Amsterdam
Technically speaking, it wasn't a weekend, but I think it fits the spirit of the question quite nicely.

Last summer my good friend George and I went to see a japanese jazz band (Soil and "Pimp" Sessions, if you're interested, they're amazing) at the koko club in Camden. Naturally, for such an occasion, we dressed as pimps. We met an old friend of ours there, and his new girlfriend, one of those strange sorts of people who 'don't like jazz' and spent the whole evening not enjoying herself.

In sharp contrast, George and I did very much enjoy ourselves, and proceeded to get all the way down with the help of no small quantity of beer. It was a long set, but it still ended too soon, and elated, we made our way to a nearby sainsbury's to buy some cheap wine and see if we could make a night of it. We got chatting to a bloke in the queue, and by happy coincidence, he happened to be the band's tour manager.

We confessed our hearty appreciation, and he said that they were playing the North Sea Jazz festival in Rotterdam the next day, mentioning some other big jazz names that would make it worth our while.

George looked at me. I looked at George. I should mention at this point we had both been lucky enough to receive quite substantial inheritances at the beginning of the summer, and, while we were in agreement that we should be more or less sensible with how we spent them, the look we exchanged was not a sensible one.

'Ben?'
'Yes?'
'Do you wanna go to Rotterdam?'
'D'you know what? I think I might!'

And so, buzzing from the alcohol with hot jazz riffs bouncing off the possibilities in our heads, we went back to the girl who didn't like jazz's house and set about booking ourself an adventure.

Neither of us drive, so we both carry our passports with us for ID. We looked at lastminute.com; there were flights from London Stansted to Amsterdam at seven am the next morning. We had the means. We had the money. The stars aligned and spelled travel and excitement for my dear friend and I. The girl's brother was even kind enough to offer us a lift to Stansted there and then, although in hindsight maybe he just wanted to get these two pissed weirdos the fuck out of his house. Either way, fortune was smiling on us.

So it came to pass, with hangovers starting to kick in, that at seven o'clock in the morning, still dressed as by now slightly dishevelled pimps, the plane to jazzy goodness was sat on the runway with us sat in it. I hadn't slept. I felt rough as a saloon in a spaghetti western, but by goodness, was I excited!

In so far as we'd thought about it at all, we assumed that we'd have some breakfast in Amsterdam before seeing if we could get a train to Rotterdam and then try and blag our way into the festival. Not the best of plans, but we were too caught up with the wanderlust to really consider it rationally.

We did, as it turns out, manage to get some breakfast, but we still were hanging out of our arses. Being as were in Amsterdam, though, and no strangers to a nice little morning smoke to set up the day, we thought we could see a very pleasant solution to our hangover-based woes.

The pretty lady behind the counter in the Grasshopper asked us what we'd like in perfect english. What a wondrous place, we though, miles away from having some sketchy dude meet you in a public toilets telling you he's got 'the boomting, mate' and then giving you a little bag of leaves. This was definitely a good idea.

'Err, I guess we'll just have a few spliffs of white widow, then, we can always have the one now then smoke the rest later'.

I didn't really know what white widow was, but it sounded like something I wanted.

With casual arrogance befitting out age, we failed to take into account that something called 'white widow' might actually be quite a lot stronger than we were used to, and sure enough by the time we'd smoked most of one joint we had no choice to put it out. My god! I don't think I've ever been more stoned. I wasn't bothered by my hangover any more, but then I was pretty much not bothered by anything except how pretty the floral pattern on the chairs was. George, even more blase about it than I had been, was transfixed on the tv.

An hour later, it became clear to us there was no way we were going to Rotterdam. Mustering the huge energy it took to stand up, we thanked the kind pretty lady and left to do some gentle sightseeing.

Amsterdam is a beautiful city. Obviously, we checked out the red light district, and I can report that few things are odder than hundreds of beautiful women (and some less so. And some men in wigs) standing in windows wearing... well, not much and making sexy gestures at you when you're tripping balls. Later on, we'd have the whole 'well, I mean we could. Should we? We are in Amsterdam after all' conversation, deciding eventually against it, but at first I was pretty much lost for words. Outside of that, there are some lovely buildings and fascinating streets, tranquil canals, etc. There are also few cities where two incredibly baked teenagers dressed as pimps carrying a 'celebrate marijuana' unbrella we'd purchased can pass by almost completely unnoticed. I love that.

