling less which means lower levels of emissions. Car journeys are down and the average number of flights is way down (business trips alone have fallen by 22% since 2000). But it’s not just about the affordability of fuel. The cost of ammunition rose. This is bad news for poachers but good news for all those endangered species that don’t own bullet proof jackets.

That’s all for today boys and girls See you soon. In fact, while you’re here, I really do think you follow me on Twitter: @moneysavingzone

A 1960′s extension sat on the side of a Grade II listed, 17th century cottage can be passed of as just stupid. But some home owners seem to have a fascination with creating the brickwork equivalent Quasi Modo’s face. Face it: if it was ugly hundreds of years ago your apparent homage to architectural vanity isn’t going to work.

Let’s get one thing straight: gold-plated bidets and replica’s of HM Queen’s throne are for one person only – Beckham. If you aren’t a clueless footballer with no sense of taste, then here are 4 examples that should have been strangled the moment the ‘architect’ breathed life into them.

Boeing 727 Conversion

There’s an awful lot of noise around the idea of building another runway at Heathrow airport. The argument goes something like this: save the trees, sod the economy. Everything will be fine because once we start hugging our arboreal friends the world will be a much better place. Did I miss anything? No? Good. Now, when it comes to the more serious riddles in life, contemporary art has a solution for all our seemingly unanswerable questions like, “How can I make my house look really stupid?” to which contemporary art replied, “Build a stupid looking tree house that resembles a plane crash:

Branson's new 'wingless plane' idea never really got off the ground.

Phew! Thanks for all your help Mr Geniarse! Never in a million years could I have conceived such a ridiculous idea. Here, have a huge pile of cash for this overrated piece of ‘art’. Oh, before you go, can you think of any other ways to fleece me of even more money? How about charging me thousands for a set of tap handles that resemble helicopter blades? Hmmm.

Yes, I know someone probably does like it. There’s no doubt they spend hours showing guests around their massively overpriced piece of aviation history. There’s only one problem that I can see: who’s going to buy it?

I doubt a former pilot would be interested. Look at this way: say you work in IT. Do you really want to build a house that looks like a server room or am I asking a really stupid question? If you answered yes then maybe it’s time to start renting a ‘piece of paradise’ in your employers data centre.

Hello Kitty Hellhole

Let’s settle one thing: Hello Kitty is a range of kids toys. It has been designed for kids. It’s marketed to kids. It has a rabid fan base made up of… kids… and one very sad adult. Strictly speaking, it’s not a home extension but you have to take your hat off to the lunatic that actually submitted planning permission for this…

For the love of God, shoot me now!

But it’s not just the exterior of this house that will have your jaw bouncing off the floor. The interior is filled with Hello Kitty furniture. This leads me to believe that either the owner has been smoking some very potent drugs or they’re just plain weird.

For anyone that thinks this will be a really cool place to live in – go and see a doctor now!

A House With A Turret

The are only two times we should see a turret: 1. In a war movie where it’s spewing out leaden death into a sea of advancing troops. 2. In a book of fairy tales where a cartoon hottie is imprisoned in a tower and awaits her rescuer. Come to think of it, if she had any idea about how seriously crap life was being married to a monarch in medieval Europe she would have probably just thrown herself off the balcony to her death.

Rapunzel with attitude.

I don’t have anything against turrets but there is a time and a place for them. The time: any date prior to about 1900. The place: pretty much anywhere far away from modern centre’s of living. You might think it’s cool to impress your kids with a fairy tale retreat but once they get past the dribbling phase (at the age of 18 or 19) they’ll soon get bored with it.

The problem is that, for many of us, they evoke memories of a time when it really easy for our parents to trick us into believing really stupid stuff. Urban myths such as it being legal for a car to run you over if you didn’t use the zebra crossing properly. Or that half a bottle of whisky rubbed into your a baby’s gums wouldn’t do any harm.

No, our parents were callous. They made us believe in a world full of fun and frivolity when they should have been educating us in the harsh realities of the world. A cold, bleak world where turrets are crumbling relics and fairy tale princesses are exactly that.

Nuclear Bunker

Way back in the 1980′s, everyone was obsessed with the idea of thermonuclear war. Who was going to launch first? Did they realise that the only thing we could really be certain of was mutually assured destruction? More importantly, for a teenager like me, was the question of when do I get to see my next female member of CND laid naked in the road as she attempted to block the movement of American nukes.

Construction companies had a 64 million dollar question: how do I get some clown to pay hundreds of thousands of pounds for a concrete bunker that would prove absolutely useless in the event of nuclear war?

"I have a bunker and a plane because I'm rich and you're not".

But that question didn’t need answering. Scared shitless by the thought of a sneak attack by those dirty Russians, the rich and terminally stupid started spending in the misguided view that they could survive the holocaust. Really? How? Waiting for the radiation levels to drop means you would have needed about 1,000 years worth of food stored up. Also, where the hell was all your waste going to go? I mean, have you seen how bad it can when your toilet blocks up and overflows with only a days worth of ‘material’ in it? Now multiply that by 1,000 years – the call out fees for the plumber alone would bankrupt you.

