Simply one word and i should win this




DELL
( KISS.ME.WHERE.I.POO Signed the sex offenders register on, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 15:35, 14 replies)

£1 trainers
They were fine apart from the fact that after wearing them for a mere six hours, they made my feet smell worse than Godzilla's arse. Don't buy £1 trainers.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 15:34, Reply)

I've seen a couple of posts about weddings on here...
...and there's not a lot I can add to them, really. Cheap weddings aren't always shit, and neither are expensive ones.

Anyway, I once went to a wedding reception once that had been done on the cheap. It was at a football club hall somewhere, and it wasn't too bad except the catering: there was barely enough food for everyone, and there were no knives or forks - this was fine for the sandwiches and sausage rolls and just about ok for the salad, at a push.

But it was fucking useless when it came to the massive bowl of coleslaw they'd put out for us.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 15:31, Reply)

Bought FOR me, which makes it worse
My sister went through a brief spell where every time she'd go on holiday, she'd buy me one of those little monstrous decorative dragons you get in tourist shops.

I don't read fantasy books, I don't play Dungeons and Dragons and I don't like Lord of the Rings.

I don't like dragons.

But that doesn't stop my sister from threatening to buy me a new one every year, because "it'll add to your collection."
(swander, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 15:29, 2 replies)

"MAY PRE-HOUSE THE SEAMY SIDE VOLITATION!!"
I doubt that anyone can top this.

Prythee no sport with stingy or play aspersity game. Winding finger have got bloodstream not wallk. Throagh of peril! Tad disport of time grown man taletage. Till the cowcomes home!

Oh- and be sure to click on the picture of the back of the box. The Engrish contained therein is truly classic.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 4 Jan 2008, 15:23, 11 replies)

Hoovers again...
bit of a recurring theme here, eh? Back in the day, we were given a decent hoover as a wedding gift - all was good. It lasted for nearly eight years, before packing up. On an aside, we stuck it out beside the wheelie bin and somebody nicked it!

Anyhoo, we didn't have much money at the time, actually we had no spare money at all, and the MIL kindly offered to buy us a new hoover. Which she did. It was the cheapest one in the Argos catalogue, which kind of says it all.

It didn't hoover so much, as hover. It sort of glided over the carpet, making all the right noises. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. You know how it goes, you go over the same bit of fluff half a dozen times then give in and pick it up by hand.

Now I don't come from a rich family, but the parents always went for the brand names - you get what you pay for, after all. This had been my mantra for many years, and with food, always will be. But times were hard. I was stuck with the thing.

Lo, for a year I put up with the useless article. Until, wonder of wonders, a better paying job came my way. Soon after, joy of joys, a bonus came my way. Yeehah!

It wasn't a huge bonus (couple of hundred quid) but I splurged the whole lot on a Dyson. Happy hoovering!

First time round the lounge with the Dyson, and it nearly filled the dust container. I was so ashamed. My child had been playing on this filthy carpet for a year. I had been ......... well never mind that!

It took two hours to hoover the entire house with my (no longer shiny) new Dyson before it stopped lifting crate-loads of muck from the carpets and I could relax. That Dyson lasted for a respectable 7 years, to be replaced with the updated version when it eventually gave up the ghost.

Moral of the story - don't buy cheap hoovers - just don't.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Fri 4 Jan 2008, 15:10, 9 replies)

back in 1999
I bought a mac
(destrasinistra, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:52, Reply)

I haven't bought them myself, god knows who does.
But in Lidl, own brand condoms.

Now speedholed to make you go faster! Let your man breathe!
(AshTeamRacing, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:47, 1 reply)

As a broke-ass college student
I used to drink this.

It tasted like the water you boiled spaghetti in with an aftertasted of blaaarrggh.

It was $2.99 for a case, and terribly overpriced.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:46, 2 replies)

Not me, but...
... My Nan. As much as I love her, is the Mistress of buying Cheap Tat.

Ever since I was small and suffered the ignominity of being dragged around North Weald Market as a small Gonad, I saw nan part with numerous amounts of cash on 'bargain' (i.e. a load of shit courtesy of the back of a lorry) goods. This money could have funded a small war in Chechnya.

Now, the worst thing I am sure she has purchased come courtesy of the BHS summer sale in 2007. I went over to the UK to visit friends and family, and my nan deemed that I looked like something from the KGB in my long black denim jacket. As a result, I was regaled with a Pond-Green pseudo Cow-Skin jacket, rather like the one fellow B3tan PJM described. You know, the sort that's favoured by Eastern European builders for about £20...