This has already become very self-indulgent, for which I apologise, so I will skip through the rest of a wonderful day to the part where we ended up on a pub crawl for tourists. I still hadn't slept. People were pouring shots down my throat. The other two spliffs we'd bought were still very much lingering in the system. in short, it was an utterly fantastic night. Probably the best thirty six hours I've ever had, before we caught the plane home at midday the nexy day, still drunk.

Money well spent.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Fri 14 May 2010, 20:45, 6 replies)

I have a problem with a certain drug that comes in powder form and makes you feel like the ceter of the universe.
Thankfully I am dealing with this problem and am now happily sober.
So my expensive weekend was at a friend's house party, where this substance was very freely available in large ammounts, I knew I had a problem with the stuff, I had told my partner about it and asked her to keep me away from it. She agreed.
But I didn't, I put about 200 quids worth up my nose that night. She found out the next morning when my nose was bleeding worse than the time I was punched in the face for making fun of the homophobe in the pink shirt.
So expensive money wise, a little.
Losing a woman who was perfect for me in everyway, was far more expensive.

Sorry for the lack of knob joke, length? Sober for 3 months and still going strong.
( Laird Dave Draws Now charges to take off his clothes., Fri 14 May 2010, 20:23, 7 replies)

The Car
I had just had a massive arguement with Mrs Moot and got on the phone to my big brother, he was about 100 miles away in Minehead Butlins on a weeks piss up. I thought that this sounded like fun so popped in the car gave the Mrs a 2 finger salute and headed for the seaside town. I had just bought my new car, being a Fiat Abarth which went like the clappers and was ace (though very boy racer), I arrive there got drunk spent not much had a great time, result in my opinion. Time came to head home, little hungover but legal to drive, and headed up the A303 to my home. Just going past Wincanton when there was a sudden loss of power and some horrible noises coming from the engine, cue sitting on the side of the road for hours waiting for the RAC. Towed away and inspected, and yes I had run it dry of oil, did not notice great big leak and ruined the engine.

Garage guy and me chatting about car
me: is it fixable?
him: needs a new engine, big end gone see.
Me: oh hum (swear swear swear), I will get one how much to fit?
him:£800 quid
me: not bad. could be worse.

Went off bought a new engine, £2500 quid. had it dropped of at garage,

Phone call from garage.
Him: appears you've damaged fly wheel ect too.
Me: sh*t, how much?
Him: cant tell you until its all done.
Me: (In my head) I have a new engine now, cant get money back so will have to get it done... so i said fix it.

Weeks pass, fault after fault after fault....

3 months later, fixed.

went to pick it up.

Cost 2500 engine, 2000 parts and labour. Damn skint.

Decide while i was there to pop into mates for a drink chat, go out on the piss and lose the f**king keys. Cost £340 (what the fu*k)? 7 days to get em, so train home.

Replacement Keys arrive, pick it up. new tyre needed cost £162.

So car had, new engine, new fly wheel, new running gear, some replacement electrics, new tyre. new oil, air con replacement. ect ect.

Now really skint, cost of the car now £5000 at best.

Why did I bother? Because Im thick as hell.
(AmootPoint My bro is cyril sneer, Fri 14 May 2010, 20:08, 2 replies)

Putt putt
My most expensive weekend was when I dropped $10K in cash on my car.
When the ex husband and I broke up, all I wanted was my car payments making as I couldn't afford them with all my new monthly expenses that I was having to pay alone (apartment, bills etc).
He agreed to this, but then when he found out I was dating again he was a little miffed and demanded the car back by the end of the month.

2 weeks later, on a Friday, I got my inheritance money through that mum had left me......first thing I did was go straight to the bank and write a check for the $10k that was still owing on it and transferred title into my name.

Even though I got no help financially from the ex husband and ended up paying the car myself (and he wanted the break up, not me), I walked away from that marriage with my head held high and my dignity intact.