Then there’s the little problem of radiation that hasn’t cleared up. After 1,000 years, you pop the hatch on your bunker and breathe in the sweet, sweet taste of fresh air… along with enough radioactive dust to turn you lungs to jelly in about 5 seconds.

But because you’re clever, you built a septic tank big enough to hold all your poo. You also have a respirator and protective clothing that will prevent you from being mistaken for a glow in the dark Christmas decoration. What you didn’t take into consideration are the mutants. The sad, shambling abominations left in the wake of the final conflict – very hungry abominations. And you’re on the menu.

At this point, I’d like to point out that things might not actually as bad as we think. Much has been made of the damage that radiation can do to human cells but what if all the evidence is wrong? What if, after emerging from your self-imposed imprisonment, you find that everyone is a mutant – a stunningly attractive mutant. Instead of twisting limbs and helping mankind to grow an extra eye or scales on your feet, the radioactivity turned all humans into creatures of pure beauty. Now that would be a real bummer!

Do you feel sick yet? Are you amazed at the amount of money that brain-dead ‘celebrities’ poured into the house-shaped abominations?

The U.S economy is still on its back staring at the sky like a hit and run victim on life support. When Wall Street goes down the crapper the shock waves fan out across the world and many companies go the way of the dinosaurs. Like some UK retailers. Such as MFI. And Game. And Comet.

You get the idea. But when a company goes bust it’s time to party because bankruptcy means sale time. But you’re unlikely to be the only person that knows. Any store that closing down will be packed with what can only be compared to the rabid remnants of post-apocalyptic humanity as they scour the wasteland for easy pickings.

Needless to say, you aren’t in the mood to become another statistic in the mad crush. It’s time you learned the etiquette of bankruptcy sales.

Rugby Tackle Old People

The goal is in sight. Across the shop floor, the shining object of your desire. Your hand grips a wad of cash with the iron grip of man desperately clinging to the last vestiges of his life. You stride confidently towards your prize, you pace quickens. But wait! Your way is blocked. A frail pensioner in her mobility has crossed your path. Slamming on the brakes, she glares at you, then, slowly, her head turns and eyes your prize. She glances at you again and, slowly licking her lips, reaches into her handbag and pulls out her purse. Noooooo!

"You'll get this much discount, sonny"

There’s only one thing for it: you need to clear a path and fast and there’s only one way to do it – you’re going to have to take her down with the mother of all rugby tackles. You may not think that this is the most ethical approach to dealing with the situation but the choice is yours: deal with her or lose out.

But there is a problem. Nature has gifted old people an iron constitution. Well, an iron mobility chair. And it’s this that you have to get past. For years experts have pitted themselves against OAP’s in unarmed combat in order to find the weak point in their iron chariots. Sadly, it would seem that none exists.

At the very least, this manoeuvre will leave you with ‘scooter rash’. At worst, you’ll find yourself laid on the floor with a scooter wheel parked on your head and one evil looking granny leering down at you.

Don't be deceived, she will kick your arse.

Dodging and Weaving Round Sales Assistant

Think ‘Night of the Living Dead’. Mindless husks shambling towards you. Fetid saliva dripping from their chins as they silently mouth, “Can I interest you in some… brains?”. It’s the nightmare that has our bodies bathed in sweat. Silently we pray for them to disappear. “Don’t look at me, please. I just came in to browse.” If you’re quick, you can feign interest in something you have absolutely no intention of buying and stride purposefully towards with a look of confidence that says, “I’m a man and I know what I want.” (because women don’t have a problem talking to sales assistants – it’s only men).

Comet: the store that simply won't die!

But the staff keep on coming which means you’re going to learn how to dodge and weave like Mike Tyson on speed. At this point you realise that this tricky manoeuvre really is an art form that should never be attempted by someone like you or your two, enormous left feet. It takes grace and confidence combined with years of practise to pull of this move. You? You’re going fail – massively.

WRONG!

You might manage to sneak past one or two of them but, in the end, they’ll corner you and then the barrage of questions will begin. Your screams for mercy will eventually descend into whimpers as your sanity crumbles into the rotting cellar of your mind.

If you really must run the gauntlet of mindless sales staff pushing every deal under the sun the please, for the love of God, make sure you undertake a rigorous training regime with an instructor qualified in the art of dodging and weaving.

Learn How To Palm Off Like A Biblical Hero

The next stage in your hazardous mission is the ability to speed your way through the checkout. Like one of 20 jumbo jets jostling for a slot at a single Heathrow runway, you’re going to know what it’s like to have been tossed about like a rag doll in a tornado.

In order to move forward without being caught in the sales equivalent of the World Wrestling Foundation, you’re going to need a new weapon in your arsenal: the palm off.

Even elderly statesmen have mastered the move.

