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This is a question Conspicuous Consumption

Have you ever been photographed sat on a balcony eating a croissant; or wallowed in luxury just for the sake of it? What's the most ostentatious thing you ever seen or done?

(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 13:18)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Early summer.....
......and I just happen to be sat on a balcony scoffing a croissant, gazing down upon the childrem I had hired to polish my solid gold Honda Accord, when I am snapped by a fellow B3ta member who spotted it before I did.

The second most ostentatios thing i've done was spend an entire tax rebate on a Superking bed - for my bedsit. I work in Maccy D's and it's the single most expensive thing I own. My TV has to go on the wall as there's literaly no room for a stand. The door of the room I orginally had it in only opened up part way before it banged into the side. I've had four people sleep in it comfortably, though we did have to sleep perpendcular to the regular sleeping position. I sometimes do this when I fancy a change. I'm 6 foot exactly and my feet dont hang off the sides. To further show the bed in all it's glory, I have three pillows side by side. I brought a girl home from a club once and the pillows were the first thing she noticed. On enquiring why I had this arrangement, the kinky bastard in me simply replied "either you can phone a friend or I will. But if I have to, I'll be polite and give you the choice of male or female!". I'll save her answer for another QOTW!

The bay window there is exactly 6 foot wide. It doesn't fit in there, so I have wasted space behind it.

Apologies for length, but it's width that counts here!
(, Fri 29 Jul 2011, 2:02, 6 replies)
Drinks and nibbles at the British Embassy
Before escorting the ambassador's wife to an important social function. In our race car, at speed, through traffic, with the rest of the team in convoy.

Ferrero Rocher were nowhere to be seen, the embassy did however lay on some very good cheese strings.
(, Fri 29 Jul 2011, 1:14, Reply)
Trying to outsmart the up-sell
at KFC the other week.

Yep, I'll have the Wicked Zinger Tower Meal, Large. That's the 'tower' upsell and the 'go large' upsells beaten. Now give me my cholesterol-onna-bun please.
What's that? Would I like bacon on that?

Capital Idea, why yes I wou...

Fucksocks. upsold again.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 23:23, 4 replies)
Myself and two other very off duty sailors.
One stereotypical Australian Expat.
An impressively large Hubbly Bubbly pipe and pile of various tasty tobaccos.
Ludicrous quantities of illegal spirits and re-brewed Budweiser NA.
A glorious sunset from a private balcony, looking over his private beach.

One of the nicest guys I have ever met. No idea what his name was mind you...
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 23:03, 4 replies)
Test driving a Merc CLK for Brunei TV
To ensure a clean run I had two motorcycle cops clearing all traffic out of my way all through the city centre and all the way down the motorway. Flashing lights and all, very presidential.

Watching all these Brunei folks having to pull over to the hard shoulder while I chatted to the camera, wind in my hair. Pretty ostentatious!

The other contender was sitting in a heated outdoor spa looking over the sea in NZ while the hotel manager brought us bottles of champagne.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 22:58, Reply)
I bought my ex tickets for the British Open in Kent quite a few years back, the same course as this years event.
Yes, I know...Golf. I don't play, but I do enjoy it though and it was quite exciting wandering around and seeing them up close, couldn't see what was happening on the course mind, but fun all the same. It was his special birthday after all.
On the final day, we were joined by a friend and on our walk about we spotted a circular cardboard badge lying on the grass.
'V.I.P pass' It was just a bit of card with some string attached so never in a million years thought it would get us in anywhere.
It bloody did.
If you have ever seen the golf, there is a big line of tents that stretch out along the 18th fairway. They belong to the hoi-polloi and sponsors doing their entertaining.
I braved it, slung the string onto a top button and in my flip-flops headed to the security check. They waved me through.
The bottom half of the tents were for the meals that they had on rotation for invite only people, all full on silver service and attentive dressed up staff, and what seemed like about 5 wine glasses to every place setting.
There were people mingling, lot's of men in chino's and women in little black expensive dressses and heels, and reeking of money.
I went up the stairs to the top half of the Rolex tent into the viewing lounge. Shitting myself incase anyone questioned why I was there.
It was empty...apart from huge comfy leather sofas, elaborate exotic flower displays probably worth more than my car, dozens of massive TV's and acres and acres of champagne flutes..all full to the brim with fizzy goodness.
Naturally I helped myself to one, assisted by the stunningly turned out handsome barman, watched from the balcony, then helped myself to another and another...it was so posh and ace I never wanted to leave.
THEN as I was reaching for another glass I felt an arm sling itself around me and a voice asking 'Are you having a good time? It's brilliant isn't it'
'yes *gulp* it's great' I whimpered.
He had an official Rolex badge on and I fair puked at the thought of him asking me 'So, who do you know then?'
He didn't, he stood on the balcony with me talking about the tournament while I tried to force down the last of my champagne past a throat that had closed up almost entirely about 5 minutes before.
It was then I made my leave.
I have never experienced corporate hospitality before, apart from a free lunch, and probably never will again.
God damn..it was good.
We swapped the pass after too, so we all got treated like royalty at least for ten minutes!
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 22:55, 1 reply)
I bought a tankful of diesel for my van yesterday.
In a couple of week's time I'm going to do it again but this time using my own money.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 22:01, 1 reply)
The story about Navajo Joe's reminded me
The last client I did a stint with had a habit of accruing and hoarding lots and lots of semi-useful tech until it was of no value at resale and was obsolete beyond measure.