That car has seen me through some great times over the last couple of years, road trips to Arizona, Vegas and the mountains, and it's one of the "safe" places I can go when I'm having a panic attack in public. It's like a little cocoon. I love my little putt putt.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Fri 14 May 2010, 19:52, 7 replies)

A quick family visit back to the UK cost me a fortune!
Sorry this is probably going to be a long one. I'll try and keep it as brief as possible:

You may, or probably dont remember my story about my Ex Kelly and why I quit the UK but its here: b3ta.com/questions/quitters/post164419 .

But as a quick round up, kind of how Home and Away and Neighbours used to start with the review of the previous episode:

Basically me and Kelly got together, she was pregnant with her ex's kid. I practically became daddy to kid. We rented a house together. Then found her cheating on me with a so called friend. So we broke up, and I moved to Spain.

Despite what happened, me and Kelly remained really good friends. I was afterall the baby's Godfather. Tho I'm not particularly religious, this has meaning to me and I see him as family. I will always be there for him till the day I die. He's the closest thing I have to a son, and whenever I go back to the UK, I always make sure to stop in and see them. They've been out to Spain a few times too, and its always good to see them.

Two years ago I went back to the UK for a quick weekend. It was a family members birthday. It literally was a flying visit, only being back for two nights and then having to jet back out to Spain again. Cheap winter flights. No problem!

I managed to find a couple of hours and stopped by to the old house to see Kelly and baby (who is now a full grown toddler!). I was going through some mail that had arrived for me, and happened to notice a letter from the landlord. He was kicking them out. Unfortunately Kelly had been struggling to keep up with the rent. She'd been having a lot of problems with illness and needing a lot of time of work. The doctors were being utterly useless prescribing paracetamol as the cure for everything. As such she was struggling financially, she was £500 in arrears with the rent and had two weeks to vacate the property.

Did she leave the letter out on purpose? I have no idea. We had a chat about it, and I said why didnt you tell me this before? She didnt want to burden me with it. She had two options: One was to take an emergency council house on the filthiest, most dodgiest drug ridden estate in town. Or move back to Mums and be crammed into a box room with a toddler. There was many other issues and problems with her going back to mums too. Basically not really an option.

This house was this kids home, he learned to crawl here, walk here and say his first words here. This rented house was sentimental. Not to mention Kellys independance from mother was also very important. I thought there is no way my godson is going to be brought up on a chavvy scum hole estate.

When we rented the house it was all done via friend of a friend and as such we got away without having to pay any deposit which was pretty awesome. So I phoned the landlord up and explained to him the situation with Kellys illness. He said that he'd had to borrow money from the bank as he was falling behind on the mortgage repayments on the house too. I could understand his situation. He doesnt get paid, it throws him in trouble too financially. Anyway we came to a deal.

That weekend cost me £2,000!!! £500 to cover the rent arrears and £1,500 as three months rent deposit. If she fell behind in the rent again then he could take the money out of the deposit so he wouldnt be left in the lurch. Once the deposit ran out he can give her marching orders. Papers were signed and I transferred the money to him there and then.

I just figured, well I had managed to save up a couple of grand for a rainy day and here was a storm if i ever saw one. I didnt do it for her. I made sure she knew that. I did it for my godson. He's such a great kid and he doesnt deserve to be thrown out of his home like that. Kelly had assured me she was better and she was financially capable of continuing to run the house. I told her to pay me back in small installments, even if its a tenner here and there. Then when it came to moving house in the future, she'd have a lump sum to come back. Saves me from spending my savings on crap, and gives her the opportunity to save up some money for when she moves house. So all in all a pretty win win situation.

Reality? She never did manage to pay anything back. She slipped on the rent twice more. Moved out 4 months ago with her new boyfriend and I got £500 back. woo!

