Student Days
When I was student back in '89, I drank Bitter as it was 70p a pint in the Uni bar. In the budget that year, 2p was put on a pint. I swittched to Mild, which increased to 70p (from 68p). I also put £200 of my grant in the Building Society to get some interest (about £1 IIRC).

Happy days.
(kitescreech still here, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 20:15, 1 reply)

My Grandad's 'thriftyness' is legendary witinh our family
He will drive up to a mile away from the place he actually wants to visit just to avoid paying for parking, but his favourite trick is recycling. He has in the past built a lathe out of an old washing machine (it broke the instant it was turned on), a shed built entirely of drift wood recovered from the beach, and (my favourite) a magazine rack out of the shelves from his old fridge.
(jlkgjsfhoj, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 20:04, 2 replies)

Tightwads come in all shapes and sizes
I work as a till monkey/trainee manager (think monkey in a tie) for a well known supermarket chain. Rhymes somewhat with "Al-fresco." This particular company has a reward scheme with literally hundreds of ways to earn points without "theoretically" spending any of one's hard earned cash. The most common of these is to recycle a carrier bag when you do your shopping. For this you will receive 1p (or as much as 4p if you trade your points in for vouchers to any number of food purveyors.) The scheme isn't that popular, but you do get the odd person who steadfastly refuses to budge until they see you add "Bag Re-Use" to their shopping list, all for 1p. Some even go home, then drive back to the store, all to complain to the management that they didn't get their green point. To which the management have to tell them to request an extra point next time, as it costs much more than 1p in wasted time to put it on manually.

My favourite of all though are the fuel dodgers. The ones who put £20.01 in fuel in and come in to the store armed with a twenty, thinking they can get away with it. I've almost turned it into a game to see who can make a customer part with the most extra cash to pay the extra penny. The best one was a guy in a Porsche, who put £15.01 in fuel in and paid with a £20 note, but asked for a fiver in change. I was feeling happy that day and would have obliged except:

1. He was driving a Porsche,
2. He put unleaded petrol into said brand new car (I guess it was just too much for him to spring the extra 6p a litre for his £60k motor),
3. He had a wad of notes in his wallet so thick you could beat a whale to death with it.

When I handed him his £4.99 change he started shouting, eventually asking to speak to the manager who kindly pointed to his receipt and told him if he didn't dribble so much he might have got a fiver back.
(guyie failed to be witty on, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 19:57, 2 replies)

the miser
A retired bloke I know is a real miser.
he's got a good pension and had a decent job,no kids,not married ,lives in a large house.

his house hasn't been decorated since 1979.
his car and washing machine were given to him by his neighbour.
he rarely buys anything new and if he ever does,the deliberations and bargain scouring take weeks if not months.
He got his pc off his neighbour for free and uses their wireless broadband,no charge.
his oven broke ,so at christmas ,he buys a chicken and drives round to his old mams house to cook it there , then brings it back home,can't be arsed buying a replacement for the 30 year old oven !

all the food he buys is value,or reduced,he's the original yellow ticket hunter in a well known supermarket !

beer is one of his vices,but its got to be the cheapest pub in town.
I bought him a christmas present one year, a good (and somewhat rare) bottle of wine,however ,the next christmas ,I received a present from him , "I know you like this one" he said to me,I asked him where he'd got it from,"oh,it was in me cellar with the rest of them", the trouble was,it was the bottle i'd given him the previous christmas .
he's got about 200 bottles of wine in his cellar,and they're very dusty !

He'll really go to some extreme lengths to get things repaired,phoning all sorts of people to get the best deal,taking ages, or he just goes without.
The worst side of his character is the moaning about the cost of everything.
He'll die a millionaire (on paper) and his distant relations will inherit his miserly amassed fortune.

it's unnecessary self imposed poverty.
and then there's the hoarding,all types of junk etc, " don't throw owt away" might come in useful someday...someday ...
(sniffi the cat /remembers/this was /all fields..., Sat 25 Oct 2008, 18:08, Reply)

My lightbulbs
have moved house with me, twice.

