Apparently Visa can predict if you're likely to divorce, with 90 per cent accuracy (!), as early as two years before it happens - and all from what you put on your credit card. Heck.
Well I guess if a new set of saucepans (to replace the ones you threw at him), sharp knives, a single bed, locksmith's bill, bumper sized packs of giant chocolate buttons, boxed set of Gray's Anatomy DVDs and a crate of pink bubbly suddenly pop up on the bill, they might very well get an idea that all may not be rosy.....
Tracking people through their credit card spending is big business and companies use the info for risk management and to build up a picture of us all and whether we're going to be able to pay our bills or not.
I just love this - people who buy premier bird food, carbon monoxide detectors and felt pads for the bottom of their chair legs are deemed to be a safe bet. No sh** Sherlock, I could have told them that and also that they sport a comb-over, beige cardie (probably with big brown buttons and leather pads on the elbows), treat themselves to a piece of Battenburg cake on Sunday afternoon and like a bit of train spotting, unless it's raining of course.
Buy a bit of chrome for your car and, according to the credit card snoops, you're extremely likely to default on a payment. I rather like the idea that my credit card company could well be having 50 fits as I not only went for a chrome boot handle on my Mini but plastered the inside with it too. Ha, that should have them well and truly worried!
Some of the stats are just plain weird though. Apparently if you prefer an aisle seat on a plane you're highly likely to clear your credit card balance every month. How on earth do they work that out from where you sit on a plane? I always choose an aisle seat but purely because it means I don't have to squeeze past anyone else to get to the loo.
I've wondered how our lives would look to another person viewed solely through a credit card bill and have long had the idea for a book based on a bored credit card office worker who becomes obsessed with one customer and follows her life through her credit card transactions.
Anyway, it got me thinking about what my credit card bill and my recent transactions would say about me.
One thing would be pretty obvious, I'm somewhat prone to changing my mind and probably just that little bit deluded. The lengthy 'Boden order, Boden refund' entries would be a dead give-away that I still haven't cottoned on that the skinny, beanpole in the catalogue may look tremendous in the tartan shift dress but it's just not going to work on a 5ft 3in, curvy girl.
This last month's purchases tell their own story - that I've absolutely no sense of direction and am fed up with getting lost in never ending country lanes (sat nav); I like a bit of travel (Eurostar to Paris and hotel, flight to Ireland); have a friend who's about to have twins (baby outfits and a spa treatment, well she'll need it!), love a fire (logs); have a son who seems incapable of going out on his bike without riding over a rusty nail (bike repair shop, yet again); don't want to go grey just yet (hair salon); can't be without a book (Kindle downloads); am soon to part company with my wisdom teeth (dentist).
So, what would yours say about you?
Thursday 13 October 2011
Sunday 2 October 2011
Less is more?
I'm feeling guilty. Is guilt the scourge of modern day living?
I roped the 16-year-old to help clear out the garage which has been slowly disappearing under piles of bikes, go karts, hockey gear and general rubbish for months. That's the first dose of guilt, why do we have all this stuff?
I've been trying to be less of a consumer for a while now and I recycle wherever I can, a bike and go kart that the 10-year-old no longer uses are about to go off to a new, younger owner. I try to live by the ethos of waste not, want not, to be less materialistic and I make regular trips to the charity shops.
The other morning the doorbell went and it was my postman. He'd seen a bag I'd put by the front door for a charity collection and wondered if I'd mind if he had the Lego for his little boy. He went away with the Lego and some books for his seven-year-old, I felt good and I'd got to know my postie (George) better.
It still doesn't change the fact though that the amount of gear in this house is appalling. The 10-year-old has boxes of toys he doesn't play with, I have far too many clothes, 12 pairs of boots at the last count. My aim is to reduce the amount of stuff to items that we actually need and use regularly and I've introduced a one in, one out policy for everything.
My other source of guilt is this, am I making life too easy for my kids? Am I giving them the tools they'll need to forge their own happy, independent, worthwhile lives or are they going to turn into indulged, spoilt namby pambies? When I told the 16-year-old we were tackling the garage, you'd have thought I'd told him he was about to trek up Everest in flip flops. Ten minutes in and he decided he deserved a break.
I'm currently researching my Irish roots, trying to find out more about my grandfather, who died when I was a baby, and his young life in a remote part of County Mayo in the early 20th century. The contrast between his life in 1911 and ours in 2011 couldn't be greater. The family was living in a one room, thatched house, all crammed in together, trying to live off the land in a resolutely bleak, boggy area. Seven children had been born, three had died before the age of five. The others were under pressure to leave as soon as they could, to support themselves. Jesus.