That was an expensive weekend! Still, it was money well spent.
(Miggyman, Fri 14 May 2010, 16:46, 15 replies)

A few years ago it looked to be a very expensive weekend in the making
I had just handed over £22k and picked up my brand new Honda Accord. On my way out of the forecourt some prick thought it would be funny to spit on my bonnet. This sent me into a rage so I got out of the car and confronted him, seeing my 8'8" height and build of atlas he decided he'd best make tracks but I gave chase and It took only moments to catch him before I delivered an almighty smackdown. Lady luck must have been smiling on me because this fellow just happened to be a drug dealer and must have just cleared out a good stash because he was clutching a satchel containing the best part of £30k. A supermodel had witnessed this heroic act and was already waiting for me in the Accord, legs akimbo on the back seat.
( Maximinimus you stick around I'll make it worth your while, Fri 14 May 2010, 16:36, 12 replies)

Never take the mong you teach on a field trip and pay off your dealer for last week's score.
He'll report back that you gave a man he didn't like some money and that he didn't understand what was going on, and then you'll get the sack.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 14 May 2010, 15:44, 15 replies)

Hmm. reminds me.
Boring, but this is a biggie.

Was reading previous story aboiut NZ and Australian customs fining people for having apples on them.

In my work, we occasionally have to deal with the Australian quarantine service.

We take big ships into Australia. These things are not cheap - they can cost upwards of 40 grand a DAY to hire.

One time we had one arrive on a Friday. I went home expecting all to be fine, but some quarantine officer arrives on Saturday morning and spots something she doesn't understand in the paperwork. So, she stops the vessel from loading.

Monday morning, I get in to be told our ship has sat all weekend (and it's now out of office hours on Monday in Oz) doing nothing. The problem was she didn't know what some insect was that we had written on our docs (we're loading grain, we need it certified as free from pests).

The solution - I Google the thing, and send the link to them. Problem solved.

Summary - someone from the state quarantine service doesn't know about a bug which is fully described on wiki-fucking-pedia, and costs us somewhere north of £100,000.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Fri 14 May 2010, 14:34, 3 replies)

Proper wallet
Awwww man … this one time … fucking hell … unbelievable … just, just the sheer ABANDON … well, I tell you, that was one hell of a Monday morning … definitely worth it though … good times.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 14 May 2010, 14:00, 5 replies)

Barclaycard Morons. (or 'The most expensive weekend I never had')
For reasons that will make a story for a different QOTW, I managed to snap my Barclaycard in half a week before I was flying to Miami.

Forgetting all the problems this caused with having booked things with a different card to the one I eventually had in my hand, I physically had to get a replacement before I could leave the country.

The day before I flew, a courier bought it to the closest branch of Barclays to where I worked.

I collected it, I signed for it. I went home.

The next day I used it to buy a copy of Empire magazine, 20 Marlboro lights and a bottle of Coca Cola at the WHSmiths in Heathrow airport.

Then I got on a plane.

I arrived in Miami. I got in my hire car to drive to Fort Lauderdale. I checked in to my hotel.

The next day I tried to check out.

After my card was rejected, I was on the phone to Barclaycard where it was explained to me that my card had been used at Heathrow and in Florida. Fair enough, I knew that to be true.

What I couldn't understand, is how the fuckwit at the other end of the phone didn't get that it's not really possible to bu stuff in London, then buy a drink in America within 13 hours and also spend £3,000 in Rio in the meantime.

I could have had a lot of fun in Rio for £3,000.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 14 May 2010, 13:50, 6 replies)

Canyon Run
A Canyon Run always starts out small and speeds out of control towards disaster.. I'm sure you've been on one.
This particular event was triggered by the arrival on Friday of the latest Director's Cut of Bladerunner, the one with the extra scenes and surround sound. No not that one, the one after that.
So, fifteen quid down I settle to watch Bladerunner for about the 150th time, but it sounds total shit on my old stereo.
Saturday morning and it's off to Richer Sounds to check out their 5.1 theatre systems. It has to be, so I leave with a new Home Theatre amp and speakers - Front, back, centre, and sub-woofer. Now I'm £480 down on top of the DVD.
Back home and it sounds awesome. The opening scene makes me duck as a flyer overtakes on the left. The sound on the 'Eye' shot has the floor rumbling. But it looks like shit on my old glass gogglebox.
Sunday morning and it's back to Richer to check out their widescreen TVs. I leave an hour later, and another £500 poorer.
But that evening, I invite a few friends round to experience the awesomeness of my new system, and one of them arrives clutching a bottle of liquid acid.
I have to say that was the best thousand pounds I ever spent in a weekend.
(Variable, Fri 14 May 2010, 13:28, Reply)

Based on many of the replies in this QOTW
I don't think I'm ever going to bother getting married.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 14 May 2010, 13:26, 6 replies)

Marriage
The most expensive weekend I ever had was my wedding. Basically a mass piss-up, with free booze, food and disco: £8000.

