WHEN first I heard the phrase quantitative easing, I thought it might be something vaguely medical. Possibly involving that Activia yoghurt, with figs and prunes, which promises to assist slow intestinal transit.

Quantitative easing, as you know, is a colonic irrigation process being used to deal with the chronic constipation of the British banking system.

There is plenty of money going into Britain's banks, mostly courtesy of the taxpayer. But there is very slow transit of cash in the direction of borrowers. These are not frivolous borrowers but companies that would like an overdraft so as not to go bust. Or families who would like to buy a house. That kind of stuff.

But the banks appear unwilling to lend; which is strange since lending is their business. They want to hang on to the cash, presumably so they will have enough in their account to cover such outgoings as Fred Goodwin's monthly pension cheque.

This bout of quantitative easing involves the Bank of England printing an extra 75 billion quid.

I think I've got this next bit right: We have this financial crisis caused by greedy bankers and by general profligate spending of cash we didn't have. The answer is to magic up a further £75bn of cash we don't have. And give it to the greedy bankers in the fond hope that some if it will trickle down to small firms in extremis or maybe even first-time house buyers.

I have had personal experience of quantitave easing. It was when I used to play Monopoly with the younger members of the extended family.

As a responsible adult, I was in charge of the bank. In the course of the game, I often ran out of cash. This was due to trying to maintain a Park Lane lifestyle on an Old Kent Road income. A bit like real life. In these circumstances, I would declare that in order to make the game more interesting, all players would receive a pink £500 note from the bank. My young relatives were amenable to this but less impressed by other variations in the rules such as my attempts to build a hotel on Fenchurch Street station.

Bank of England governor Meryvn King probably has little time for board games of the leisure as opposed to the corporate kind. But then, he doesn't have to. He gets to play Monopoly with real money every day at the office. If you look, there is a lot of quantitative easing about. Many wives, and husbands too, are adept at helping currency out of the spouse's wallet or purse and into the general economy where it will do more good as we spend our way out of recession. It was Para Handy, the sage of the West Coast shipping trade, who said that every man needs a good woman to go through his pockets. But let us not digress into humour and useful philosophy.

We were talking about quantitative easing and Monopoly. It appears that the make-believe world of property and finance is much better regulated than the real thing.

What our bank regulators (we do have bank regulators, don't we?) could do with is a Monopoly-style set of sanctions. These would include where the chancers have to pick up a Chance card with such pronouncements as: "You have ruined the entire world economy with your gambling on subprime mortgages. Go to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect your wages, bonus or fabulous pension."

NOW, a word or 10 about a company which has been quantitavely easing cash out of the Buffer's bank account. It is called Shopper Discounts and Rewards and they seemed like an awful nice bunch of people when I first met them. I had been doing a spot of shopping on the internet when up popped Shopper Discount offering me £15 cashback as a reward merely for having made a purchase. There was also the promise of a £10 bonus every month.

Sadly, the cash flow has been in the opposite direction. Shopper Discounts has actually been extracting £10 each month from my credit card account.

Call me stupid, but it took me three months to realise that Shopper Discounts was taking cash out of my account instead of putting it in.

When I called Shopper Discounts, I got a very polite answering machine system which allowed me to cancel my membership and told me: "We're sorry to see you go..." I persevered and finally talked to a real live Shopper Discounts person. To whom I said that I did not recall signing up to pay £10 a month. Could I please have my £30 back, plus that £12 credit card late payment fee.

No, she said. The form stated clearly that a monthly fee was involved.

By the miracle of email archive technology, I was able to locate instantly my correspondence with Shopper Discounts. And there, sure enough, way, way down in the small print - and all but imperceptible amid the garish multi-coloured large print promises of rewards and goodies - was the bit saying Shopper Discounts would take a tenner off my credit card each month. The company claims its methods are above board. But considering the relative alacrity - I only had to ask the nice lady twice - with which it agreed to refund my cash, I suspect there is a realisation that the online recruitment method is less than transparent.

A quick internet search revealed that a large number of people have unwittingly found themselves paying a tenner a month to this company. Some well-known retailers have severed or suspended ties with Shopper Discounts.

My connection had come through Savapoint, a reputable supplier of gizmos, from whom I had purchased a computer keyboard that lights up in the dark and a Zen massage helmet for people suffering from excess-web-surfing-induced headaches. (Not for my personal use, I hasten to add.) I phoned Savapoint to ask about their connection with Shopper Discount. I asked to speak to someone in senior management but couldn't get past the call centre bloke. He explained that senior management don't speak to customers.

He said that Savapoint had a relationship with Shopper Discounts because it made them money. He recommended that I avoid all pop-up cashback and discount offers. I thanked him and explained I had already worked that one out for myself.

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