In my defence they are energy saving lightbulbs which cost a stack of money when I bought them.
I always got some cheap regular ones to go in their place
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Sat 25 Oct 2008, 17:38, 17 replies)

My mate Arnie (names changed to protect the innocent)
A few years ago, I used to share a house with two mates in the lovely district of Withington in Manchester. If anyone knows it, it's a decent place to live but as for beer and nightlife it's somewhat lacking.

Instead, we used head up to Fallowfield for cheap nights out - it's within walking distance, and has a Subway. So, for us it was perfect.

Anyway, one night, after a complete skinful, and most of us unable to work, me and my mates (plus girlfriends) decide to get the bus back as the walk would be too much of an ordeal.

However, Arnie's not having this. He can't see the problem of walking back and refuses to pay the pound for the short trip home, and decides he's going to walk. Now, that wouldn't have been a massive issue, however...

1. It was pissing it down by time the bus came.
2. We were all barely capable of walking.

With this in mind, 'Fuck that' says I, and get on the bus, along with the rest of the group, leaving Arnie to run home, getting piss wet through.

Which he does, except to spite the rest of us, he runs infront of the bus, a la a funeral parade with the undertaker at the front. This state of affairs carries on all the way back to Withington, Arnie leading a procession of vehicles the mile and a bit back home, somehow managing to stay infront of the bus, whilst taking heckles from all and sundry and avoiding some kind of road rage incident.

Upon arrival and slightly miffed at Arnie's move, we decide to have our revenge by all chipping in for a pizza from the takeaway (the ropey one on the road to Somerfields if anyone knows it) and not letting Arnie have any.

Mmmm... pepperoni-rific spite. Get in.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 16:46, 8 replies)

I find a lot of these stories bloody tragic.
I assume most of us are quite well off. We can all afford computers, a phone line and broadband anyway, which probably bangs us up in the top 10% or so. So stories about peeps scrabbling around for a few pence is either taking the piss, or just sad. We've only the one life, for fuck's sake enjoy it,
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Sat 25 Oct 2008, 16:41, 1 reply)

I know it's a cliche.....
...and one that has been reasonably well avoided until now, but Scottish people are tight.

really, they are.

When I was at Uni I was flat sharing with this guy, Ian, from Aberdeen. He was a lovely guy.

Most of the time.

Sadly, he suffered from depression.

I mean, so do I, so could understand

But it was difficult between us after the day he tried to hang himself.

I found him in the bathroom, so I ran to the kitchen to get a knife.

I cut him down. Gave him mouth to mouth, he came round.

I'd saved his life!

He looked at me,

He said 'thank you, I realised I don't want to die'

And then, he said...

...'Oh, you owe me £20 for ruining my rope'






(I am SO sorry, but, seriously, see my signature. I can't help myself)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 16:20, 1 reply)

The thought that counts..
My last Birthday was my 21st, my family and I had agreed to celebrate my 18th as my “special birthday” and so I wasn’t expecting much in the way of presents.

I wasn’t surprised to open an empty card from my Dad’s only sister and her husband, who are easily the richest people in our family, live in a massive house and have holiday homes abroad. They decided “to stop with the Birthday and Christmas shenanigans” when my sister and two cousins turned 18. It doesn’t bother me; we don’t see them often and so don’t know them as well as our other aunties and uncles-it seems fair enough.

