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If you have ever tried to cancel a monthly subscription you didn't mean to sign up for, you will know the hot shame of allowing yourself to be duped. Maybe, like me, you've found yourself in the small hours drafting increasingly officious, sternly worded emails in your head. Or Googling, "what is the difference between an ombudsman and Trading Standards" and "what the hell is an ombudsman?" There really should be a specialist 24-hour crisis line.
It always starts so innocently: "Click here for a free trial. It's super easy, and absolutely no strings attached!" Against your better judgement, you think, "Go on then, but I know your game. You're not going to catch me out." Oh you wally. You may as well sign your name in blood.

Months later you notice payments are going out. There does not appear to be an email trail. The password isn't saved, and of course, you can't remember it. It could be one of a dozen variations you've cycled through over the years. So you reset it with yet another password you'll immediately forget.
Funnily enough, there's no button marked: "Click here for a full refund and a guarantee we will never darken your doorstep again." Instead, there is a labyrinth of hidden menus and an endless doom-scroll of terms and conditions that always concludes that you're in the wrong.

Last year, I had the misfortune of discovering I'd forked out six months of payments for a film streaming service I'd used once. And yes okay, it was my fault for clicking a box or not clicking a box, but the company neglected to inform me the service was active. That's how they get you. By lying low and hoping you won't check your bank statements too closely.
According to a survey, the new year will bring a surge of people determined to save a few pounds by ditching underused subscriptions. Not a moment too soon, as £1.6bn a year is squandered on unwanted renewals. That could buy a couple of dozen F-35 fighter jets, or 100,000 hip replacements, or pay all our energy bills till April. Instead, it's quietly siphoned off on unwatched box sets of Monarch of the Glen.
If you've ever managed to cancel one with all your marbles intact, do us a favour and pop your CV over to GCHQ. Your country needs you.