This week’s blog will quite unhelpfully ramble from things Greek, to things weak, specifically the fiendish little euro that had been doing so well.

I will also ramble rather aimlessly from cheap jumpers to expensive wines to crocodile skin belts with a little bit of speculation at the end as to who really killed Archie Mitchell.I will also conclude by urging you all to do as I say, but most definitely not as I do! That is to say, I went to the races on Sunday - big mistake!

Let me start today’s blog dear reader by taking you back in time to my past when I was on the inside, in one of ‘those evil Investment Banks’, to an event that taught me a valuable lesson about money, perceptions and attitude. So there you go, you clicked on your mouse, and not only do you now get a free lesson in money, perception and attitude, but also time travel! This website simply has to be bookmarked into your favourites by now!

Picture the scene: 2004, a swanky client ski trip in the elegant and chic ski resort of St Moritz, Switzerland. The epic, sweeping beauty of the Swiss Alps. The swish swash swish of accomplished skiiers gliding effortlessly down the mountain. The gluvine and hot chocolate by the slopes. The fabulous restaurants. The fondu nights. The roaring open fires. The night time sleigh rides. The big hair. The perfect smiles. Success and wealth oozing from every pore. The flash watches. The bling at every turn. Incredible shows of opulence and wealth in the niteclubs with Chf 1000 bottles of Cristal champagne. Are you catching my drift? Yes it was awful.

I did my very best to fit in, but as an unapologetic ‘un-posh’ person, short on airs and graces and with a healthy respect for money amidst a peer group who frittered it away for fun, it proved highly challenging at times.

Combine to this already wholesale discomfort the fact that I had only skied once previously in my life. When I say ski, what I actually mean is that I spent pretty much an entire week of aprés ski in the chaotic but wonderful resort of St Anton, Austria, with actual skiing kept to a strict minimum. (May I rudely interrupt at this stage and state that every living person should experience four hours of après ski in the Krazy Kanguru before they die, so add that to your list!

So, I was in no way properly equipped for the technical part of the weekend in St Moritz. Sadly an American lady client from Colorado learned of my skiing ineptitude in the worst possible way. Lucky for her she was wearing a helmet. I believe she has recently been allowed to start eating solids again.

Anyway I digressed a bit didn’t I?

Here comes the lesson: You don’t need to buy expensive stuff to look good because most people haven’t got a clue and are in no way discerning.

One evening on this aforementioned ski trip from hell, I got up from the table in the restaurant at some point to go to the restroom. You know the type of restaurant. Five hundred quid bottles of plonk at the very least. Waiting staff wearing annoying uniforms and even more annoying perma-smiles. Sparkling water at twenty quid a pop. Ridiculous stuff.

Surrounded by wealthy clients to a man (and woman), they were all wearing their Tag Heuer this, their Gucci that and their Prada the other. In fact as I got up from the table, the conversation of choice was about Abercrombie and Fitch. One of the Swiss swankies had declared that seeing as the American clothing retailer was now opening a premises in Europe that he was no longer going to buy their stuff. Conspicuous consumption see? Elitism. Grating claptrap isn‘t it? So anyway, up I rise from the table and a Belgian client casually passed a remark having noticed the belt I was wearing.

“Wow - crocodile skin belt - nice!”

I hurried away from the table confused and distressed.

Let me explain. The belt was as much crocodile skin as my Aunt Mable is my Uncle Jeff. The belt was in fact one of those cheap, and let’s be honest, very cheap belts that comes free when you buy a very cheap (but perfectly functioning) pair of ‘slacks’ off the rails in a high street superstore chain for twenty quid. And Inspector Poirot reckons it was crocodile skin? Good grief.

Naturally I did consider the possibility that it was a big wind up. But two factors proved the sincerity: (a) he was Belgian, and (b) when I returned from the rest room he actually asked me where he could buy one.

So I decided to investigate this phenomenon further on the slopes the next day - this time using my digital watch, which I had recently purchased in Decathalon Sports in Surrey Quays.

A few times on the ski lift I made a subtle yet conspicuous (if that makes sense) show of checking the time on my watch. Perfectly on cue, an Italian client remarked, “nice watch”.

“Thank you”, I replied, “it’s a Geonaute I bought in London recently. It was actually the last one they had on the premises”.

All of that is the truth folks. And so is the next line: “What are we talking? £300-400?”, inquired my discerning Italian client. The watch cost me £4.99.

Forgive me for appearing slightly obsessive about this, but for the last time on the weekend in question I had one more experiment. I wore a bog standard cheap and cheerful Euro 20 sweater to dinner. I sneakily revived the Abercrombie and Fitch discussion and baited one of my work colleagues into guessing how much my sweater cost me. He was out by Euro 180.

Never before had I realized how obsessed people were with looks, image and accessorising, but yet who also hadn’t a blooming clue about price, quality or value - things I shall constantly refer to on this blog.

In a sense the Grand Finale of this ‘grand experiment’ came on the concluding night of this ski trip, which in fact turned out in retrospect to be more of a field trip for this blog than a ski trip.

At the end of the table there was an at times heated dispute going on between a French client and an Irish client about the type, vintage, style and taste of a certain wine they were both drinking. I’m not quite sure what vineyards the Irish guy grew up on (he was from Wexford I recall), but he was quite adamant that the wine in question was a Chilean vintage (£500). But our French friend was having none of it and he reckoned it was most definitely a French grape (£500).

Eventually, after much bickering, postulating, and, let’s be honest, primal ‘I am better than you’ - type chest beating, the two wine connoisseurs decided to ‘agree to disagree’. However not before the French gentleman launch a final parting shot at his European cousin:

“But trust me, I grew up with wine and I am French. I know wine”.

It was at that point that I excused myself to go to the rest room, making sure to take a discreet detour via the waiter. He confirmed to me that the Statler and Waldorf were in fact drinking from a carafe of Austrian house red (£15).

I’m guessing I don’t need to spell out the lesson here folks.

Snobbery can be a rather expensive way of life. My advice to you is shelve the whole snobbery thing. Goods of conspicuous consumption should be consigned to Room 101 and treated as the dinosaur they truly are.

Finally, the week ahead may well prove to be a stressful one for us all. There is much to ponder on the current fiasco that is the Greek economy. I have made the bold decision that while that political and economic pantomime plays out, I really shouldn’t be holding on to too many Euros for the time being. So any meagre sum that I have shall be exchanged back into the Queen’s head for the time being. I have always been a bit of a Euro-sceptic and given the chance have always been of the ‘No’ vote persuasion.

However, even more stress is to come as the week concludes with the live episode of Eastenders. I am happy to confess that I am totally gripped with this drama. That is my one private stress (by the way I have an outlandish thought that Ben is the killer, no idea why - maybe it’s the eyes!), but also I am quite worried that Dot Cotton might fluff her lines. The country really doesn’t need that does it? Maybe they’ll do a Vera Duckworth on it, as I recall during the live episode of Coronation Street, years back, poor Vera spend the entire live episode in a coma. I think they call that risk mitigation!

Oh and one final money saving tip. Never, I repeat never go horse racing. I did on Sunday. The worst possible start to the seven race card: I had a winner. Thus my strategy went straight out the window and I got complacent. I’ll spare you the minutiae, but an impulsive and quite foolish reaction to my horse falling in race number 2, resulted in me backing the favourite in race 3 quite heavily. Which lost. In short - it’s beans on toast for the rest of the week!

Thanks for reading, and all your comments are warmly welcomed folks.