I was however, surprised and touched to receive two completely unexpected cards one from a neighbour who moved away five years ago and fifteen pounds in a card from the widow of my Dad’s ex work colleague from when we used to live 200 miles away, 15 years earlier.
(Ella Mentree, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 16:03, 1 reply)

right here we go...
I'll try not to rant (much). I have a problem with meanness. Not your Mr Trebus types who have known real suffering then spend the rest of their lives so damaged they're unable to throw anything away. www.guardian.co.uk/news/2002/oct/05/guardianobituaries Neither would I dare criticise anyone on a slender budget trying to eke their funds out appropriately – God (and the bank manager) only know I could do with some of that thriftiness. I’m the first to admit I am as my sister puts it a ‘scatter cash’. I earn a small fortune - all of which I invest in having a bloody good time. I know I’m rubbish with money but at least I know how to enjoy myself. Boom and Bust – ‘no pockets in a shroud’ ‘you’re a long time dead’ says I.

Tightwads? I hate the pettiness of it all - often causing embarrassment or offence over a few coppers. In fact (and this WILL annoy the tight arsed fuckers) if I’m tidying around I often chuck coppers in the bin. I hate the smelly pointless things – what’s worth buying that costs 1p? You're right – fuck all! No one is duped by 4.99 - it’s a bloody fiver. I hate copper coins. If it weren’t for the fact I’d look like an arrogant prick, I’d refuse them in my change. Those ‘leave a penny’ trays in garages are brilliant. As are charity tins. I know I’m not going to take the damn things back out of the house and the time it takes to count and bag a tenner’s worth of those fetid little buttons is time that frankly I am not prepared to waste.

Personally I can’t be arsed with designer trappings and all that crap, but I eat and drink well and enjoy a comfortable standard of living. I like cars for the driving pleasure "Oh! its only got two seats - its not very practical is it?" It’s my money why shouldn’t I? Isn’t that the reason we all slog away in jobs when we’d rather be sitting on a beach somewhere pleasantly expensive?

My real issue is with people who are simply mean just for the sake of it and really relish the miserable self-denying drudgery of it all. (like this bloke www.b3ta.com/questions/write.php?parent=286159 ) What is the point of a supposedly money saving activity that takes up more precious time and resource than the meager fiscal reward it generates? Gloating over a tenner saved annually by consistently fiddling 2p from every trip to the petrol station just singles you out as plain sad www.b3ta.com/questions/tightwads/post286023 hovering over the pump pissing off the queue behind just to get just that extra 2p for free. Life is actually too damn short. I simply can’t understand the attitude of those who scrimp their dull little lives away, swathed in Rigsbyesque knitwear shuffling around gloomy damp homes only to leave the loot to some bunch of crass distant relatives who immediately spunk it on UPVC faux Georgian conservatories and trips to Torremolinos – which no doubt would have the (newly) poor old stiff whirling in their laminate 'budget' coffin grave had they known what would happen to their carefully accrued funds.

But they are NOT harmless old goats. For example - people who don’t tip appropriately don’t deserve to eat out. I live in Dubai now, it’s a real eye-opener – it seems to bring out the worst in people. There are rich people here sure, but its the tightwads that would love it. Labour is dirt cheap. There is also a very apparent class structure (people can also be quite openly racist). But the penny pinching abuse of those who can be abused is staggering. There are people here who subsist on truly appalling wages – I leave, what to them, seems like huge tips because I am lucky enough to be able to afford to. I do it quietly and anonymously where ever possible. I have had to bite my lip in disgust at the attitude of people over here. “fuck em – he’s only and Indian, bung him a Dirham” (about 65p) a fucking Dirham! for waiting all night on a bunch of braying obnoxious drunken ex pats paying more for a pint than they earn a day? Is that the world the Tightwads want? I had some poor Indian bloke shuffle up to me recently and spin me some yarn he had been injured on a building site – he then proceeded to lift his shirt to display some alarming cobbled together chest drain and bandage tomfoolery while clutching an empty pack of medication for good measure. I guessed at the time it was a scam, but fuck it, I gave him the money anyway – if his life is so shite he has to stoop to that then as far as I am concerned he can have the cash regardless - I cant see him using it to refurbish his yacht.

There are many sorry tales on here of tea bag recyclers, those who drive miles to save a few pence on fuel and those who have inflicted their tightfisted misery on their families to the extend of driving them apart.