Imagine a rugby ruck. Now add about 200 people to the pack. All of them are pushing and shoving. Tempers flare. In America, handguns would be drawn but, because we’re a little more reserved, the Brits resort something more genteel – the headbutt! Minor punch ups are sparked over the most trivial of reasons – ripping that massively discounted iPad out of a young boys hands is very effective (and will very quickly reveal if his parents are indeed only a couple of evolutionary steps away from being a killer gorilla!)

The delicate application of your palm to the face of the frenzied bargain hunter in front of you will have you slicing through the crowds in no time at all. Think of it as the high street equivalent of the parting of the Dead Sea.

Moses used a shortcut to beat the Egyptians to the sales.

Squatting the Full Weight Of Flat Screen TV

Burning sweat trickles into your eyes. The last, faint strands of daylight blur into a smattering of colours that you can no longer focus on. The muscles of your face contort forcing a rush of blood that stretches every vein in your head to breaking point. Your lungs burn as your body screams for more oxygen. Lactic acid courses through the muscles in your legs. Every tiny movement brings a new surge of pain followed by what feels like another fibre of muscle snapping. But you’re almost there. Just. A. Couple. More. Inches. And your new flat screen TV is safe in the back of your car.

She needs help getting her new TV into the car

Why did this have to be so painful? Because you’re a martyr. Remember the moment the zombie member of staff asked if you needed help with your TV? They weren’t trying to suggest you were any less of a man. No, they actually know how traumatic it can be loading a new television into you car. They just wanted to help.

Now that you know what to expect you need to be prepared. You’ll have work out religiously in order to carve the kind of heavily muscled legs that would fuel an Olympic sprinters wet dreams. Cast adrift any thought of a normal life with a loving wife and children – you’ll have no time because you are going to show the staff that you can do this. By yourself. With only a mild hernia.

Alternatively, if the thought of spending the rest of your life hunched in agony because you have slipped a disc isn’t very appealing you could always accept some help. From the nice sales assistant. But don’t look into those vacant eyes. Block out the sound of saliva falling to the floor. Now pray their zombie-radar latches onto a fellow shopper before it’s too late.

Man has head knocked off by metal plates in freak accident

Hotels thrive on providing a quality service. Delivery is everything. But how many of this spine tingling horrors did you pay to share a room with?

Beg Bugs

So, let’s clear this up: you haven’t had sex with any loose women recently, right? You’re not allergic to that Doberman that insisted on licking your face after it had given its balls a good working over. You don’t have a personal hygiene problem that leaves your body covered in hives. Where did that rash come from? If you’re really unlucky and you chose to stay in a shitty hotel, you probably had one of these little beauties feasting on your flesh:

Alec Baldwin's plastic surgery left a lot to be desired.

Bed bugs. Want to make millions as the author of the Hollywood’s next blockbuster horror movie? Then you need to write a story about bed bugs. Big bed bugs. Bed bugs with tongues like sandpaper that scrape the flesh from your body and leave you covered in steaming piles of poo. But make them big, really big. Make these the mother of all bed bugs. Make your story visceral. Scare the pants of your readers and reap the rewards.

The harsh reality is that these miniature abominations really do eat your skin and crap all over you.

Another, even harsher fact of life, is that, even if you book into the most expensive hotel in London you could still be offering your body up as a three course banquet.

Dust Mites

Dusted you house recently? Did you know that up to 80% of what you mopped up with your little feather duster is the flaky remnants of your skin? Wouldn’t keeping your house clean be so much simpler if there was an easy way of bagging and tagging your flaky epidermis? I have the answer: dust mites. Millions of dust mites. Crawling over you in search of some crispy flakes of skin that are crying out to be nibbled on.

If this thing was the same size as me I'd poop my pants.

Your eyes are watering but you swear that you didn’t inhale any of the delicious marijuana. You wake up with facial pressure but not because you partner is holding a pillow over your face. You’re rubbing your nose like Daniella Westbrook but you don’t have ‘a little problem with coke and a six month visit to the Priory’ behind you. It can only mean your is a hot destination for dust mites.

Cockroaches

Is you mind playing tricks on you? Are you still scratching at the invisible source of the itches the last two infestations gave you? Forget that. In the game of hotel infestations, bed bugs and dust mites are small fry. Next you’re going to go head to head with a true survivor. Think super hero on steroids. The kind of creature that can survive a nuclear winter. In fact, survive and thrive. Think of a creature that can carry on living for weeks without a head before finally starving to death. Think of a creature that, when squashed, releases thousands of eggs that will replicate its spawn like a tidal wave of filthy, munching, crawling, skittering disgust. Still can’t picture it? Think cockroaches!

"Why can't people love me the way they love guinea pigs and hamsters?"

Only three creatures will survive a future holocaust: a few unfortunate humans, cannibal mutants and cockroaches. Unfortunately for the human survivors of a post-apocalyptic future, the first two will have only one thing to eat – you!

But let’s not worry about global meltdown and the end of the world just yet. You’re more concerned about what’s lurking in the deep, dark corners of you hotel room, right? Well, unless you’re holidaying in the cold depths of Cornwall you don’t need to worry about mutants. But the cockroaches… ah, the cockroaches. They’re everywhere.