One of my mates turned up 10 minutes before the ceremony - he'd forgotten and was reminded by a phone call, leaving a half-done plumbing job to get there. So not only did he get fed and pissed for free, he also managed to wang accomodation on someone's hotel room floor and get a free breakfast in the morning: the cheapest weekend he ever had.
(mobileabuser I liked... clive, Fri 14 May 2010, 13:25, Reply)

Heart Attacks stateside
My lovely parents flew over to the states for a trip to Las Vegas. When There dear mother decided to take a heart attack. Cue three ambulances turning up and fighting over privilege for her treatment. Now, the service provided by the winner was second to none but imagine the irony of my mother arriving home and being presented with a bill of $60000 and taking a second heart attack.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Fri 14 May 2010, 13:24, 3 replies)

Lapdance tastic
Night out in London with 2 mates. After far too much beer, ended up going to a lap dance club expecting just to see a few boobs and maybe have a couple of private dances.

Within 15 minutes we were like kids in a sweet shop (except instead of sweets it was just full of hot naked ladies) and what we actually ended up doing was spending like Russian oligarchs and all going to the VIP lounge for some time with 3 girls and a bottle of champagne at £300 (they make you buy it if you want to go into the VIP bit).

Fell out of there 3 hours later with smiles on our faces but £1400!!!!! lighter.

Felt like a right plonker in the morning, especially when my credit card company rang me to check if it was me who put £1000 on the card at Secrets. I sheepishly admitted it was me hoping that she didn't actually know what Secrets was. Bet she did though.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Fri 14 May 2010, 13:13, Reply)

I turned up to a friend's wedding unexpectely ...
One of my great friends from college was getting married, but neither my wife (who was also a good friend of hers) or I thought we would be able to go due to study and professional exams.

However, just a few days beforehand I had something cancel and so decided to pop over - a quick 5000 miles each way to Tucson in Arizona (we live in the UK). Turned up Friday evening, left Monday lunchtime. It was not the sort of do where exact numbers mattered and she was obviously pleased I was able to make it. Although it did throw her somewhat when she answered the door expecting it to be her fiancee and found me there. He had picked me up from the airport but neither of us had told her I was coming. I actually think she went into shock for a few minutes.

Pretty expensive weekend as far as traveling goes but worth every penny to make a special event. Also the only weekend where I have managed an average speed of about 150 mph!
( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Fri 14 May 2010, 11:21, Reply)

all for the sake of...
Had a weekend in France with Mrs Nimrodihnio planned on the bike, light touring, couple of posh hotels and away from the kids, nice.
First thing on the Friday i went out to get some petrol to fill up the tank before we go, pulled up at some lights, cop car next to me wound down window and in a friendly way pointed out the brake light wasn’t working and I might want to get it fixed.
No problem, quick divert to Warrs HD dealership on the Kings rd parked out front, nipped in got the £1.98 brake light had a very quick look at the shiny new Harley’s, went out and there is my pride and joy lying side on lights flashing, me giving it a massive WTF!?!?! Went back in and nobody had seen a thing.
They have cctv pointing in the right direction, and went through the images for the last few minutes and plain as day there is a Chelsea tractor cheerfully ploughing in to the front wheel of my bike and drives off. Luckily they have a bike available for me to hire and me and Mrs N go off and have a lovely weekend and we’ll worry about it later.
I got the Police involved and cutting a long story short the cctv can’t (won’t) be enhanced (not economically possible) to get the number plate recognised, so can’t be traced. I had changed my insurance before the winter to TPF&T to save a couple of hundred quid and had forgotten to change it back, so I therefore I have to pick up the bill for new forks, wheel, tank and labour costs, hire of a bike for the weekend plus extra for taking it out of the country.
All that on top of the bloody expensive hotels in the champagne region and drinking a bucket load of the local produce, and I don’t even like the stuff.
Total of £1,968 English pounds if you please.
All for the sake of a £1.98 brake light.....shit
(nimrodihnio making gravy for one., Fri 14 May 2010, 11:13, 11 replies)

Glastonbury
I have a friend who took out a £1000 loan and waxed the whole lot over the course of the festival (and it didn't even include paying for the ticket).
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 14 May 2010, 10:46, 1 reply)

Bought my wife a brand new ironing board last weekend
It wasn't even her birthday
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 14 May 2010, 10:09, 5 replies)

Went to Dublin to see an old friend the other weekend.
Fuck me. £5/6 a pint over there. Went on the day after payday, returned 3 nights later with £0.24 to last me the rest of the month.

