DURING our Nerd House coffee break yesterday, The Braces' newspaper

started to rustle and then to shake. When his face finally emerged from

behind, it was in full chuckle-mode.

''That Tony Blair,'' he said, ''what a marvellous script-writer he

has. 'Monopoly managers paying themselves Monopoly money'. Brilliant,

absolutely brilliant.''

But Ms Angelica Banana-Skyne, the High Whitecraigs polymath, was

stirring her second cup with that non-commital, pursed-lip expression

which usually means trouble. ''No it's not,'' she said. ''It is deeply

inaccurate and misleading.''

The chuckle-mode left The Braces' face as if erased by a wet haddock.

''Are you going to tell me,'' he asked Angelica, ''that a #2m pay

package for rattling something called a grid is a fair and reasonable

return? Have you been so long in the financial services sector that all

humanity has deserted your soul? Don't you feel envy any more, for

example?''

''That was not the point,'' said Angelica. ''The point was about the

term 'Monopoly money'.'' This was hardly a realistic jibe to make under

the circumstances. She would explain.

In ''Monopoly'', it was possible to buy a house in Trafalgar Square

for #150. Heavens, you were even allowed to build a house in Trafalgar

Square, planning permission apparently rubberstamped, for the same

amount. Mayfair was dearer, certainly, but you could rent a house there

for #200. ''Maybe that's for a couple of hours,'' she said

sarcastically.

She had also memorised some of the hazards and golden handcuffs that

lay in wait for ''Monopoly'' managers. ''Make general repairs on all of

your houses,'' she quoted. ''For each house pay #25. For each hotel pay

#100. Good grief,'' she added. Then there was ''your building loan

matures. Receive #150.'' That wouldn't give you more than a decent

dinner for four, with wine.

The Braces looked crushed: ''But it's the er, the metaphorical, er . .

.'' he mumbled.

By this time, though, Angelica and I had the bit between our teeth.

''Pay school fees of #150,'' we quoted. ''Drunk in charge: fine #20 . .

. Bank pays you dividend of #50.'' If this was really ''Monopoly''

money, there was little for Mr Major to do a U-turn about.

But the Braces doesn't give up easily. ''Do you realise that in

''Monopoly'', you can rent Fenchurch St Station for #25? This suggests

that the railways have been secretly privatised all along.''

We pondered this for a bit. We felt that Mr Blair's scriptwriter was

getting himself into deep water with this board game. We thought we

might sent him a fax: ''Forget Monopoly -- try Scruples.''

In the end we didn't bother, but it was a useful thought.

* THE Bank of Scotland is launching a credit card exclusive to

Trekkies, fans of the ongoing Star Trek cinema and television saga.''

And so . . .

In the twenty-third century, Spock stood uncertainly beside a

hole-in-the-wall machine in the Gork galaxy. He fingered his Trekky

card. Admiral Kirk stood beside him.

''Listen,'' said Spock, ''are you sure this is going to work? I've

never seen a creature like this before. It doesn't seem real.''

Kirk said: ''It's simple, Dr Spock. You shove in your card, the right

way up, then you enter your PIN number. It asks you what you want --

money, a print-out of your balance, a short homily on interest rates.

And away you go.''

''What's a PIN number?'' asked Spock. Kirk smote his forehead. There

would be no Indian carry-out for them that night.

* The difficulty in tracking down Mr Nick Leeson, formerly of Barings

Bank in Singapore, has puzzled us more than somewhat. We assume that an

all-cars message went out saying: ''Subject was last photographed

wearing a blazer in vertical stripes of gold and black, with clashing

tie. Do not approach without sunglasses.''

We have always wondered why dealers in the more exotic exchanges have

been made to wear such horrible livery -- pinks and lime-greens. Now we

know: but it's funny that it hasn't worked.