This included (but was not limited to) a shipping container packed with high-end telecommunications gear and a couple of tonnes of mixed cabling.

I was tasked with organising what was shit and what was usable. 99.999% of the kit was shit - the rest was so obscure as to be useless for the current business model.

For those of you don't know any tinks / pikeys / whatever you want to call them, or scrap metal resellers, old telecoms gear and cabling sells for a fucking mint as scrap. You're dealing in extremely high-grade copper and precious metals in large volumes, and they're willing to pay cold hard cash for a lot of it.

We sold what we could, and put the cash into a pot for a staff night out - then proceeded to piss the whole lot up the wall in NJ's at covent garden, cleaning out some of their spirits and beers.

Relatively speaking it wasn't a lot of cash, but pissing it up the wall in such a flagrant wasteful fashion was great fun.

My boss still has a copy of the final receipt somewhere, which has some fucking ridiculous drinks totals on it (example : 200 quids worth of jagermeister)
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 21:31, Reply)
I paid for internet porn. I was on dial-up at the time, so this really was akin to burning money.

While I'm here, can I take this opportunity to point out that everyone else replying to this qotw is lying? There'll be a lot of that this week, so it'll save you all the trouble.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 21:16, 3 replies)
Every birthday for 5 years
I've gone to the Lowry Hotel in Manchester - about £250 for a room for the night, had dinner and a bottle of champagne - and chilled out.

It's my birthday next month, and I'm self employed. Clients haven't paid up, so I can't go! Cockbadgers!
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 21:07, 2 replies)
Because I work for car companies and they occasionally need prototypes tested over long distances
I used to regularly travel down to see my daughter in Cornwall so could offer '600 miles of testing and data logging'.

Highlights include-

Driving a pristine white DBS Coupe to the beach.
Driving a Merlot red DBS Volante through Falmouth town centre (top down of course)
Driving a V12 Vantage around the Lizard peninsula
Tripping up to Aberdeen in a V8 Vantage to check RFI from the Dyce airport radar.
Taking a Range Rover TDV8 to Newquay
Hooning a V8 Range Rover Sport around some country lanes testing the active roll system.
Point-and-squirting a Jag XK8 around Goonhilly downs

Also at the test facility at Gaydon during the course of work:-

Pissing away fuel at the rate of 4 mpg in the Range Rover Sport Supercharged on the high speed track,
Doughnutting on the steering pad in the same car(Hey, I waas testing the DSC function)
Tearing up the sand pit in a Disco 3 and then sliding around the Low Speed Endurance in the wet to check the Terrain Optimisation settings
Wading in the water trough (70 cm deep)in a Freelander

As well as catapulting up the M40 in a XJ Super V8.
Taking stage 3 driver test at Millbrook, driving 130mph on the top of the high speed bowl and having to balance the car with the throttle, hands off the wheel, for an entire 2-mile lap

As you can guess I've moved around the industry a bit- I failed to stay at Caterpillar long enough to try out an 'Articulated Truck' 740 in the quarry (Machine Systems didn't really need any driving experience) but all the same, I have a different company prototype on the drive this very evening-

A 2.2l 100hp Diesel transit van. With no pissing air con. *Sweats*
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 20:07, 11 replies)
Last year I was in Singapore. A company rep I was doing business with offered me and a colleague a dinner. Now our corporate policy says we can accept gifts 'up to the value of a good dinner'. So we readily agreed.

