Buy better, buy less. That appears to be the current commercial mantra. Enjoy less of what you like, as long as you are prepared to pay more than you normally would – is another way of approaching it. After the meat fiasco of the supermarkets earlier in the year, I noticed a number of emails and tweets from local farms positioning themselves as the reliable alternative. They realise they can’t compete on price, so pitch it as quality over quantity. You can trust us; you just can’t necessarily afford us – so buy less. It is, after all, what environmentalists have been lobbying us to do for some time now. Have non-meat meals every now and again. You never know you might enjoy it –
Money Archive
I might be being petty here. I usually am. So in the words of The Smiths “Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before.” I was at Chester Zoo last Sunday. We had an excellent day out as a family. LLK loved it, even if she took a while to warm to the dinosaurs – even if she knew they were “just robots, daddy.” She was so good on the day, that we even let her come home with a rather annoying, roaring treat. Job’s a good’un. Even I had a good day, though I was irked, slightly, by the price sign when we first got to the zoo. There were two ticket prices. One price was for a standard ticket. The
I’m sat in a pub. It’s the brew pub of Birrifico Lambrate. The place is packed. The music loud. Conversation is bouncing off the walls, the people – as though they are tuning forks – hitting a perfect note. It’s a great pub to sit in, selling a range of beers that have, thus far (four different styles) hit the spot; every time. The thing with these beers is that they are all five euros. That’s right. Five euros. Yet there are drinkers spilling out on to the street, firing beer, after beer, after beer down their necks – here in Italy – a country supposedly squeezing their economy tighter than the one back home. But then, does anyone baulk at the idea of paying
The difficulty of comparing bar beer prices is that it is like comparing blood oranges and lemons. One is sweet, juicy and refreshing – whilst the other leaves a sharp, sour taste in your mouth. I love the North Bar Group in Leeds. If you ever find yourself in the city I call home, then do make your way to the flag ship, North Bar on New Briggate. The range and choice of beers makes it a regular favourite of beer drinkers and writers alike. Thing is – I’d love it more if the prices were a little more pocket friendly. And that’s where the comparison issue rears its ugly head. This week I have been drinking beer in both Bir e Fud and Ma
I’m a mess. With each passing week – with each frayed collar, each lost button – every load of washing (of which I am unlikely to have played an active part), it is clear. I am letting myself go. I can’t remember the last time I bought an item of clothing – can’t remember the last time I set up the iron without trepidation of finding another stain, another loose stitch – my favourite shirt giving up the ghost. It wasn’t always like this. I used to take pride in my appearance. I’d regularly siphon funds from various pay packets to ensure that I had a new work shirt at least once a month – had a new round neck, imported American t-shirt – sometimes