Not only did I look a right twunt because it made my head look like a peanut due to its puffy form, but I couldn't live with the shame of essentially a plastic jacket at the end of the day...

Length. Oooh, about several inches of mottle green Vinyl.
(Margaret Thatchers Right Gonad Is up inside ya, finding an entrance where He can!, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:44, Reply)

My ex wife
was notorious for buying things that were "just like (fill in the blank) but half the price." Still is, actually...

Anyway, when I was in forestry school I used to like to wear chamois cloth shirts- basically cotton flannel, but far thicker and more durable. (As it gets really fucking cold when you're in the woods for four to six hours at a shot, that's important.) I wanted a couple of Woolrich shirts that would have been about $35 at the time, but the Bagwitch saw the price on them and her eyes bulged and her sphincters clenched. We had a terrible row, and I ended up not getting them.

Two days later she comes home from Ames Department Store (think K-Mart, minus the quality) with three chamois shirts that were only $15 each, with tags that read "Frost-Pruf". They were thinner than George Bush's excuses for war, didn't fit particularly well, and were rather odd colors- but to keep the Bagwitch happy, I wore them. Within two months all three had the elbows wear out and the seams start coming apart. I pointed this out to her, as well as the fact that the Woolrich shirt I had had for eight years at that point was only beginning to fray a little around the collar, and that at that rate we would be spending $90/year on shirts instead of a single time of spending $105 and having shirts that would last a decade. Cue another major row.

Did she learn her lesson? Well, put it this way- her new car is a Chrysler.

Twat.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:36, 11 replies)

Wedding on the cheap.
I had the misfortune once to go to a wedding which was done on the cheap. I don’t want to offend people who don’t have much money, and who can’t afford a luxurious church and a nice hotel in the country to get married. But this was ridiculous.

So the big day starts. No alcohol for me all day as I would be driving and playing taxi for a few people too. Off I went into town. Yes, to a registry office, which no one could park anywhere near. It was throwing it down and I was freezing my ass off. I suddenly noticed I was rather overdressed for the event as I was the only person in a suit.
10 minutes later bride and groom come running down the road. The groom is wearing a dark pair of jeans and an un-ironed shirt. The bride was wearing a dress i'm pretty sure I saw in the window of a well known charity shop. It wasn’t even a wedding dress. It was just some rosy thing with a few frills.
Quite a crowd had built up by this time. Ooh, they’re popular people I thought. Until I started noticing more brides and grooms. Hmmm weird!

Eventually we all went in and took our seat in what could only be described as a large office. White walls, a couple of plants dotted around and a table at the front. We sat there... shivering and wet.
The whole wedding took 5 minutes! I kid you not! 5 minutes, and they didn’t even have any rings. They had barely finished their little peck on the lips after "I now pronounce you man and wife" before we were being pushed out.
As we left, the next wedding party was coming in. We were on a conveyor belt of marital bliss! Simple as.

We trudged back outside in the rain, and our lot crammed into a grotty back street pub. Which caused controversy as there was a few under 18s amongst us and generally they weren’t allowed. But as it was a wedding day, and the grooms mate knew the landlord we were let off. We had a couple watered down shandys in an atmosphere that would be better connected with a funeral rather than a wedding. The reception do was hours away, so basically it was then a "do whatever you want until the reception"

We actually ended up going back to the grooms flat, where we sat and watched TV and played with their dogs for 3 hours. Gee I have never been so bored in my life. I have no idea where the bride had gone at this point.

After a grueling and patience testing time, we eventually headed off for the reception. This was yet another back street drinking pub, except it had a function room upstairs. Perhaps the tiniest function room i've ever seen.

We went up there and some guests were blowing up balloons and putting some trimmings up. Then the brides mum walked in with a load of plates. (yes it would be a home made buffet). Then the grooms mate came in with some large speakers, CD player and a stack of knock off CDs which would be our musical entertainment for the night.

People generally milled around and seats were laid out round along the walls. It reminded me of my junior schools Christmas party. People dancing in the middle seats around the edge. The music was rubbish and I'm sure one of the speakers had blown as it was sounding rather crusty.

They couldn’t even be bothered with any speeches. Everyone felt compelled to buy the bride and groom drinks, so they were slowly getting themselves sloshed and were jumping around the place like chimpanzees ricocheting off the walls.

The home made buffet was rubbish, there clearly wasn’t enough. A group of us actually ran off to McDonalds down the road because we were starving. We decided against doing a take out, as that would have been plain rude!!