Sorry for the lack or length, girth, content and humour. But I'm still shellshocked about the cost of everything there, and I live in Brighton so I'm used to being overcharged for everything.

Oh, good weekend though, and fuck it - it's only money, and it's easy to eat cheap for a month. Most fuckers that complain they can't afford to eat healthily are greedy iceland-chomping liars.
(Pat_Gash, Fri 14 May 2010, 9:51, 7 replies)

Last weekend
Went to the first rave of the year. Didn't sleep for the second weekend running. Ended up so run down that although I managed to make it in to work on Monday, I slept through my alarm on Tuesday.

Despite this being the first time this has happened since I got the job in September. Was given a weeks notice. Marching orders.

Cost of weekend/ trying to avoid missing a days wage = £60 + £1070 a month
(babyaeroplanes, Fri 14 May 2010, 9:24, 2 replies)

I'm getting married in three weeks
Not only is it going to be the most expensive weekend ever, but I'll end up paying for it for the rest of my life*

channelling Bernard Manning there. I'm actually dead excited and Lady Scaramanaga is a fucking diamond
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Fri 14 May 2010, 8:32, 10 replies)

I just paid £3.80 for a pint for my mate.....
because he doesn't get paid unitl tomorrow...

...I have Scots Blood, it doesn't show does it?
( Jimbo314 is drunk on, Fri 14 May 2010, 2:07, 10 replies)

I just chipped the corner of my front tooth
I have no idea how, or where it is, and I refuse to sift through me poop to look for it, so it looks like this weekend will prove to be more expensive than i had previously planned. Bummer =(.
(goorf, Fri 14 May 2010, 1:32, 7 replies)

Last weekend...
...not my most expensive weekend ever, but a fair bit of wedge to wish a couple well.

Their wedding was in central London, so that meant train fares (I live quite a long way away) plus central hotel, plus gift (cash as requested - no wedding list) - it all adds up a bit.

Well worth it though as they're a nice couple - and I took the opportunity to remind the bride (while buying her a drink at the bar) that the first time I'd seen them together I'd been so certain they were right for each other I'd bet them a tenner they'd be engaged within 6 months.

"But it took us longer than that to get engaged - so you owe us a tenner!" she said.

This was technically true. So to add insult to injury ten pounds comes out of my rapidly emptying wallet to be tucked inside the bridal bra.

Ho hum. I'll keep my big mouth shut next time!
( superstoater is so mauve, you don't know what he's planning, Fri 14 May 2010, 0:31, Reply)

Totally off topic, but...
It's my birthday. As of an hour ago, I'm 21.

This promises to be a hellaciously expensive weekend.

Thank you, B3tans, for entertaining me and providing laughs and insight.

T
(Tiktock Beating off flamers with a shitty stick, Fri 14 May 2010, 0:08, 21 replies)

I haven't any "expensive" stories
I can, however, recount a cheap weekend that may be familiar to some:

It's Saturday morning. You're ten, and the sun is shining. Despite this, you want to spend your weekend hiding like a groundhog from Murray and playing Resident Evil with your siblings (but not letting them get the controller, you may be ten but you're not a complete fucking moron...) Just as you've settled down with your bag of penny sweets on the most comfortable cushion in the house, your parents/grandparents/whoever burst in with their idea: we're going to go out and enjoy the sunshine!

With many a cry of "You'll enjoy it once you get there!" and "The computer will still be here when you get back," you're crammed into the car in between your older brother (who is carsick) and your cousin (who ALWAYS falls asleep, keels over and drools like Niagara Falls into your lap.) This journey is interminable. The drivers WILL get lost at least once, you can't have the windows open because your grandma is prone to chills, and Abba are on the radio on repeat.