My boys romp around in a four bedroom, two bathroom house. They have their own den complete with TV, Wii, PS2, stereo. Pocket money drops into their account every month, they're warm, well fed, safe, healthy. I held out for a long time against mobile phones and neither will ever have a TV in his bedroom. The 16-year-old won't be getting a car for his 17th birthday, he'll be saving up to buy his own as I did, and he'll have to contribute financially if he wants to learn to drive.
I had a paper round as a teenager and then worked in my local hair salon. Sometimes it was boring and I'd rather have been out with my friends but I liked earning my own money and becoming independent. I remember the satisfaction of saving up to go on my first holiday without my parents, funnily enough to Ireland, pure co-incidence, I closed my eyes, stuck a pin in a map and that's where it landed.
I'm currently helping the 16-year-old look for a part-time job as if he feels hard done by spending more than 10 minutes clearing out the garage then he's in for a big shock when he goes out into the big, wide world, unless he finds a work ethic and fast. Life moves on, it progresses, but I don't want my kids taking what they have, how lucky they are, for granted.
Maybe I'm being overly dramatic but it's hard not to look around my home and the life we have and think how cushy it is compared to the one my grandfather was born into 100 odd years ago.
I roped the 16-year-old to help clear out the garage which has been slowly disappearing under piles of bikes, go karts, hockey gear and general rubbish for months. That's the first dose of guilt, why do we have all this stuff?
I've been trying to be less of a consumer for a while now and I recycle wherever I can, a bike and go kart that the 10-year-old no longer uses are about to go off to a new, younger owner. I try to live by the ethos of waste not, want not, to be less materialistic and I make regular trips to the charity shops.
The other morning the doorbell went and it was my postman. He'd seen a bag I'd put by the front door for a charity collection and wondered if I'd mind if he had the Lego for his little boy. He went away with the Lego and some books for his seven-year-old, I felt good and I'd got to know my postie (George) better.
It still doesn't change the fact though that the amount of gear in this house is appalling. The 10-year-old has boxes of toys he doesn't play with, I have far too many clothes, 12 pairs of boots at the last count. My aim is to reduce the amount of stuff to items that we actually need and use regularly and I've introduced a one in, one out policy for everything.
My other source of guilt is this, am I making life too easy for my kids? Am I giving them the tools they'll need to forge their own happy, independent, worthwhile lives or are they going to turn into indulged, spoilt namby pambies? When I told the 16-year-old we were tackling the garage, you'd have thought I'd told him he was about to trek up Everest in flip flops. Ten minutes in and he decided he deserved a break.
I'm currently researching my Irish roots, trying to find out more about my grandfather, who died when I was a baby, and his young life in a remote part of County Mayo in the early 20th century. The contrast between his life in 1911 and ours in 2011 couldn't be greater. The family was living in a one room, thatched house, all crammed in together, trying to live off the land in a resolutely bleak, boggy area. Seven children had been born, three had died before the age of five. The others were under pressure to leave as soon as they could, to support themselves. Jesus.
My boys romp around in a four bedroom, two bathroom house. They have their own den complete with TV, Wii, PS2, stereo. Pocket money drops into their account every month, they're warm, well fed, safe, healthy. I held out for a long time against mobile phones and neither will ever have a TV in his bedroom. The 16-year-old won't be getting a car for his 17th birthday, he'll be saving up to buy his own as I did, and he'll have to contribute financially if he wants to learn to drive.
I had a paper round as a teenager and then worked in my local hair salon. Sometimes it was boring and I'd rather have been out with my friends but I liked earning my own money and becoming independent. I remember the satisfaction of saving up to go on my first holiday without my parents, funnily enough to Ireland, pure co-incidence, I closed my eyes, stuck a pin in a map and that's where it landed.
I'm currently helping the 16-year-old look for a part-time job as if he feels hard done by spending more than 10 minutes clearing out the garage then he's in for a big shock when he goes out into the big, wide world, unless he finds a work ethic and fast. Life moves on, it progresses, but I don't want my kids taking what they have, how lucky they are, for granted.
Maybe I'm being overly dramatic but it's hard not to look around my home and the life we have and think how cushy it is compared to the one my grandfather was born into 100 odd years ago.
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