When nature finally reached the ‘Aha’ moment and created a design that could go on and on (I won’t bother with a sorry pun about Duracell) the result was functional but not pretty. Think of it as the antithesis to Hollywood pretty boy Brad Pitt: still built for speed but without the looks.

Now you know why Angelina wanted to adopt!

Calm down! Cockroaches will only eat you when you’re dead. In the meantime you’ll find that they’re actually more scared of you and your shoes. In fact, it would appear that Mother Nature, recognising the evolution of mankind and the rise of insect crushing footwear, gave the cockroach an strange ability to recognise podiatry-shaped danger at a hundred paces. Don’t believe? Next time you see a cockroach watch how it scurries from one spot to the next. It’s fast but not that fast. Then pick up a shoe. Watch the beast as the survival instinct kicks in and its 6 legs launch it into a sprint a grand national winner would be proud of. Uncanny, eh?

Staphylococcus

How many diseases do you think you’re sharing your bed with tonight? One? Two? More? In the case of staphylococcus, it could any one of the hundreds of twisted variants that’s waiting to take up residence is one of the dark, damp orifices of your body. Think alien face hugger but without the dramatic music that’s tells you it’s time to do a runner before you face is turned to mince meat and your intestines are being used as dental floss by a hideous, genetically engineered cousin of Freddie Mercury.

Freddie's teeth have been implicated in a number of savage, underwater attacks on surfers in Newquay.

The best known, and, potentially, most lethal, of the staphylococcus family is methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus aka MRSA. If you think the name sounds like something you’d find in a nerds wet dream you’ll be in need of some education. The mere mention of those four letters is enough to send the sphincter of any medical practitioner into violent spasms… with the associated foul smelling results.

"Come and have a go if you think you can replicate fast enough!"

MRSA is drug resistant. This means it’s one hard little fucker. How hard? On a scale of 1 to 10: Mike Tyson would have wet himself and run a mile. In his prime. Whilst tanked up on alcohol. And drugs. In fact, it’s so hard that scientists have added methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus to the an elite group of ultra-dedicated, parachute trained, commando viruses capable of wiping out a terrorist cell with one sneeze. Where Special Forces fail, germ warfare will win.

MRSA is everywhere and it’s waiting to ease its way into one of your cavities. Cuts and scrapes and an easy entry point into your body for this virus so I don’t recommend you start licking your hotel bed sheets especially if you just bit your tongue whilst having a spot of lunch and left an open sore on the tip.

Sharing of personal hygiene articles is another great way to share a little MRSA love so don’t think you can get away with wearing that slightly damp underwear the last customer left under the bed.

Oh, yeah – it’s also laid in wait on door handles, gym equipment, table clothes… in fact, it’s everywhere. Don’t panic! You’ll be safe in hospital. Which is actually a lie. Given that many MRSA sufferers are actually in hospital there’s actually a chance you’ll could catch it once you’re admitted!

I think that’s more than enough fun and frivolity to fuel your nightmares for a few weeks. Sleep tight…

Yeah, they’ve been going for a while now so nothing new, right? Ask yourself this: before you book yourself into the Village of the Damned do you really know the full history of the place?

If you’re a hardcore horror addict, you might want to check out these 5 hotels – each one comes with a guaranteed, authentic stench of death hanging over it.

Oxford Malmasion

Over 1,000 years worth of alcohol fuelled fresher weeks and counting

Oxford. The name conjures up images of students debating the finer points of politics in the university halls. A stroll through the city centre reveals hundreds of years of history nestled gently alongside icons of the modern era. A walk in the park exposes drunken, copulating couples enjoying the last hours of threshers week. But, nearly a thousand years ago, things were a little bit different…

The foundations of what is now the Oxford Malmaison were originally laid way back in 1071 by William D’Oyly who shouldn’t be confused with those paper things you put on the table. It goes without saying that many dastardly deeds took place in those dark times but it’s far more interesting when, in the 18th century, a prison was built on the site: complete with gallows (which were used to hang people and not just for decoration).

Closed in 1996, a large part of the prison block is now occupied by the Malmaison Hotel.

"I hear dead people... having sex!"

Customers have vouched for the hotels ghostly credentials with tales of nights of disturbed sleep courtesy of the groaning and wailing of former prison inmates. Then again, it could simply be a couple of students going for a knee trembler outside the hotel back door.

The Old Slaughter House Holiday Home

Can you see Norman's mother peering out of the window?

Come on kids, we’re going to stay at the old slaughterhouse for a week. What fun things do you think we can get up to there? We could play, “The Silence of the Lambs”. Was this film a shocking portrayal of a psychotic cannibal with a thing for turning prison warders in the bloody equivalent of a snow angel? Or did Hannibal’s masked face remind you more of your insane physical education teacher? Regardless, this iconic movie is famous for many, many twisted quotes but this is one is a kicker: “Well, Clarice – have the lambs stopped screaming?”.