The restaurant was this place: www.jinshan.com.sg/ The rep had set me and my colleague up with a 'semi-private dining booth' which was a booth with seats around 3 sides of it, the other side open to the restaurant. We had our own waiter who helped us pick dishes: we declined the menu and just asked for the house speciality. So a stream of sub-waiters brought out various wonderful starters, bowls of this and that, plates with little delicacies, shells full of beautiful food, an endless supply of chinese steamed rolls. Then the main course: chilli crab, prepared at our table, by our waiter. She cracked and pulled and extracted mounds of beautiful meat from 3 or 4 crabs, all with a fantastic sweet chilli sauce. We gorged ourselves silly: the food was too good not to eat.

The wine - this was the only time I saw a price. The wine waiter came out to discuss wines with us. The cheapest bottle was around US $ 50, the most expensive many thousands. The company rep had obviously given some guidance as the sommelier pointed us at some wines of a few hundred US $ each, from which I selected a bottle, with some embarrassment.

So my colleague and I sat in this booth for 8 people or so, the table groaning beneath heaped plates of food, stuffing our faces with copious amounts of everything, swigging down wine that cost more than the previous most expensive meal I'd ever eaten, with a waiter standing over us attending our every need, and a stream of sub-waiters bringing us more and more dishes. All the while other people in the restaurant walked past, or just looked at us from their seats, clearly envious of this enormous blow out. Even though it's an expensive restaurant we'd clearly gone for broke.

At the end of the meal, as I heaved myself up from my seat, hoping that I'd make it back to the hotel without exploding, the waiter warmly wished to see me back again. I never saw the bill. I stopped doing business with that particular company a few months later. I'd had my fill.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 20:01, Reply)
I had a White Russian in a cocktail bar one time.
I think her name was Alisa.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 19:58, 1 reply)
Air show
sat in a deck chair on top of a taxi on a baking hot day, surrounded by food, booze and smokable substances. Luxury commented upon during the following days Granada Tonight as 'there's a young chap enjoying himself'. Yessireee I truly was.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 19:56, Reply)
I ate in a canteen. People could see me.

(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 19:50, Reply)
Sunday lunch
last sunday I had a baby stuffed with heroin, the week before it was panda foreskin with whale nut butter.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 19:40, 3 replies)
Twasn't but a month ago...
that I attended a conference in Paris. It was the first day and I'd just presented earlier just after lunch; Needless to say I was feeling pretty fecking chilled out after the months of work leading up to it.

The evening event was a meal on a boat going up and down the Seine, and I sat on the end of a long table with my three colleagues and a bunch of strangers from the conference that I'd just met. I knew it was off to a good start when the guy next to me slid his glass of wine over to me.

"You don't want that?" I enquired.

"Oh...no. I don't drink. Please. Take." He replied in slightly broken English. It turned out he was Iranian, and didn't drink on religious grounds. For some reason he was too polite to decline a refilling, or to move the glass away from him, and it seems I was too kind (read: stupid) to refuse more drink.

Then the starter came - Foie Gras. Starving, I polished mine off smartish. Mid-munching, my Singaporean friend then turned to me and asked what the starter was. I told him is was a goose liver. He remarked on the colour, and I then explained in great detail the cruel and laborious task of overfeeding a goose to make foie gras. He looked a little uneasy, but tried it.

About five minutes in, I got a tap on the shoulder from the Iranian.

"Hello...please? Would you like?" He said, offering me his starter. He'd eaten half his bread roll, and that's it.

I looked at the plate. "Are you sure you don't want it?"

"No," he replied, patting his tummy, "I'm not good with new things."

Not one to turn down food, I snaffled myself another plateful of goose innards. The Singaporean, noticing my ability to eat offal, offered me his, as he wasn't too keen on it. He also offered me his glass of sparkling rosé, as he didn't like the bubbles.

