The first Monopoly set I ever owned was the one everyone had — the classic edition with Mr Monopoly on the box. I bought it as a souvenir on holiday in my 30s. Twenty-five years later, I’ve got thousands of boxes stacked away in a warehouse, four Guinness World Records and have made several TV appearances.
When Guinness visited my warehouse last year, they spent a whole day counting my collection. By the end, they confirmed I had 4,379 different sets. That was the fourth time I’d broken the record.
There are many variants of Monopoly, and countries and businesses are constantly releasing their own versions. For me, it’s about the chase, finding the rare ones: a special anniversary edition, a limited production run, or just something incredibly hard to find. I’ve even got the Park Hyatt Sydney hotel edition, which you can usually get only if you stay the night there. I managed to track down a guest online, who bought it for me.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
I’ve probably spent about £400,000 (US$534,150) on my collection over the years. I’ve been lucky to have a job at DHL for more than three decades, which has helped me keep up with my hobby. The most expensive set I own is a silver edition from London, which would have been worth £2,500 brand new — it was limited edition and used real silver. Luckily, I found mine much cheaper on eBay.
To me, the fun in Monopoly isn’t really in playing it. Once you open the box, you lose about 90 percent of its value. I keep nearly all my sets sealed. If I had a flashy Rolls-Royce, I wouldn’t drive it through the mud — that’s how I see my collection.
People think it’s mad — my girlfriend especially. She gets wound up because the sets take up space and cost money. But I couldn’t give them up. People often ask me: why Monopoly? Why not postcards or stamps? I think it’s because Monopoly is so recognizable.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
The hunt is a huge part of the fun. In the early days, I would scour car-boot sales. I began in 2000 and, back then, finding a set meant rummaging through boxes at a market or secondhand shop. The Internet opened up a whole new world. I’ve bought sets from Japan, Brazil and the US. Sometimes I’ll spend months tracking down a rare edition. I wonder if I’m keeping the Post Office, Evri and Amazon running. Of course, storage is a challenge. I live in London, but have rented out a warehouse in Ashford, Middlesex, to keep them all.
People assume I never play Monopoly, but I’m always up for a game. It doesn’t take away from the collecting. In fact, it reminds me why I started in the first place. I’ve met so many wonderful people through the game: other collectors; friends I used to outbid on eBay; the man who runs World of Monopoly, an online archive. People who have heard about my collection have got in touch and offered to bring me a set. Some of them have even flown to the UK from abroad. We’ll take pictures together with the new set and my Guinness World Records certificate, and sometimes even spending the day sightseeing in London. It’s surreal, but it’s brilliant.
I’ve also been on TV shows, such as Bargain Hunt, and radio stations around the world, and visited the factory where the game is made. The record has brought me so many opportunities and friendships I’d never have imagined when I bought that first box.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Right now, I’m after the Twycross zoo set, and in the US there’s a 90th edition of the game with only 600 copies made. That would be nice to get but, really, every set is exciting. The dream is to hit 4,500, maybe even 5,000. But the big milestone will be Monopoly’s 100th anniversary in 2035 — the board game was designed by Elizabeth Magie as The Landlord’s Game in 1903, though it was first commercially released in 1935. Maybe someone will give me a big space in the city to show off the collection. That would be something.
Until then, I’ll keep hunting. There’s always another set out there — a zoo edition, a special anniversary, another release that hardly anyone knows about. If I could go back to my very first set, would I start collecting all over again? I absolutely would.
In recent weeks the Trump Administration has been demanding that Taiwan transfer half of its chip manufacturing to the US. In an interview with NewsNation, US Secretary of Commerce Howard Lutnick said that the US would need 50 percent of domestic chip production to protect Taiwan. He stated, discussing Taiwan’s chip production: “My argument to them was, well, if you have 95 percent, how am I gonna get it to protect you? You’re going to put it on a plane? You’re going to put it on a boat?” The stench of the Trump Administration’s mafia-style notions of “protection” was strong
Every now and then, it’s nice to just point somewhere on a map and head out with no plan. In Taiwan, where convenience reigns, food options are plentiful and people are generally friendly and helpful, this type of trip is that much easier to pull off. One day last November, a spur-of-the-moment day hike in the hills of Chiayi County turned into a surprisingly memorable experience that impressed on me once again how fortunate we all are to call this island home. The scenery I walked through that day — a mix of forest and farms reaching up into the clouds
With one week left until election day, the drama is high in the race for the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) chair. The race is still potentially wide open between the three frontrunners. The most accurate poll is done by Apollo Survey & Research Co (艾普羅民調公司), which was conducted a week and a half ago with two-thirds of the respondents party members, who are the only ones eligible to vote. For details on the candidates, check the Oct. 4 edition of this column, “A look at the KMT chair candidates” on page 12. The popular frontrunner was 56-year-old Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文)
Oct. 13 to Oct. 19 When ordered to resign from her teaching position in June 1928 due to her husband’s anti-colonial activities, Lin Shih-hao (林氏好) refused to back down. The next day, she still showed up at Tainan Second Preschool, where she was warned that she would be fired if she didn’t comply. Lin continued to ignore the orders and was eventually let go without severance — even losing her pay for that month. Rather than despairing, she found a non-government job and even joined her husband Lu Ping-ting’s (盧丙丁) non-violent resistance and labor rights movements. When the government’s 1931 crackdown