If you must fritter your life away worrying you may have recklessly squandered the odd penny or half pint of sour milk – at least do it at your own expense (or lack of it). Don’t inflict your embarassing tight-fisted gloom on friends and family. You’ll end up wealthy miserable and alone.

Sorry for the rant. Flame away – probably the only heat you get.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 15:55, 39 replies)

Smelly Boy
I knew of a person so tight he wouldn't do his washing in the summer. Oh no, he would hang his minging shirts in the window and claim the UV rays off the sun cleansed his clothes better than any detergent could. Ahh the wonders of the British Armed Forces.
(AngryCraig, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 15:32, Reply)

My Wife
Not sure if she's a tightarse, we're not really into the backdoor shenanigans.


OK, I'll go quietly, officer.
(David CopAFeel Used to be The_Elcat - Spouting crap since 1970., Sat 25 Oct 2008, 14:39, 3 replies)

petrol
i'm a bit of a tightass when it comes to petrol.. what i'll do is fill the tank to say $20.02. and then pay by cash. The fuel station rounds it down to $20.00 and i keep the extra $0.02 worth of petrol for free. Do this for an entire year and you end up saving quite a bit of money.. almost $10.00!
(brotagaia, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 14:03, 12 replies)

Tight with the help
As a teenager I spent 2 summers working as an ‘Au Pair’ aka very badly paid personal slave. Now most people who have live-in home help have a few pounds, you would think, and for the most part they did - big houses, multiple cars nice things etc - they also gave much weight to the old adage – take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves.

Mrs A refused to pay me the weekly princely sum that we had agreed (about £20 p/w) before I went over because I was younger than she expected.

Mrs A used to ask me how many potatoes I would have as part of my dinner as she would only put on the exact number for the family dinner!
'My husband will eat two potatoes - how many should I put on for you?' (5 please Mrs A! I like potatoes!)

Mrs A gave out to me for being too generous with the ‘nice’ biscuits because I gave the cleaner chocolate biscuits with her tea! (I was only allowed to give her ‘a’ plain biscuit!), she then started monitoring the number of biscuits in the cupboard!

The following summer, I had not learned my lesson, I went back for more this time to another family.

Family B had a weekly nice dinner with wine etc on Friday nights, I was normally included in this dinner (woo me didn’t have to eat with the kids!) sometimes they would have friends over and open nice expensive bottles of wine. Mrs B on one occasion tried to avoid pouring me my usual half glass of wine because she said it was too nice to give to me, ffs!

Mrs B also deducted the phone calls that I had made home to my family (and no I was not on the phone for hours every day – a quick chat on alternating weeks as my mum called me) from my last weeks wage.

On reviewing this, I think Mrs A was tight; Mrs B was just plain mean!

/unlurked
(LittleRock is planning her next meal, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 14:01, 4 replies)

I had a mate who was a bit tight...
She did the well-rehearsed trick of "oh, I've only got my card and we're miles from a cashpoint" whenever it was time to chip in. This, combined with borrowing food/baccy/weed etc eventually ran up a tab of about £160. I was not happy.

So I left her and her snotty mate at Download festival at 9am, 170 miles from home and with allegedly "no money".
They still afforded train tickets home somehow.
(jothemofo, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 13:19, Reply)

Tightwad
This is a very old routine which used to be recited by a guy called Will Fyffe in the old time music halls. He created the myth of the mean Scotsman. It's a great tale. Hope it's true