Half an hour in, the boat hadn't even left the docking, and I was well on my way to some horrible Mr. Creosote-eqsue explosion. I thought it wise to pace myself. This was a marathon...not a sprint. I took the set-menu listing, and enquired with the Iranian what he liked to eat. I was genuinely interested, and also I wanted to gauge how much of the remaining meal he'd eat. Main course - Sea Bass. It turns out he loved fish. This was good, as I didn't want the poor guy to starve, and I didn't want to be sick on the first day of the conference. We chatted about Iran, and his travels through Europe, and he showed me pictures of himself and his family. He was a bloody nice guy, as well as the perfect person to sit next to at a French banquet.

The main course passed smoothly, with nothing but wine passed to me.

Then pudding - some ice-cream, meringue and strawberry...thing. Like Eton mess or some such. It was topped, rather banally, with a cherry. Not just any cherry though...presumably soaked in paraffin...the thing tasted like I'd frenched a petrol-pump. Unfortunately, it was the first thing my Iranian friend tasted. He spat it out immediately, and pushed the plate away.

"It's not all alcohol, just that cherry!" I assured him.

"No...it's good. I am full. Please. Take." He said offering me his pudding. I'd barely started mine, so I declined...

Well...until I'd finished mine at least. What the hell! I didn't have to be up in the morning. Well...not really. I could miss the first few talks. What's an additional pudding going to do? It's not like I'm on a diet. I'll just not eat the next day. It's cool...it's just a one-off...

The next morning I woke at 10am, unaware of how I got back to the hotel, feeling like I'd already eaten two hearty breakfasts. Dear God...I've never eaten like that in my life...I felt like a Mediaeval King...a pregnant one...
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 19:17, Reply)
moved out of my first flat
and left behind almost all of my furniture. it was mostly second-hand and shit. then i went to ikea and blew about £1,000 on new stuff.
the same week, i spent £500 on some new clothes and a night out for me and 2 of my mates. then i spent £1,000 on a holiday.
i'd love to be able to say i'm rich, but i'd been given £3,850 "disturbance money" for moving out of my flat. didn't last long, but i had a ball spending it!
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 19:11, 2 replies)
This literally just popped into my head
And has bought me to a juddering stand still with the realisation of what an annoying little prat I must have been.

I guess I would have been, maybe, 8 years old. 9 possibly. I had a big parka jacket, the fluffy hood, orange lining, army green type. It had, if I remember, an arm pocket that had both a button down top and a zip up the length of it, as well as slots for two pens. We'll consider that to be four pockets (this will be important later - god I wish it wouldn't, but it will). It had two 'high' pockets on the front, (the ones that I have never really found a useful purpose for and that if you put your hands in them you look like you are doing a convincing pisstake of a thalidamide victim) and one of those had a smaller 'sub pocket' on top of it. So that's 7. it had two deep pockets at the outside bottom of the coat (we're up to 9 now). One high inside pocket on the left and another on the right AND one deep inside pocket on the bottom right. (12). And then there were my jeans. Anyone of a similar age may remember 'pocket jeans'. They had the usuall assortment of two front, two back and one watch pocket. (17 pockets now). Then they had the 'exrtas', And my pair had one on each thigh and one on the left calf. So now I am up to 20 pockets. But no, that's not enough for me. oh no, I also had one of those 'varsity' type cardigans, that had a pocket on each side too. I had a grand total of 22 pockets.

Why? Because...oh god, the shame...why didn't my parents take one look at me and say 'you fucking twat'...I was so desperate to get a nickname...I thought people might start to call me 'Pockets'.

They didn't.

So I tried a new tack. I filled the pockets. I carried anything i thought someone else might find useful and a lot that they never would. I filled them with scissors and matches and needle and thread. Various knives - Swiss Army, lock, flick and pen. Hankies and tissues and cotton wool and Q-tips. Coins and screws and nuts and bolts and magnets and mini screwdrivers and a toffee hammer. Sweets and chocolate and football stickers and diaries and address books. Analogue AND digitl watches and a calculator. A magnifying glass and a compass and a map. Pens and pencils and rulers and pencil sharpeners and erasers. Because, you know, one day, someone might need something and I'd reach in and lo...'pockets to the rescue'...I lived in the hope that after a while, it would become second nature and people would say things like 'I want to scrape the bark of that twig but I haven't got a knife. I better ask Pockets'.

