Hassing’s Laws of Numismatics

August 13, 2017 at 7:38 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 6 Comments
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‘Well, I must head off. I say … are you giving me the bird?’


Coins possess the faculties of the leader’s head stamped on them (sight, hearing, speech, smell) but can see only in the direction that side of the coin faces.

Coins can’t tell in which year they’re minted.

They’re obsessed with finding out, but must rely on other coins to tell them.

Older coins envy younger coins, and often lie when asked to read another coin’s year of manufacture.

Deprived of motor ability, coins develop extraordinary mental powers over time.

Obsessed with the desire to achieve movement, they constantly work on their powers of telekinesis. The skill takes many years of meditation and effort. Only 1% of coins ever achieve it, and then it’s severely limited to influencing movement initiated by external forces (e.g. willing the result of a toss, marginally changing the direction of a roll, upsetting a delicate balance, influencing the direction of descent).

Coins have no sense of touch and don’t feel sensation, but they’re highly emotional beings and do experience loneliness, claustrophobia and fear of death.

They’re very philosophical.

Most are gregarious, but all like to preserve their personal space.

Coins are asexual.

Coins get their kicks out of experiencing and relating to other coins varied and interesting uses, provided such uses don’t wear out their knurling.

When put together, coins invariably check out their surroundings, ask each other to identify their year of manufacture and compare stories of their experiences (or occasionally relate those of others).

Coins have phenomenal memories.

Coins compete to tell the best stories.

They are articulate and excellent storytellers.

They often exaggerate.

Coins have different personalities and form friendships and enemies quickly, based on the stories and attitude of the coins they mix with.

Coins have a deep fear of the mint, which periodically pulls currency out of circulation for destruction. The criterion for this is the state of the knurling on the coins’ edge.

Coins are therefore terrified of having this edge worn away. They despise high-wear scenarios (e.g. slot machines).

Coins are aware of the concept of reincarnation, but few really believe in it.



How does a coin find out for certain its year of manufacture?  (Mirror?)

Is it better to be permanently out of circulation (e.g. buried) or killed by the mint (with the possibility of reincarnation)?

Is it better to have a short life full of many experiences, or a long life with few or low impact experiences?

What would it have been like for all of the predecimal coins when they discovered the imminent arrival of the new currency? Will it be the same when we get a new monarch or become a Republic?

What was the best (high interest, low wear) use to which a coin was ever put?

What was the worst (low-interest, high-wear) use to which a coin was ever put?

What do coins think about paper money?



Creation and entombment inside the cardboard roll. Birth into the cash register.  Travelling overseas: high interest, balanced with risk of being lost.

Dropped into the sea. Boredom and loneliness is the price of long life.

The sixpence. Surviving against the odds. Death on any given day.

The oldest coin in the world.

The New Zealand and Hong Kong clans. Ostracized and lonely. Trying to get home.

The bank robbery loot.

Trapped in the Eiffel Tower. Rescued by a boy with chewing gum and a straw.

Trapped in the tar at a busy intersection. Knowing that next Summer promises burial.  Saved by a can-collecting man on an old tricycle.

Inside the child’s money-box (along with the buttons).

At the bottom of the giant beer can.

The poker game.

The two-up game. Skewing the stats.

The secondary school mathematics (probability) experiment. Skewing the stats for a lark

At the pub. Looking up at the coins stuck to the bar. (Face down, great. Face up, sound only.)

The spinster who washed her coins with Tarn-Off.

Being bent.

Collector coins. Immortality, at the price of sitting in a velvet box forever. Taken out at meetings to interact with other crushingly boring pieces.

Returning to ‘the womb’ at irregular intervals. The joy of rebirth at the risk of being pulled out of circulation.

Dropped down the drain and into the sewer system.

The boy who drills holes in a coin for fun.

Made into jewellery.

Swallowed by a baby.

The coins under the back seats of cars in a junk yard. Will they be rescued before the cars are crushed and recycled?

Carrying a nick, knowing for sure that the next trip to the mint will be the last.

The paradox that younger coins carry an older image of the monarch.

Sitting in the ashtray of cars. Rivalry for the most impressive vehicle. Even Rolls Royces have coins in their ash trays.

The homeless person, needing only one more coin for his flagon of wine.

The tip tray at the cafe.

The windscreen washer at the intersection.

The roadside collection.

Pinball machine. Noise and light. Movement.

The gum ball machine.

Teasing a new coin about its year of manufacture.

The coin that determines who serves first at Wimbledon or which team decides play direction at the AFL Grand Final, with millions watching.

The coin thrown into a fountain to make a wish. Normally tourist destinations, so this coin may get to hang with coins from different countries.


Brought to you by Imagine Day the book.


Pic by Wikipedia.







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  1. Brilliant!

    • I’ll but THAT for a dollar! My sincere thanks for your feedback, Ad. 🙂

  2. You just made me see coins in many new ways… Cool! Inspiring… 😉

    • I’m so pleased to hear that; it’s just what I was hoping. Thank you for taking the time to let us know. Kind regards, P.

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