I have a credit card - now I can spend £750,000 on a photo of a potato

Before we begin, I feel it's important that I put the record straight as regards my application for a new Borclaycard (name changed to protect their anonymity). Well, it seems my protestations about the unfairness of their treatment has had some effect on the sharks in brogues who run the card company. There, through the letterbox this morning, came an envelope from them. I knew the news was good, because the envelope had that pleasing four-inch portion of flat stiffness which we all find so thrilling in a letter. It could only mean that they had changed their minds about me being a financial write-off and had decided to give me enough rope, or plastic, so to speak.

Anyway, I have now activated my new card and am looking forward to not spending one single penny of my allocated credit limit unless absolutely necessary. I'm certainly not going to use it to buy anything frivolous and daft. No, I'll leave that to the guy in this week's cautionary tale of what can happen when you have a turnip where your brain should be and don't mind if you do when someone offers you a quick libation. The gentleman in question has been given the public ha-ha already in The Sunday Times, but I find ridicule is only truly administered when it is done by someone who could very well have acted as daftly as you, but chose not to. That would be me.

Our hero was visiting the Irish portrait photographer Kevin Abosch for an evening of frivolity. As the evening progressed, the guest began to notice a photo on the wall which Kevin had taken. The subject of the still life was not one of his usual celebrity commissions, such as Johnny Depp or Steven Spielberg, but a potato. You heard.

The more the booze flowed that night, the more Kevin's guest found himself smitten by the pouting pomme de terre; so much so that he began wondering if he could buy the picture.

The two eventually came to an agreement that Kevin would be happy to sell the spud portrait to his guest. Two weeks later (and, crucially, sober) the men agreed on the price. And that price was 750,000 of your Earth pounds.

Now, does this business transaction reflect badly on me for finding it ludicrous and frankly more than a little offensive? Or does it cast our purchaser in a bad light for splurging his green on a lump of pre-chip? Or is the worst villain in this piece the photographer, who had the, forgive me, spuds to ask for three-quarters of a million clams?

I suppose it depends on your ethics, politics and bank statement. Like apparently over-priced footballers (see ongoing January transfer window), the picture was clearly worth that money because someone was willing to pay it. It's not for me to say it was worth only however much the artist paid to have it framed and for his processing costs. His guest (whom we shall call Johnny Big Potatoes) had no problem equating a framed photograph of some raw carbohydrate with the thick end of a million quid. And for that, you have to admire his King Edwards.