The Scot's Lament
I'm Scotch and I'm married, two things I can't help,
I'm married - but I have no wife-
For she bolted and left me - but that's nothing new,
It happens sae often in life.
So I journeyed ta London, for that's where she'd gone
With her lover to hide her disgrace.
And though London's a big town I swore I'd not rest
Till I'd searched every street in the place.
And I tramped - how I tramped - weary mile upon mile
Till exhausted and ready ta drop.
I would not give in, so I climbed on a bus,
And took a front seat on the top.
We came to a halt in a brightly lit square
To my joy, there ma lassie I spied,
Looking weary and worn, but thank heaven - alone
From my heart -'Maggie - Maggie' I cried.
She gasped with delight as I rose from ma seat,
But a harrowing thought made me wince,
I couldna get off - for I'd just paid ma fare,
And I've never caught sight of her since!
(reinvented, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 13:07, 4 replies)

A friend in need...
long time reader, first time poster, please don't maul. I got lucky(?) some how and ended up in Dubai, aaahh, sand, cranes, building sites outside you house working at 4am, bliss! Anyway got a mate who does the same job as me but at a rival firm. Nice bloke, good for a laugh over a few beers etc, tight as though... The story is that a friend of his has just lost his job back in Blighty, something to do with taking the bosses good nature too far, however said friend is coming out for a week to try his luck in the job market here. Mate says no problem, put you up friend, just get on a plane, we'll sort it out. "Problem", my mate says, over a beer, "no spare bed", "no problem" says I, "get yourself down the cheap supermarket, get a cheap inflatable mattress(just over a tenner)". Problem no more! "But isn't that a waste of money" says He, "He's only staying a week" Raise eyebrow does I, I know whats coming. "I know, HE can buy one when he arrives and then sell it when he leaves" says he. eh? Real estate you can sell here, but a second-hand inflatable mattress, not a massive market. You live in Dubai, Have a good job and can't stump up 10 squid for a mate? What a great bloke, tight as a nun's ... but not as appealing. laugh, kind of.
(ducttape, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 12:14, 3 replies)

A survey of attitudes in my suburb
found that the typical person there:

* hadn't given to charity in the last six months.
* wouldn't give money to a homeless person if they were sure it'd be used in a beneficial way.
* voted "entirely or wholly" based on their perception of who would lower their taxes.
* would "seriously consider" ending a relationship with a close relative if they could gain more than $1000 by doing so.

It was a mean average.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 12:04, 3 replies)

A couple of weeks ago
I found a housemate had left plenty of pizza crusts atop the a discarded pizza box in the kitchen bin. I ate them.

Mmm... bin pizza.
(I have a face also had a sig on, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 10:19, 4 replies)

Mr B
Mr B was an old neighbour of mine, back on the council estate.

Avid readers of my posts will know that times were hard, but Mr B took the biscuit.

His favourite tightwad trick was to recycle tea bags.

This didn't mean reusing a teapot full straightaway. Oh no.

What he would do is rinse the tea bags in cold water, then PUT THEM OUT ON THE WASHING LINE, for all who lived on our side of the street to see. When they were dry, he'd break open the bags, and put the leaves in tin to be used again.

So not only was he a tightwad, he advertised the fact, which for me is the ultimate in tightwaddedness.

Oh, and as a postscript - years later I used to work in the local post office, and he used to come and collect his benefits from there. What he got in benefits then is more than I get paid a week now, ten years later. And he was still 'recycling' his teabags.

Un-fucking-real.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 9:45, Reply)

my Mum's incredibly tight
which saves me a lot of money on prostitutes.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 4:12, 3 replies)

They call it mean for a reason
I have a friend who is a well-off investment banker in the City who has a lifelong addiction to thrift. As a teen he ordered pay TV channels then charged his siblings to tape movies for them. He once charged friends who were staying over for two days for the mustard they used on their sandwiches.
He staggered out of a bar to get cash and see whether he'd gotten his annual bonus of 100,000+. He had. Number of rounds he bought: 0.
(TommyShanks, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 3:42, Reply)

A Scottish student who's on my course
While standing at the urinal exclaimed

"Oooohh five pee"

"You're not really going to take that are you?"

