Here’s a moral poser for you. If you checked your pockets today and found a couple of fake £1 coins, what would you do? Would you, as the law requires, proceed directly to a police station, lay the culprits on the counter, then watch the officer stifle a yawn as he takes down your particulars and the places where they may or may not have come into your possession? Or would you think: “Sod that – I’ll use them to buy a round tonight when the bar staff are too p***** to notice”?

Frankly, I’m edging towards option two – even though attempting to spend counterfeit money with intent is a crime and could get you banged up with a Prisoner: Cell Block H lookalike.

We’ve been told by the Royal Mint that the number of fake £1 coins has doubled in five years to 30 million, meaning about one in 50 of those in circulation are dodgier than Ruth Kelly’s hairdo.

But does anyone actually care? As long as they can palm it off on the next unsuspecting shopkeeper/bus driver/Big Issue seller (which would be evil, by the way), will fake quids ever really keep people awake at night?

I’m not condoning counterfeiting, though I did recently see an illegal copy of the dire Sex and the City movie in which you could hear cinema-goers masticating popcorn throughout, and it vastly improved the film for me. It’s just that, realistically, who’s going to be fagged reporting a phoney pound coin when a) you end up poorer – there’s no compensation for handing in counterfeit money; b) you can pass the problem on; and c) the police are busy enough chasing 12-year-olds with flick knives.

Many traders will quietly admit that when they get a dodgy coin they recycle it back in people’s change because they can’t afford to be law-abiding. Not so with notes. For 12 years, every time I paid with a £20 note in my local newsagents in London, the shopkeeper would make a right song and dance, holding it up to the light, checking the watermark while I stood there feeling like Ma Baker.

We know making counterfeit coins is wrong and wicked and it’s annoying when they get rejected by vending machines. But some of the copies are quite impressive and you’d really never know. Would you ever check if the edge ridges were authentic or the Queen’s head was standing proud enough? Since they cost about 20p each to make, I can’t help marvelling at the underworld going to all that effort. Maybe they know it’s one of those crimes to which people turn a bit of a blind eye, such as buying knock-off ham in pubs or taping the Top 40 countdown from Radio 1.

Actually, someone once showed me how to get a machine to accept fake coins. You want me to tell you, don’t you? Sorry – love to, but I really can’t see me getting along with prison food.

bargainhunter@thetimes.co.uk

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