Let’s put aside thoughts of candlelit meals with nutters for just one moment and pretend we could spend our summer holidays shacked up in a former abattoir. Oh, you mean we can experience the freakish pleasures of a couple of weeks breathing in the wooly scent of death?

The Old Slaughterhouse holiday lodge has everything a you need to fill you with a deep sense of foreboding: the ‘Bates motel’ look and feel, seclusion and a rotting rams head hanging over the front door. Ok, there isn’t really a piece of rotting sheep waiting to check you in but this place really did used to be an abattoir.

Now run by David and Ina, the Old Slaughterhouse boasts some amazing views out over the West coast of the Southern Island (although I’m not sure that would have been of much interest to some of the less fortunate former yet temporary inhabitants).

"Oi, Larry, are you sure this is a holiday camp?"

This holiday destination doesn’t have the fear factor that some adrenaline freaks crave. But if the stomping of ectoplasmic wellies and the fleeting glimpses of ghostly sheep is your thing then, by all means, make the journey.

The Willow Court Hotel

Looks normal but wait until you go inside...

When you’re dead you’re dead. No amount of break dancing voodoo priests are going to bring you back. So, once you’ve shed your mortal coil, considering your beliefs, you’ll come to a cross roads: heaven, hell, reincarnation or the lights simply go out. Actually, there is fifth option but it involves you hanging round the land of the living making some hotel owner rich and famous through your poltergeist antics.

It’s around about the point we die that we’ll have our first, and likely last, meeting with a certain type of medical practitioner: the pathologist. That brief encounter will lend an intimacy that can only compare to the gentle caress of a sweet, sweet lover… a homicidal, knife wielding lover but, still, a lover. Only when you finally embrace will you know that you are truly dead.

Fear of death is one thing. Fear of being hacked to pieces, dead or alive, is something altogether more spine tingling. What if you weren’t quite dead? Would you feel the first slice of the doctors blade? Would you jump up and scream causing everyone in the room to piss themselves and run, screaming, into the night? Or would that monster boozing session that caused medics to think you were dead in the first place leave you conscious but unable to move as.. hack… slash… hack…

Still here? Made of sterner stuff? Want to experience a night in a real mortuary? Then Australian businessman Hadyn Pearce has just the kind of gruesome holiday destination that you need to satisfy your sick, twisted mind: mortuary slabs for beds. But they haven’t been transported from some slowly decaying former hospital: no, the mortuary is better known as the Willow Court Motel.

Single rooms come complete with ensuite

Pearce decided to really put southern Tasmania on the map of morbid curiosity with this blood stained venture. What next? A restaurant in a former government germ warfare laboratory? Would sir like some Ebola with his filet mignon?

Interested but not sure where to chill your bottle of champagne? It’s covered: the hotel has retained the original pull-out fridge (corpse free, of course).

Chelsea Hotel, New York City

Some joker painted it the same colour as a baboons arse!

Art encompasses many forms. Music, painting, literature, half a cow encased in a plastic viewing bubble… One thing that many artists have in common is the apparent ease with which they kill themselves (and, occasionally, their loved ones).

Stressed out following days of trying to convince the public that your skinned human remains are art? Pop that shotgun barrel in your mouth. Feeling on top of the world because you’re a fast rising punk icon? Gorge yourself on class A drugs until your brain thinks it’s a Coast horned lizard and starts spewing blood everywhere.

Hotels seem to a favourite stopping off point for pretty much most of the creative industry types who ever killed themselves.

The Chelsea Hotel in New York city boasts not one but two famous customers who dropped in to met their maker. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. The Chelsea is at the heart of NYC and many big names from the American history of culture have laid their fair heads here, names such as Dylan Thomas and Sid Vicious.

Vicious, former head of the punk band the Sex Pistols, is believed to have entered a suicide pact with girlfriend Nancy Spungen. It would appear that Spungen was either off her face on drugs or simply too stupid to realise she was about to get the shitty end of the stick: Vicious stabbed her once in the stomach and left her to die. The hero of the punk music world then topped himself with a massive overdose of heroin.

More scary alive than dead.

Over the years, countless rumours have surfaced suggesting that, rather than being a simple case of murder/suicide, Sid and Nancy were killed by a disgruntled drug dealer. These ideas have never been proven and, considering the two stars of this tale are dead, it’s unlikely that we’ll ever know exactly what happened.

Although it’s not that far off the beaten track, the a stay in the Chelsea hotel will go a long way towards seeing off the competition when it comes to bragging rights at your next dinner party.

Some lucky inmates won a trip on a never ending cruise.

Work, which is a demeaning task for any prisoner, was replaced with pool tables… and games consoles… and state of the art gymnasiums. Warders were forced to accept that prisoners were no longer there because they are bad people but because they were victims of circumstance (unlike their actual victims who were victims of, err, criminals) and address them by their names rather than numbers.

Members of Parliament stopped talking about crime and punishment and instead referred to the disadvantages that criminals have. Think of the the mugger who’s about to hit a cowering granny over the head with a brick – he either steals her purse or he has to go and find a job. Sorry, old girl, you lose.