"It's five pence off the price of my next pint mate"

I am never going out on the piss with him. Heh, apt phrase to use.
(Dangerous Disco Trev Isn't my real name, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 2:50, 3 replies)

Anybody want to buy my lunch?
As a dedicated skinflint, I obviously bring a packed lunch to eat at work. From time to time, I will be unexpectedly invited out to lunch by one of our suppliers. When this happens I auction my packed lunch to the highest bidder.
(PatronSaintOfPancakeBreakfasts, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 2:40, 4 replies)

My Dad.
he works on a tip and like my Mum is a product of the post war make do and mend mentality.

I was once broke and in proper need of a new mobile phone. The next day he came home from work with a working nokia and sim for the network I wanted.

What happens is this, when they go in of a morning, if anyone is after something, the word gets around and everyone keeps an eye out. Apparently one guy "specialises" in sim cards and he has an old tobacco tin full of them.

Then there was the time that management told him that there would be no Christmas bonus one year. Oh no! he thinks.

So he gets hands on an old rubbish bin, remember the round ones anyone? So he sets about looking after the furniture being bought into his yard and takes the time to take out EVERY brass upholstery tack from every single piece of furniture that comes his way and puts it aside in the bin.

Around comes Christmas and he sells the tacks for a fair amount of cash for scrap metal. Apparently that was the best bonus he got in a long time. Genius.
(lympicita_ie, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 1:41, 3 replies)

Disowning family BECAUSE OF MONEY
My father immediately comes to mind. I can think of numerous stories that would fit this week's QotW, but the most extreme form of tightwaddery occurred when I was desperately saving money to move out of his apartment and strike out on my own. He had bought me a cell phone as a gift and kept up on the bills, which was a very nice gift I thought, despite the fact that the cell phone was as big as my head and all of my friends made fun of it. Later, my dad told me that he would have to transfer the bill over to my name and that I'd have to take over payments. Fine, I didn't expect him to pay it forever, and it was nice of him to keep at it as long as he did. Plus, he gave me three months before I would have to start paying the bill, a sort of grace period. Well, three months came and went, and he presented me at last with a $350 bill!!
"For one month??" I asked. "No," he replied. "That's for four. Give me the money for it soon; it's past due."
I would have began paying the bill immediately if I had known I would suddenly owe what was at the time an insurmountable sum. I was devasted financially...and very confused. He never denied that he told me I would have to start paying the bill in three months, but he flatly insisted that I pay regardless. There was no way I could move out of the house and pay this bill. I gave him the money for the current charges and told him that the past charges and explained to him that I simply didn't have the money for the rest. "And besides," I said, "I'm pretty sure what you said earlier amounts to a verbal contract so...I mean, I'll pay it if I can...but later....much, much later...I just don't have it...I wasn't prepared for this!"

This alone does not make him a scrooge. What makes him a scrooge is that it's now been five years since then, and he still has not spoken to me.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 0:42, 3 replies)

My Bf
Will not put the heating on in our flat until you can 'see your breath' he thinks thats a good gauge of how cold it is
(catzeyes Princess Trampagne, Sat 25 Oct 2008, 0:28, 13 replies)

My Uncle is as tight as a thingy's arse.
My uncle is the tightest person I know.

He had had worked his way up the financial ladder from humble immigrant roots. Born in Glasgow, he made a living shining boots, and was enraged when a ditchdigger paid him with a US dime. However, the coin inspires him to take a position as cabin boy on a Clyde cattle ship to the United States to make his fortune. He is probably now one of the richest people in the world.

He keeps a portion of his wealth, that money he has personally earned himself, in a massive money bin overlooking the city of Duckburg, which he explains to me and my fellow nephews is "just petty cash." He regularly forces my father Donald and my brothers to polish the coins one by one in order to pay off Donald's debts — my uncle will not even pay him very much for this lengthily, tedious, hand-breaking work. As far as he is concerned, even 5 cents an hour is too much expenditure.

