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Coins were a very important part of my childhood. When I was five or six, I was occasionally given pocket money – it was irregular and the amount varied. It might be 10p, perhaps a chunky twenty. A giant 50 pence piece was a rare thing indeed; and I’d probably have to wait for a birthday to see some gold pounds.
Weekly handouts became a thing when I was about seven, as my football sticker habit began to kick in. A few years later, when my brother and I were old enough to go to the local convenience store on our own, we’d nag a parent for our dosh early on Saturday morning – up to a quid then – and proceed to spend most of it on sweets, chocolate bars, crisps and fizzy drinks. I would put any change straight in my money box.
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