Now, in keeping with the government led insanity, David Cameron has announced that, in future, the prison system will be run by private firms. What’s more, they’ll be paid based on how many prisoners are officially classed as rehabilitated.

No Dave, I will not hug him.

Can anyone see the conflict of interest here?

Like some grotesque parody of a real penal system, companies such as G4S (yes, I’m serious) will vie for the opportunity to get ‘paid on results’. Want to see how badly wrong this could go? Let’s kick back, close our eyes and imagine that this new system works. The prisons would be left with only the most wily and cunning of inmates; inmates skilled in the craft of escapology; inmates like these…

Julien Chautard – Twisted Fire Starter Absconds On First Day

Ladies, don't get your fingers burnt by this handsome devil.

In the films, prison escapes take years of planning and preparation. Inmates endure years of being bent over the workshop bench as they go through every phase of the plan with a fine toothcomb. Come the day, our wrongly convicted heroes make their play.

Cue the death of a tormentor in some unrealistic yet grisly and fitting end, the customary digging up of a bag of loot, much celebrating and closing shots of a plane jetting off to a far away place.

Well, that’s how the plot should go. Unfortunately, someone forgot to educate French-born Julien Chautard with escapology etiquette.

In 2009, Chautard managed to escape from Pentonville prison within minutes of arriving. Scrambling under a nearby van, he managed to hold on to the bottom of the vehicle when it left the prison grounds.

Prison guards acknowledged Chautards perfect camouflage.

A few days later, the Gaulic arsonist handed himself in to police and was returned to gaol quicker than you can say ‘twisted fire starter’. Sources have suggested that Chautard was tired of having to work for a living and decided that life on the inside is actually far easier.

Antonio Ferrara – He Blew Things Up

I'm beautiful on the inside, honestly.

France has a long tradition of running prisons that were really unhealthy places to be in. If you didn’t catch cholera in some 15th century Middle Eastern prison then you ended up on the chopping block. Even worse, you might be burnt alive for not renouncing your religion… along with your family and pets.

Come to think of it, has anyone ever managed to convince one of their pets to confess and repent its crimes? If so, please send in your movie as proof.

Fast forward about 500 years and the French have cleaned up their act. No longer will you be despatched to suckle at Beelzebubs teat for a simple misdemeanour such as forgetting to cross yourself. For that sort of punishment you need to be really naughty boys and girls: think, ‘Day of the Jackal’ and you get the idea.

But a lifetime of comfortable slippers and three round meals a day didn’t appeal to Antonio Ferrara. Ferrara was an explosives expert… I can feel the excitement building…

In March 2003, whilst residing in Fresnes jail, Paris, for involvement in armed robberies, he was sprung from his cell. Six of his comrades in arms disguised themselves as police officers and attacked Ferrara’s temporary residence with a combination of AK-47′s and a rocket propelled grenade. At the same as the attack was going on, Ferrara blew off his cell door using dynamite and then fled in a waiting car.

Just a touch too much plastique!

Call me stupid, but the U.K prison service has a pretty strict visitors policy: no kissing and no exchange of explosive materials. Maybe the French should take a leaf out of our books?

Slawomir Rawicz – He Walked Across Siberia: Twice

"When I were a lad, we'd think nothing of trekking across Sibera before breakfast"

Irkutsk is a really small place (as proven when you look at the map in the game of Risk). But for many hapless prisoners of war who helped to shape rocks into funny faces for the entertainment of Stalin, it was the start of the road to hell.

Slap bang in the middle of the arse end of nowhere, Irkutsk sits about 650 km of the infamous camp 303. That’s about two days travel time in sub-zero temperatures on a state of the art, uncovered military transport vehicle circa 1945. Multiple that time, and the chances of death, by about 30 and you can understand why subjects sent for ‘re-education’ weren’t keen on the hike.

You have to be really unlucky to be forced to walk 650 km into incarceration. Your chances of surviving are slim and you’re as likely to end up a victim of death by overly amorous guard dogs as you are from being beaten for fun. Deciding to break out and walk back the way you came marks you out as a seriously hardcore escape artist.

And that’s exactly what Slawomir Rawicz was. Along with 6 companions, he escaped and then spent 11 months walking from Camp 303 to the Mediterranean. During the course of this epic journey, two of his companions died and Rawicz also claimed to have encountered two yeti-like creatures in the Himalayas (although this is widely accepted as a fallacy because hippy’s weren’t discovered until the 1960′s).

Rawicz was forced to flee pyromaniac yeti's.

Before you rush to throw your unworthy form prostate at Rawicz’s grave (he died in 2004), you ought to know that the Polish authorities have rubbished his claims. This time, it really is a case of no more heroes anymore.

…but none of the inmates will actually be in prison because they will have escaped. All the others will have been rehabilitated and the United Kingdom will be crime free. Hooray!!

If, on the other hand, you’re determined to go out in a paper trail blaze of glory as you flip a finger to the scourge of the weekend shopper then I have just what you’re looking for.