By 9.30pm people were starting to leave. By 11pm we were all kicked out as the pub was closing.

So were the bride and groom seen off in a nice limo with just married on the back? No.. I took them home (separately) in my old clapped out metro I was driving at the time. (was my first car!)

And why did they go separately? Because the bride ended up having an argument with the groom as she thought he was eyeing up her sister. They were both just pissed. So no doubt he spent his wedding night on his own couch.

The next day they flew off for a wonderful honeymoon in the Bahamas...... no of course they didn’t. They didn’t even have one.

They probably did their entire wedding for less than £100. Maybe they didn’t have any money and that was the best they could do. But gee, a wedding is a special day. A once in a lifetime thing. I would rather save up, wait 5 years and do it properly.

Length? They split up 4 months later.
(Miggyman, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:33, 20 replies)

Dear God it was Orange.
Whilst staying in Cheddar I decided to try some local scrumpy. 50p a pint in 1990 seemed a pretty good deal. It wasn't.
Those of you who drink cider will know what cider looks and tastes like when it comes back up at evening's end. This stuff started off like that. It was traffic-light orange, with stringy bits floating in it and it seared the flesh from the back of my throat. I hold it entirely to blame for my spending most of the next day in bed, sweating and shivering.
I'm told that in the end they banned it since the local teenagers were prone to getting tanked up on it then attacking each other with bottles.
(Big D, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:33, Reply)

Yay
I get to post 'I once bought a car in the East End' again.
(><(((">, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:27, Reply)

Tesco Value Beer...
We used to throw parties that the usual suspects would bring no booze too... so we had a plan, buy 24 cans of value Tesco lager (think it was 2% but it tasted real bad...) and the deal was,

"No real booze for you till the value stuff is gone if you didnt bring any booze!"

Its amazing how really cheap rubbish lager can give some people such bad hangovers!

Needless to say after a couple more parties like this everyone brought real drink along!
(Jack Bravado, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:25, 1 reply)

*Smug grin*
Thankfully it has been indoctrinated in me by my mother from an early age that you get what you pay for. Therefore I only go to the cheap shops If I want something I will only use once and then throw away - like loo roll. Even as a student I baulked at buying cheap goods as I knew it was a false economy.

Although I did buy my nephew this huge bag of small plastic green soldiers for £2.50 that he loves playing with.
( girlinthehole, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:24, Reply)

Thrifty mother
My mum was a real classic... Growing up wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs with both parents being as dysfunctional as an Albanian fake Furby, but my mother's understanding of economics caused young me many a moment of anguish.

Despite having a generous middle class family income, my mother was obsessed with making economies wherever she could. Aged three, I recall being sat on a dining chair in the street while my mum hacked away at my hair like Edward Scissorhands with Parkinsons until I yelled out in pain as she sliced my ear with a pair of rusty and blunt scissors. It was apparently better than paying 95p for the local barber shop do it. Amazingly, she scythed into my left ear not just once, but three times until my pre-haircut traumas got too much for her and I was entrusted to the care of someone who didn't shake like Ozzy Osborne when snipping.

Mother wasn't deterred. Growing up into teenage me meant that my brother's old clothes (which she had kept in the loft in eager anticipation) were again pressed into service with me. However, my bro is ten and a half years my senior. Her sense of fashion was decidedly eccentric too, as although she was dimly aware it wasn't 1975 anymore, she measured the useful life of fashion in decades. What wasn't worn threadbare was recyled.

One autumn afternoon, while Dad was decorating the spare room for the third time in two years (using the most expensive wallpaper, lighting, paste, paint and brushes money could buy) my mum called me downstairs.

"Why don't you try on this lovely suede jacket. It's nice" (whenever the words "it's nice" were used, my blood ran cold).

Dear god...

She held out something last seen in Starsky and Hutch circa 1976. It had collars you could use to scare air traffic controllers with. A brown monstrosity, with elasticated cuffs and waist picked out in knitted brown. MMMMhhhhmmmmmMMMMMhhhmmmmm.

"Erm, I don't really like it mum" said I, guiltily. I wasn't a brat or anything like that, but I knew I'd be lynched if I stepped out of the house wearing it.

"Oh, but it's lovely! It's really nice!"

I gritted my teeth and put it on. Luck really was a lady that day, as I was a good dear bigger than bro was ten years earlier. It looked like a hideous pastiche of a pimp's bolero jacket on me.

"Oh..." The disappointment in her voice was palpable. I knew she was a little upset as she liked the jacket and more importantly, liked the fact that it would save a few quid.

