The best things in life are free

Serendipity, my mother's favourite, for example, which means "an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident", and was the name of a Neighbours character whom I thought the coolest person in the world when I was aged about seven. Or "chortle", the word coined by Alice in Wonderland author Lewis Carroll, which describes one of those laughs so nasal and gurgly that their comical value eclipses the thing you were originally laughing at. Or "drat", which in a fit of Dick Dastardly-inspired fervour, I have launched a one-woman campaign to bring back into popular usage. The other morning, I heard someone on a mobile use the word "flange", and I was in a good mood for the rest of the day. But of all the fanciful, phantasmagorical and downright quixotic words that accessorise the English language, I am convinced that none is more beautiful than these four simple letters: "free". No other word has the power to transform a day from drab to splendiferous in the time it takes you to say "antidisestablishmentarianism". Free is beautiful. Free is poetry. Free is versatile '“ for the past paragraph, I could have been talking about free meaning liberty, the concept of being unshackled from the physical or emotional restraints of society. I'm not, of course. I'm talking about blagging stuff without paying for it. And you'd guessed that, hadn't you? As the daughter of a journalist and active bargain-hunting professional (suggested motto for my father: "never pay full price for what you can buy cheap, break after a week and spend twice as much repairing"), I was taught the ways of blagging from a young age. My childhood was full of free restaurant review meals in which, after a preparatory week of chicken broth and celery detox, we would methodically attempt to fashion ourselves into junior blimps, then take any leftover morsels home in a doggy bag. Not so much a treat as a competitive sport, free meals were not a time to be abstinent, a philosophy carried through to dangerous extremes, several times resulting in emergency stops on the journey home. After one such occasion, I had a nightmare involving a giant side dish of guacamole coming to attack me, while the legend of "Dad vs the chocolate pudding" is still spoken of in hushed tones at Bravo family gatherings. In short, I have respect for the noble institution that is the freebie. It wasn't until my college years, however, by which point I could dabble in the world of free stuff without associating it with indigestion or an accompanying photo in the Derby Evening Telegraph, that I truly learned to appreciate the beauty of blagging. Going to sixth form in Brighton was a fantastic initiation into the world of PR stunts Sweets, pro-biotic yoghurt, men's aftershave samples (of which I blagged three on the principle that having no significant other to give them to should not mean I miss out on a freebie opportunity), there was no end to the amount of free tat we filled our satchels with. Above all other promos, the glory that was "Free Diet Coke Week" will forever be held up as the very model of blagging brilliance. Twice a day, five days in a row, full-sized cans, various flavours '¦ sometimes we just sit and think about it, misty-eyed. Now that we're living in Birmingham and London, the freebie potential has increased tenfold and my friend Joey, beloved partner in blagging crime, and I are living in a haze of promotional splendour. What's more, we've started competing over our respective cities in a glorious game of blagging one-upmanship. "My SU had free packets of Revels two days running!" I text one day. "Cadburys were giving out free samples!" she smugly replies the next. And with this, I thought I was defeated, until, wonder of wonder, I happen upon a tent in Covent Garden on Friday. Freebie radar activated at 100 metres away, my pulse quickens as I realise that this is no less than a tent handing out FREE PIMM'S. Ha ha! Joey loves Pimm's as much as she loves freebies, possibly more. 2-1 to the Londoner. What a lovely bit of serendipity.