A shrewd businessman and noted tightwad, his hobbies include diving into his money like a porpoise, burrowing through it like a gopher, and throwing coins into the air to feel them fall upon his skull. He is also the richest member of The Billionaires Club of Duckburg, a society which includes the most successful businessmen of the world and allows them to keep connections with each other. His colleagues Glomgold and Rockerduck are also influential members of the Club. His most famous prized possession is his Number One Dime.

The sum of my uncle's wealth is disputed. According to one accountant, he is worth one multiplujillion, nine obsquatumatillion, six hundred twenty-three dollars and sixty-two cents although his biographer has a more conservative estimation of five multiplujillion, nine impossibidillion, seven fantasticatrillion dollars and sixteen cents. In 2007, Forbes listed his wealth at a much more modest $28.8 billion. Whatever the amount, my uncle never considers it enough: he has to continue to earn money by any means possible even if it means screwing us, his poor family.

Signed,

Huey
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 23:54, 1 reply)

Psycho Ex Story #8430753948
As some might know, I spent some time being blackmailed into a relationship by the spawn of satan in female form. Amongst her long, long list of negative attributes (which will not only fuel my qotw answers for weeks to come, but also keep most of Britain's psychiatrists, and maybe exorcists, in business as well) was her spectaular mean-spirited tightness.

Back at Uni, I was in a rather successful ska-punk band, which fizzled out a bit after graduation. Come the 2005 Indian Ocean Tsunami, I picked up a copy of a tabloid only to see the face of our trumpet player staring back at me from the front cover. Yes, he was missing, presumed dead somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

I had a word with our singer and we agreed to get the band back together as a tribute to him. More than that, our singer organised a whole load of bands to play in a largeish venue in Brixton that we had hired out. Entry was £4, plus £2 if you wanted a CD with the song we had recorded (as an irreverent ska-punk tribute) to him.

When we arrived at the venue it was an absolute wreck. A wild party had been thrown the night before and the floor was covered with rubbish, and the odd patch of vomit. The staff were nowhere to be seen so we spent three hours on our hands and knees getting it into acceptable condition. A few hours later, the audience and bands started to arrive, and we busied ourselves sorting out the sound and lighting for them, as we were due on stage last.

I'd just sorted out a glitch with the PA when someone came up to me and said there was a bit of a disturbance at the door and would I be so good as to sort it out as...

...oh no...

...it was my girlfriend causing it.

Yes, psycho bitch was refusing to pay and demanding to be let in on the grounds that she was only there to see one band (mine) and that as my girlfriend she should be let in free.

To a charity gig.
That I had put my back out to help organise.
That was a tribute to someone she knew quite well.

Add to that the fact that she was unemployed and I was subbing her money, so she was refusing to pay my charitable concern with my own cash, and swearing at the bouncers I had helped recruit (they were working for free) in the process.

To avoid a scene, I paid her admission myself. I'd never been so ashamed of her, and that's saying something, seeing as she'd once thrown a bowl of chili con carne at me at a friend's party because she thought I'd got myself more cheese on top than her (getting her own fucking chili, was, of course, out of the question).

And to cap it all, I took a look in her bag while she was distracted. She'd stolen one of the CDs.

p.s. the trumpet player turned up alive and well in India, lacking any memory of the past two weeks, because he'd spent the time boozing it up in every bar in Calcutta while the British Consulate tried to sort him out a passport and a trip home - all unknown to us or his family. He's now one of the very few people who own a copy of their own posthumous tribute single.
(Axeman Jim, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 23:20, 8 replies)

This guy
www.dailystar.co.uk/news/view/55921/


Although when I was 6 I did try to wrap up the broken wing off an Airfix kit and give it to my brother for Christmas.

I also had an elderly aunt who would insist that the younger members of the clan drive her all over town so she could look for "2p off" deals. Can anybody else see the flaw with this?
And lastly, if you are a bit low on cooking oil then try scraping the congealed grease out of the grillpan and dropping it into the frying pan. It will taste fucking horrible.
(Big D, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 22:27, Reply)