Before we start, let’s get one thing straight: a parking ticket is not another form of tax. You get them because you’ve been very naughty boys and girls. End of lesson.

Also, parking wardens are not monsters. Monsters live under your bed and in your clothes cupboard but they’re make believe. Wardens are real which means they can’t be monsters… can they?

Parking Fines: The Facts

Did you know that over 8 million parking tickets are issued every year in the United Kingdom? Assuming an average fine of £60, this means the government is raking in nearly £500 million from motorists.

But, in some cases, the wardens can get it wrong which means you could potentially have your penalty quashed. Sadly, because we’ve been taught to blindly accept authority, most of us pay the ticket and get on with life.

Let’s break the mold!

Help! I’ve Got A Parking Ticket

Don’t panic! Even if you were caught red-handed and you decide to pay, you have 28 days. Now, if you parked in the Mayor’s parking place – in a restricted area, at the back of the local council offices, you’re extra-guilty. Again, don’t worry. You were caught bang to rights but if you pay within 14 days your fine will be halved.

Think of it as the parking wardens equivalent of time off for good behaviour.

You Want To Appeal Your Ticket. Good For You

I apologise in advance. We have a wonderful system of bureaucracy in the UK. Each tier of this antiquated method of government can only function if given approval by the tier above it.

So what? Well, you need to write a letter explaining why you think you should have the penalty notice withdrawn. Once your letter lands on the doormat of the council offices it has to navigate all the layers until someone either approves or rejects your claim.

This process usually takes about 14 days.

There are two possible outcomes:

1. The council accepts your appeal and withdraw the penalty.
2. Decide you are in a fact a law breaker and reject your appeal.

If they decided to reject your claim, the council will send a Notice to Owner. This is the council equivalent of U.N strongly worded notice but it’s nothing to be frightened of. Is simply a letter telling you that it’s time for reinforcements i.e. you have another 14 days to make a formal representation.

Once again, the council can either accept or reject your representations. If they decide to play hardball you’ll receive a Notice of Rejection of Representation. You’ll also receive get an appeal form which you have 28 days to submit to the Traffic Penalty Tribunal (an independent body which cannot be influenced by your council… unless the members are drinking pals – only joking!).

Before we go any further, dome headed mathematicians amongst you will have noticed that, by now, you’ll have gone past the original 28 days that you had to pay your parking fine. But that’s ok because you’re going through an appeal process. What does sting is that, if your appeal to the Tribunal fails, your fine will be cranked up by 50%.

How Do Wriggle Out Of Paying My Parking Fine?

If your appeal fails you could be boosting the councils entertainments fund by the not insignificant sum of £180!

There are a number of reasons that could get your penalty overturned and they’ll have to be written in your appeal:

• 1. The ‘crime’ did not happen. Just like the alien landings at Roswell, some contraventions simply never happened. Conspiracy theorists and alien abductees might feel slightly put out at this statement but the same can’t be said of anyone who’s been mistakenly issued a parking ticket.
• 2. You aren’t the owner of the vehicle. You stole the car, you parked on double yellow lines and someone had the cheek to send you the parking ticket! Bastards. Ok, you sold the vehicle but you still got a ticket – you can appeal.
• 3. The fine is too big. Getting a fine does not instantly make it “too big”. Before you rush out to pay your ticket ask your local council for a list of their fines. If the amount is incorrect you can appeal.
• 4. The intriguing case of the invisible ticket. Hercule Poirot can’t save you this time. Tickets no longer need to fixed to your car in order for them to be issued – the can be sent by post. But if any of the information is missing or incorrect you can apply to have the fine rescinded. Check there’s a photo of your car (with the registration visible), look for a date and time and make sure that evidence of your ‘crime’ can be seen i.e. you can see your parked on double yellows.
• 5. You only have one leg and you can prove it. Permits can hide a multitude of parking sins. If you’ve got it; flaunt it.
• 6. The signs were abducted by aliens. Ok, this won’t work but if signs detailing restrictions are missing then you can notch up another victory in the fight against your totalitarian council.
• 7. Loading your vehicle isn’t illegal… unless you do it on double yellow lines. If there are single yellow lines and no other markers indicating loading restrictions then any ticket issued is invalid. As long as there is signage (yes, that is a real word) indicating restrictions you have a full 20 mins in which you can load and unload your vehicle.

Fined By ‘Rent-a-warden’

Ever been fined for parking on private land? I don’t mean your late night indiscretions in the entrance to a farmers field. Have you ever picked up a fine in a private car park? If so, you may want to know that they have completely different rules to the council.

When a private land owner issues a penalty it is only the driver of the vehicle who is liable. Now’s your chance to play ‘hunt the dirty law breaker’ – if they don’t know who the drive is they can’t issue the fine. You’re a winner, now all you have to do is find a way to get your car off their land.

Ok, I really haven’t taken some of my comments too seriously but this post of full of some real gems that can save you money. Use them! In fact, whilst you’re here, I really think you should go to my Twitter page and follow me.