No one ever asked pockets.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 17:38, 25 replies)
Back in about 1982
I was at college in Bournemouth. Being Bournemouth, all students were housed in 'holiday flats'. One of the other students in my house was a lovely fella called Roger.

I was a middle-class kid from North London and he was a working class hero from Wakefield (if you're reading this Rog, then 'Hi'). We hit it off and became good friends and one of our little customs was to meet up in my room when it was time for 'Brideshead Revisited' to come on the telly.

One week, I went to the offy and got a bottle of something like Asti Spumante and surprised Roger with it as the theme music started. It was the first time he'd ever had sparkling wine and for the rest of the night, nay, term, we were Charles and Sebastian.

Happy days.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 17:24, 5 replies)
Requesting a downgrade
I was once flying at the very back of the plane, where the stewardesses hang out. One came back, and incredulously, told her colleagues that a first-class passenger had just requested a DOWNgrade - from first to economy!

Turns out he was flying on the company ticket, but also had friends on the same flight. So he waited until he had all the champagne and other first-class goodies, then took them with him to share with his friends for the rest of the flight.

Conspicuous consumption? Certainly. Classy? You betcha!
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 17:13, 1 reply)
I understand it's a bit of an aquired taste, but I love it. I once worked on the yacht of a very rich man (A greek fella) and after one particularly messy party, there was quite a bit of good quality beluga left over. I grabbed a large opened tin, that hadn't even been touched, a bottle of what I think was Dom Perignon, and a spoon. I then climbed up onto the rolled up jib, and finished the lot. Some days later, when I checked, I found I had eaten caviar worth over £1000,-

That made me feel pretty good.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:49, 8 replies)
Larging it in London
I had just got my 1st yearly bonus, and me and the now wife had been going out for about 3 months. My plan had been to take us off to london town for a weekend, as a treat off the back of the bit extra cash.

The bonus however was much bigger than I'd ever dreamt and it just so happened to be the same month I got my insurance payouts for whiplash and a wrecked car, so I was almost fucking Scrooge McDuck-ing it. For the 1st and only time in my life, I wasnt worried about cash.

I decided to book us into the Millenium Mayfair instead of the budgety hotels we'd been looking at together. It was a surprise to her as i hadnt said where until we turned up and we had a great time. We'd never been anywhere like it and it was nice to feel a little posh coming from the bleak northern shores of Newcastle....

Now I must add that my knowledge of london was based almost purely on a monopoly board, Mayfair is obviously the nicest and old kent road the worstest.


The year after I got my 2nd bonus, a fair bit lower but still a very nice enough amount for another treat to london. This time, I applied my monopoly theory and booked us a night in the Sofitel St James (Park Lane).

The nightly rate was eye watering (somewhere around £300/400), so I booked us in for the saturday night and as we were travelling most of Friday I booked us a night in the (Sl)easyhotel Victoria for about £20. We ended up in the pub across the road and found a kebab place and took it back to our room, sorry i mean dungeon. It was below ground, no window and fucking awful. The room was honking off the reconstituted meat and I still hadnt told her that we were moving off in the morning, never mind where to.

The next day I packed up a very confused gf and we trotted off to find our new hotel. She was gobsmacked when I showed her where we were staying and it was simply out of our universe never mind world. I tried my best to look dignified when we checked in and our bags were took up to the room by the bell boy. My only knowledge of these was from Home Alone 2, and wasnt sure if he was going to stand in the door rubbing his fingers but he was lovely and soon scampered off.

After a days exploring we got smarted up and went for a nice meal somewhere. Heading back to the hotel I suggested a few drinks at the bar. The menu had no beer on, and feeling far too common to ask I just ordered a cocktail and the missus asked for a "vespa martini".

The drinks came and it was only now I noticed a few on another table being served pints, fuck I couldve had one of those instead of this thing with a little orange fruit thing hanging on it. The missus took one sip of hers and couldnt drink it, it was like drinking ethanol... nearly blew my head off never mind hers. The bill was discretely left and i took a quick shufty and nearly died, £45 for the 2 drinks.

