I WAS talking to someone the other day who told me they had bought and were using an exercise bicycle. I didn't say it, but what I thought was 'been there, done that, bought the t-shirt'.

Exercise bicycles come at the top of the list of things people buy because it seems a good idea at the time but then are abandoned shortly afterwards to gather dust in the attic.

Unwise purchases. Impulse buys. Waste of money. Call it what you like.

That set me to thinking about other things of the same ilk.

To be truthful my unwise purchase was not actually an exercise bike but a collapsible bicycle which could be easily taken apart, easily put together and easily stowed away in a handy carrying case which you could just as easily take on holiday with you. Have bicycle will travel in other words. At least that was what the advert said.

The only problem was that you needed one of the contestants in Britain's Strongest Man to tighten the nuts on the bike sufficiently to keep it in working order. I didn't have such a person on the premises so every time I tried to ride it the handle bars and the saddle, usually the saddle first, sank and by the time I had reached the end of the road I was giving a fair performance of Coco the Clown in a circus ring. Visions of packing up my cycle, taking a bus or a train to a pretty place and riding into the wind soon disappeared as I had to keep my knees and other parts from dragging along the ground. Besides, everyone laughed.

So the cycle went into that place in the sky we consign all our unwise purchases into - the attic.

When we moved to Cornwall I left it in the shed and someone stole it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

My son was the one who bought the exercise bike, and to be fair he did persevere with it. I could hear clanking groaning from his bedroom on many a night. Once or twice when he was out I had a go, but found the whole thing so mind numbingly boring to say nothing of exhausting that I never got far. Well, I didn't get anywhere, of course, that's the point. I did think that if an alien had called unexpectedly and spotted me sitting on a machine which is meant to transport the rider on two wheels through the countryside at some considerable speed but which has been fixed into position so it couldn't move he (or she or it) would decide that there was no hope for human kind after all and go on home.

My son eventually tired of it and lent it to his sister, who managed to lose the saddle so thereafter anyone who tried it either had to stand up or don lead-lined underwear to avoid sitting on a spike.

So, top of the list for unwise purchases, the exercise bike. Closely followed by the rowing machine, an even more ridiculous object which takes up even more room and which is usually abandoned even more quickly. I believe you can also buy a walking machine.

Then we come to the laziest exercise machine of all. The device which allows you to fix electrodes to various parts of your body and which then gives you a tiny charge of electricity to twitch your muscles. Such devices are, of course, used in a variety of countries which come to the attention of Amnesty International and Prisoners of Conscience but the difference is where you put the electrodes and how much current you use.

All right, I confess, I bought one. The claim 'lose 14 inches off your hips in six weeks painlessly' was too tempting to ignore.

I think I used it about half a dozen times. I do remember feeling very smug at first, lying down, twitching gently while watching television thinking that I would finally manage to get a pair of shorts on that summer but strangely enough those 14 inches seemed reluctant to go away. After a nasty incident when the machine fell off the table, knocked the button controlling the current into a higher position and had my muscles dancing like a dervish I decided that perhaps electric exercise was not for me. In the end I lent it to someone who didn't return it. Again, thank you, and no, if you know who you are I don't want it back.

I have a feeling that all exercise machines and devices eventually end up in attic heaven, including those strange bits of elastic on two handles which were supposed to turn men into Charles Atlas but in reality usually snapped back and broke their noses.

Other objects I can name include bread makers, a good idea but who can wait an hour for a bit of toast in the morning and anyway most of them make a loaf so small the kids want one each. Pasta machines (apart from electric ones) which turn out mangled bits of dough after you've struggled with the handle for half an hour and which take eight hours to clean. Ice cream makers which sound lovely until you realise they are basically only a bowl with a handle you have to crank and you still have to put them in the freezer.

Most people own at least one electrical item which they have hardly used - the little expresso milk frother, the popcorn maker which unless you are careful makes my mothers eternal warning ' be careful it'll have your eye out' come almost true, the foot spa which does work but which is so cumbersome that it's easier to dip your toes in the sink. Oh yes, and the salon hairdryer which has a hood which has been designed to fit someone with a very tiny head so you never quite get the sides dry.

And oh yes. The tea maker. That was one of the first. We all had to have one and they were a number one Christmas/birthday/ anniversary gift for many a year. Probably still are.

Nothing wrong with them except that if you had ideas of waking from slumber and being able to lean over and pour yourself a cup of strong hot tea you could forget that because the machine started at least an hour before you needed to wake up, hissing, gurgling and making general alarming sounds so that when it finally did let go of its mug of tea you were wide awake and very cross. Eventually I got fed up with going through the whole palaver of setting the thing up at night - which I think was just about a week after taking it out of its box.

None of the above beat the must-have object of desire I saw in a magazine the States - a portable bucking bronco to fix up in your own home, as seen on tv and various Western films, ride the range in the comfort of your living room. And no mess either. Heaven.