You may try to enliven your cheap weekend with conversation. A few select ideas:

"Where are we going?" "Wait and see/You'll find out when we get there!"
"Are we there yet?" "Not yet."

Eventually you'll get to some patch of land which has some trees, or a lake. Since it's a sunny Saturday, EVERYONE is there. There's no room on the fun things, like swings, so you end up trekking around the park carrying a bag of picnic that, for some reason, couldn't be left in the car.

This picnic will nearly always include a bottle of squash so watered down it could be used as a homoeopathic remedy, and a questionably old bit of cheese that made its way in because it "needed eating". However, there won't be anywhere to sit to eat it. You will end up choosing from an ant hill, near-the-bin or in-the-car.

By this point, your head will be aching from the sun, and you'll be bursting for the toilet. The choices are simple: hold it in, or go behind a bush. Your grandmother still clings to this old adage, despite the fact that the only bushes around are prickly, spiky, or more naked than a page 3 girl. Around this time, you will invariably step in something a bear has left in the woods, and be lectured on looking where you're going.

And so begins the trek BACK to the car... this time getting tired, carting smelly picnic remains back, and looking in despair at the darkening sky. Another few lifetimes crammed into the car, and you're home. And, at the end of this delightful day, just when you've regained the cushion and controller:

"Right, bath and bed you guys."
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 13 May 2010, 23:53, 4 replies)

Not my story, but an old Kiwi mate...
An old mate of mine, Gowie had been working in Newquay for a couple of years. He went home for a couple of months and on the return flight to New Zealand, he pocketed the apple from his in flight meal for a snack on the way home.

At customs, he was asked if he had anything to declare.

"Nope." says he.

"What about this apple, then?" Says the customs gestapo.

"It's from the in-flight meal." Says Gowie.

"That'll be 100 dollar fine then, thankyou" replies the officer.


Turns out, Gowie no longer likes apples!


Not quite an expensive weekend, but possibly the most expensive apple in history.

Length? Not quite. More of a round-ish shape!
(roadieflip Who nicked the jokes from my lolly sticks?, Thu 13 May 2010, 23:32, 1 reply)

lucky escape
cost of alcohol for 4 people for 3 days = £270
cost of petrol to take 4 people from liverpool to gretna green and back = £100(approx.)
cost of parking ticket = £60
cost of crappy hotel for 2 nights = £160
cost of food for 4 people for 3 days = £80(approx.)
cost of sobering up in time to avoid marrying a greek bloke you only just met = fucking priceless.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 13 May 2010, 23:08, Reply)

Daddy, I want a pony.
A wise man once said; ‘The only way to make a small fortune in motorsport is to start with a large one’.

I used to work for a small rally team before I decided to run away to the hills to become a snowboard bum. The cars, worth anything from £250,000 to £500,000, were generally owned by gentleman drivers who were successful businessmen and used to fly in by helicopter for a day of sport. I would regularly write bills for £30,000 for which they would have had around fifty minutes of competitive driving. An expensive weekend you may think. So did I, until we landed a new customer who’s Daddy promptly purchased four new cars at £500,000 each. One to wash and one to wear and all that.

This boy was a great driver, a record breaker even, but he really raised the bar when it came to the size of the bills I had to write. The reason his old man had bought some £2,000,000 of cars was because the boy had a tendency to put them on their roof with metronomic regularity. He was crashing them faster than we could build them.

Such were his driving skillz, when he wasn’t in the trees or upside down, that he was surrounded by a whirlwind of PR and he was being touted as a future world champion at the tender age of seventeen. His debut in one of his shiny new cars was a high profile affair and he managed to get a lot of television coverage. Mainly because he managed to have one of the biggest accidents I have ever seen, right in front of the worlds media.

Luckily he was insured, the policy for three days insurance coverage was a snip at £15,000. Good job really because the claim I put in was for £145,000. Add in the other sundry costs for a day and a half of tooling around in a fast car and the boy managed to spunk around £200,000 of his Dad’s money in the space of thirty-six hours.
(Mr_Wendel, Thu 13 May 2010, 22:48, 4 replies)