When I was young I formed a worker’s union with my two sisters and managed to negotiate some pocket money for drying the dishes after tea each night. Before we struck that game-changing deal though, the closest I got to pocket money was to count all the coppers in the house. My mum had two black ceramic piggy banks full of ones and twos and my dad had a giant whisky bottle that he put his change in every day – that’s where the real money was to be made (it had 5ps in it too). Every six months or so I’d empty all the banks, count the money into wee piles, bag them up into £1 bank bags, and my folks would let me do what I wanted with the money. My best haul was £13 one time, which I took straight to Woolies and spent on a Meat Loaf Live VHS. I always remember how nice the woman behind the counter was to me even though she had to count out 13 quid in coppers.