The glint of a gold coin discarded and under a hedge. The unmistakeable ***** and ****** of the shrapnel congregating at the bottom of my pocket. I can find any combination of currency in a lovely jingle jangle of metallic discs. The cashier slips me a note and some change on top which spills onto the counter. A 10 pence piece tries an audacious spinning escape morphing into a ball. The change rattles again as it all settles at the bottom of my pocket after dropping in the new recruits. I slide the discoloured crinkled creased five pound note into my leather wallet nicely nestling next to a ten pound note. I love the smell of ***** money!