Goldmine on legs!

You may well have heard the story of how Pam Cole was stung by her local Asda store. Due to the supermarkets cock up, Mrs Cole and her housebound husband had to survive a weekend without two pennies to rub together. On a more cheery note, Asda did refund her money. They also let her have the chops for free and presented her with a £5 voucher. Everyone’s a winner.

Ok, I’m having a little dig. I’m sure Mrs Cole was happy with her freebies. I’m also sure that Asda are happy with the positive publicity they got from this mess. But there are people out there that love to spend outrageous sums of money to sample the finest delicacies on the planet. How much do these delicacies cost? Prepare to be shocked…

The Golden Cupcake of Dubai

Rome has the Wedding Cake, India has the Taj Mahal and Dubai has the golden cupcake. Can you spot the obvious? The first are buildings whilst Dubai’s offering really is a cake that will set you back a whopping £645 (which, in some countries, is the price of a mortgage). Packed with edible gold and sugar, this culinary delight is a huge hit with rich customers. Talk about tapping into a vein of gold – genius.

Moove Over Dubai, Japanese Beef Wins Out

Homer Simpson would be in paradise. Allegedly raised on a diet of beer, Wagyu cattle are massaged daily to ensure their meat is extra tender and marbled. It could be argued that an alcohol-only diet is bad for the cows, and it is. But these bovine delicacies in waiting might just have the last laugh – the marbling consists of high levels of very unhealthy fat. How much are aficionado’s prepared to pay for furred arteries? Only about £1,600 for a single rib-eye steak!

Credit Card Busting Burger

Hubert Keller. If you’re response was, ‘Who?’ then you probably don’t know about the Fleurburger either. Keller, a highly rated French chef (why do the French churn out so many excellent chefs?) came up with idea of creating a hideously expensive burger. For about £3,200 you can tickle your taste buds with a culinary concoction of Kobe beef patty with a cube of seared foie gras, shaved black truffles and a truffle-spiked “special sauce”. Now slap it all in a brioche bun and serve with a bottle of 1990 Chateau Petrus. Voila – you’re skint!

Mushroom Madness

I’ve been told on many occasions that pigs are highly intelligent animals. Sorry, but I have to disagree. If they’re so clever then why, when they strike fungal gold (truffles), do they proceed to either eat them or let the farmer steal their hard earned profits? European white truffles can sell for £2,000 a pound. If you think that’s insane then read this: one two-pound white truffle sold for over £180,000. Yeah, that’s 18 with four noughts on the end – still want to argue that pigs are intelligent?

Delicious Fish Eggs

The sturgeon is a really big fish. Correction, the sturgeon used to grow huge in the rivers of Russia and Iran. One day, someone decided to harvest the eggs from the female’s body and sell them as a delicacy. The crash in the sturgeon population has resulted in prices spiking to as high as £6,000 for 1Kg (from the Russian Beluga Sturgeon). Don’t be tempted to think you can get away with serving goldfish eggs to your well-heeled guests – apparently, it’s easy to tell the difference.

Sea Snails and Duck Feet Webbing

Not to be left behind in the food stakes, Australia boasts some impressively stupid food prices. But it’s not just the prices that make me question the sanity of some diners; it’s the ingredients. One particular Cantonese restaurant serves a mean portion of braised abalone with webbing from duck’s feet. Delicious and a drop in the ocean (sorry) at about £100 per 100 grams (or £1,000 per kilogram). Some connoisseurs call it a rare luxury. I say they’re all quackers.

Avian Phlegm On The Cheap

Have you ever had the urge to feast on succulent mix of twigs and phlegm? If so, form a queue behind about 1 billion others vying for a chance to savour birds nest soup. Made by Cave Swifts, this Asian delicacy is formed when the birds spit out a chemical compound that hardens when in comes into contact with the air. Highly prized in China, the nest is normally served in one of two ways: as a soup or dissolved in almond milk to create a sugary tasting sweet. How much is a bowl of bird snot going to cost you? Expect to pay out up to £70.

Outrageously Expensive Potatoes

What is it with the French and exquisitely expensive cuisine? The fact that this is their third outing on my list would suggest that they may have too much money to burn (although I believe Msr. Hollande may be wronging those rights). Now, let’s talk potatoes. Not your musty old King Edwards; the little beauty in question here is the “La Bonnotte”. Grown on the island of Noirmotier and fertilised with seaweed, only 100 tons of this Gaulic tuber are harvested every year. Cost to you? About €500 (I didn’t do a price conversion as the figure changes every day).

How About Some Dessert?

If you’re like me, then you really must finish off your main meal with an appetising dessert and what better way than munching through a £600 sundae? Served at Serendipity 3, Manhattan, this is the sort of dessert you’d expect to grace the dining tables of an ancient Roman Emperor. Made from 5 scoops of Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream, Madagascar vanilla, 23K edible gold leaf and a dash of Amedei Porceleana which, when I last checked, was one of the most expensive chocolates in the world. This is one dessert that has more pedigree than a Crufts champion.