"Oh I wish you didn't grow so fast. You cost us a fortune" she sighed.

Three days later, I'm asked downstairs again.

"I made some alterations. Try this on".

Oh fuck no.

The knitted waist and cuffs had been extended by two inches.

Mercifully, even my mother realised I looked a complete dork and that was that, the monstrous suede thing was consigned to the loft, presumably until either myself or my brother spawned.

Dad? Well he was even worse. Aged fifteen I was promised a leather jacket for christmas. I was painstakingly walked round shops and told to try stuff on so both mum and dad had a few ideas.

Cue xmas day

"We want you to have this" said Dad - note the use of the royal "we" which Dad always used when he thought that "I" wasn't threatening and dictatorial enough.

"It's exclusive, it's the very latest thing from an Italian designer. We want you to wear it and look different from all the other herberts" droned my father.

Fuck me...

It was a leather jacket alright and it was even fashionably distressed. However, I never left the house in it.

Why?

It was algae green.

The chap at the local market stall knocking em out for a tenner.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:22, Reply)

Batteries
in Kenya for my torch.

Put them in, tuend it on, it went off.

2 seconds use, 10p.
(Bob the Scutter, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:18, 1 reply)

"Here in my car, I feel safest of all"
So sang musical legend Gary Numan.

He obviously didn't have my car history:

Renault 4: Gearbox seized, doing top whack (65mph) on the motorway to Wales.

Austin Allegro: Suspension collapsed, front wheel fell off

Fiat Strada: "It's yer big end, guv" "What about it?" "It ain't got one"

Renault 21: Driver's door fell off. On the M4.

Peugeot 205: "What's that burning smell?" "The car"

Ford Escort: 95,000 on the clock and still tempting fate.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:17, 8 replies)

Confession time...
I used to play a part in the cheap tat racket. I am not proud.

When I was 16, I was - briefly - employed as a Betterware distributor. My patch was quite large, and covered a chunk of one of the wealthier suburbs of town, and a chunk of one of the poorer. Inevitably, the buyers tended to come from the poorer parts. In effect, then, my job description was to hawk rubbish to the vulnerable.

If there is anything reassuring about this, it's that my life was made a misery by the experience, so I paid my moral dues. My routine would be to come home from school, grab something to eat, distribute some catalogues and goods, pick up other catalogues and orders, sort out orders, go to bed, get up, go to school. The spare room became a warehouse for plastic nonsense and, being 16, I was often reliant on my parents' goodwill and car to get the orders to people's houses.

The reward? Don't be silly. Notwithstanding the rubbish the buying of which keeps the poor in their places, I was paid on commission only - and this frequently meant about £20 for working every single spare hour of the week. Most weeks - when I was concentrating on the wealthier parts of my patch - I sold nothing, therefore earned nothing; a couple of times, I knew that the item I was delivering was not what the customer thought she had ordered but, being skint and truly fucked off, did nothing about it. (I remember one family in particular: they were immigrants, and their English was not good. What I delivered was clearly undesired, but I was too inflexible to take it back and exchange it for the cheaper item they did want. Why? Because they were my only sale that week, and represented £2 to me. I was not going to defer a smaller commission for the fortnight it would take to sort out matters.) After I took my commission, my area manager took his; factor into that Betterware's own profit, and you have an idea of the quality of the tat I sold.

Most Betterware distributors lack real jobs, and therefore have the time really to work their patch. Maybe they make a decent living from it. I doubt it, though. Whenever I get a catalogue now, I'm torn between buying something just out of a sense of solidarity with the mug who pushed the brochure through my door, and not buying anything because (a) there's nothing I need and (b) not buying anything increases the likelihood that the whole pernicious enterprise will collapse all the sooner. Not buying anything invariably wins.

When I am king, Betterware better beware.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:16, 2 replies)

Cheap tools!
I'm a sucker for tools but have slowly learned why Snapon tools are expensive....they don't snap or bend!

Being an engineer I offten need said Spanner of various sizes up to uber giant! My Dad kindly gave me all his really expensive accient spanners all AF (imperial) but soilid as fuck. So I needed some metric ones, a kind relative bought me a set from some dodgy market at about a squid a spanner consequentially none of them are the size they say they are, ie 27mm is not even close and they're all brittal as hell. In the end I gave in a spent hundreds on a good set. The cheap set have been grownd out for variuos bastardised tools.