Inside I was crying but my bravado won the day and I had to just notch it up to "if you have to ask the price, you cant afford it". It was a great trip though, even if i did feel like a massive fraud
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:48, 8 replies)
Pearoasted on a fine wine jus.
Some twenty years ago whilst basking in the glow of the lowliest salary on earth (but a salary nonetheless) I managed to persuade three of my mates that we should go out to our regular Chinese and see if we could spend £100...on food only...per head! I should point out that whilst perfectly serviceable this was not a 'fancy' Chinese. The evening commenced with a good five minutes worth of note taking by the waiter who shortly after delivered an 'extra' table as ours couldn't fit all of the dishes on it. We were stuffed by the end of the starters but nothing if not determined ploughed on into the main courses accompanied by a deluge of vino and beer (not included in the £100 target remember). Two of our party made their way to the toilets for a tactical chunder to leave space for desserts and the obligatory spirits and cigar combo. Along the way we even had time to make a really blatant pass at a waitress and persuade them to let us steal the chopsticks rests.

Now if any of you can tell me why we thought this was a good idea for four lads of limited means when £15 could have fed all of us quite satisfactorily, answers on a postcard please!
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:47, 3 replies)
I suppose the swankiest thing I've done is pay for dinner for 6 people
Regretted it as soon as the words "I'll get it" fell from my mouth. Stupid alpha male bollocks.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:46, 2 replies)
I was holidaying in New York and Boston
with the then girlfriend in the late 90s and as a treat I decided that I would order a big stupid stretch limo to ferry us to the airport from the hotel instead of using the free bus. Couldn't really afford the $200 or so but you know how it is wehn you are young and stupid. Up at half five in the morning on the day of our departure barely awake and a call comes through the the room "Mr No 5 your limo has arrived". Cool. Bob on down, girlfriend suitably impressed, we drive to the airport, sitting on a packed freeway with some music playing, the aircon on and a glass of champers. We arrive at the airport and send the limo guy on his way with a largish tip. Our plane has been cancelled because of bad weather in Boston. Next flight is the day after. Took a taxi back to the hotel.

So to recap: I spent $200 odd dollars to sit in a car on a freeway for 45 minutes.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:44, 2 replies)
Champagne at Lord's
Every year, me and my friend David sit on the Nursery end grass during the lunch interval of the Lord's Test (Saturday only) and quaff a bottle of France's's second cheapest at Tesco's this week, just because we can. Been doing it for 20 odd years now, and couldn't give a stuff!
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:41, 2 replies)
Conspicuous consumption in one of the world's poorest nations
I spent about 1800 British pounds for a visa and tour package to visit North Korea.

I live in the South so it's not that far. Most of the cost was presumably visa-related rather than actual travel expenses, ie money that goes directly into the government's pocket. This weighed at my conscious for a bit, but the trip was just too great for me to worry about.

I'd been told to expect an old Soviet-era propeller plane to fly us in to Pyongyang. Instead, it was the fastest jet I've ever been on.

Our first night there, we went to the Arirang Festival. Basically, they take the world's largest stadium, then they get tens of thousands of North Korean schoolchildren to hold up individual pixels, which they change by flipping them over. Add to that enough dancers to make the Chinese Olympic opening ceremonies look like a squaredance. You can see a bit of it here:
See the bleachers on the other side, with the colourful banner with all the Korean writing? Each pixel of that is a human being. They spend the better part of a year practicing to do this:
...in front of a couple hundred visitors.

Anyway, we stayed on an island in the river where we could be isolated from the general population.

After a few days, we went out to the mountains, where we visited a palace known as the International Friendship Exhibition. That's where there's a huge palace built for the Great Leader, where he kept all the gifts he got from visiting dignitaries. A second, smaller building was built for the Dear Leader. It's estimated there are between 60 000 and 220 000 gifts kept there. They range from entire trains to a basketball signed by Michael Jordan. It's intended to show how the Kims are respected all around the world.

Well, those were the three biggest examples of conspicuous consumption while I was there. Fortunately, beer was cheap. Anyone familiar with Ushers of Trowridge? North Korea bought their brewery, shipped it to Pyongyang, and now make some of the best beer you can get in either Korea.

If you want to see a few more of my pictures, you can find them on Flickr.
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:31, 3 replies)
Nom nom nom
Yesterday I travelled from one side of the UK to the other and back - FIRST CLASS ...

... and today I had a 3 hour lunch with alcohol!

And I'm not even a politician - what were they thinking?
(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:09, Reply)
your mum

(, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 16:01, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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