Don't buy French or Korean cars they're all fucking crap, save up and buy a good Jap or German car (except Mercedes as it'll fall to bits because they're all built by Turkish immigrants who don't give a shit), if your a bird and want a small car then get a Fiesta.
(3:16, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:12, 6 replies)

Alba DVD player from Argos
Bought in 2002 for 37 quid.

Still going strong after over 5 years!
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:00, 8 replies)

Not me, but my landlord
Landlords of student houses! Cheap bastards, aren't they?

In my second year of uni, I lived in a beautiful Victorian house. Alas, the landlord had decided to budget approximately a hundred pounds into making it habitable. Rather than put in radiators, he put in night storage heaters, which, in a large, high-ceilinged Victorian house provide approximately as much warmth as leaving the light on.

The oven was a good forty years old. It took about an hour to cook skinny oven chips--I say "cook", but what I mean is "melt": they were usually still stone cold in the middle.

The beds, I must admit were very comfortable the first few times used. They were actually new. Sadly for us, they were also the cheapest ones Argos had to offer and within a week most of the slats had come out and had to be taped back together, or one must endure sleeping in a V-shaped bed.

The sofas, too, were new. I suspect that Poundland has branched out into furniture, as these were the saddest sofas I have ever seen. Allegedly they were two-seaters. That would be fine if Victoria Beckham and Nicole Ritchie had come round for tea. Two normal-sized people could not sit on them. Within two weeks, they sagged more than Ann Widdecombe's tits. I think the cushions may have been made out of bricks, too.

I lived in that house for a year, without a mirror, a desk or even any shelves.

Landlords! Please spend more money on your furniture.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:59, 6 replies)

Cheap Lager
Was going to a barbecue a few summers ago, that started in the afternoon, didn't want to get too sloshed, so bought some Tesco value lager, 2% alcohol, £1.19 for 4 cans. Bargain!

In the fridge they go and once chilled I cracked one open and took a sip. Hey - not bad! Not bad at all, much better than I was expecting! Cold and crisp, just right for a sunny July day!

But by halfway down the can, it was, basically, water.

I left the other three and switched to Stella.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:58, 2 replies)

Cheap, tatty cars
I once bought a VW Scirocco for £50 at auction. It (surprisingly) sailed through the MOT, however the already not-very-economical 1.8 litre engine had a fair few broken sensors and as a result did about 10mpg.

Oh, and water came up through the floor. Which meant the carpets were permanently soaked through.

Eventually I decided to strip the interior out with the aim of replacing it - I did this to find an enormous hole in the passenger footwell, and a thick layer of what used to be underlay. It was brown, soggy, and smelt of farts.

I scrapped it then, and replaced it with another £50 car - a Cavalier Diesel, which was actually brilliant.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:58, Reply)

Never get conned into buying
Tesco Value Lube
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:55, Reply)

Ab wheel
An advert came on the TV for one of these "ab wheels". My friends fell about.

"Do you know anyone that has ever actually bought one of these?" they laughed.

"I know one", I replied. :-(

www.formerfatguyblog.com/weight-loss/exercise/power-wheel.jpg
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:53, 4 replies)

Cheap mountain bike
In 1991 I needed a new pushbike, and decided to stray from my usual type of steed (racer) and get a mountain bike.

Being (then) unemployed I couldn't afford a proper one, so I bought a Falcon MTB for about 150 quid. Now, Falcon are a reputable brand, but you need to spend a lot more than 150 quid on an MTB (at least £500 in 1991).

The thing was JCB yellow and weighed a ton. The brakes shrieked so loudly that pedestrians would stop and look. I had to adjust the fucking gears EVERY TIME I rode the thing. Once the rear wheel twisted round and jammed itself against the frame sending me sprawling into the road.

I hated the fucking thing, and after 2 years got £50 quid in part exchange for a Raleigh racer - which I still have, 15 years on, although it is a bit of a "Trigger's broom".
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:50, Reply)

Happy Christmas, ducky
By December 1999, my erstwhile flatmate R and I were both poorer than we had ever been, and Giftmas was approaching. I scrambled together enough money for a couple of pints of milk, some sugar and some butter to make fudge, believing that a cheap handmade gift is worth many expensive bought ones. I was successful, and have repeated the gift every year since: I am an annual fudge-packer. (My white chocolate, cinnamon and chilli fudge is highly sought-after.)

R didn't have the funds even for this. Redemption for him came in the form of a net of rubber ducks: five for a pound. So it was that his gifts that year amounted to one rubber duck for each set of grandparents, one for his parents, one for his sister, and a spare, just in case.

They weren't even large rubber ducks.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:49, 1 reply)