9 December 2010 (Thursday) - Stuff

Yesterday I had a rather dubious email from “Marina”. This morning I get exactly the same email from “Clement” and “Chuck”. As did (apparently) several of my loyal readers. One wonders how stupid these spammers think we are.
Someone else who got the same spam email was a chap from Bristol who found my blog by copying some of the dubious email into Google and seeing what he got. He got my blog on his second attempt. Hello Bristol!

And then I thought I’d clear out my letter rack. I had a letter from the tax man last week about my refund. Every year in order to do my job I have to pay (out of my own pocket) to register with the Health Professions Council and to be a member of my professional institute. This comes to about two hundred quid each year. I have to pay it if I want to do my job, but it is “tax deductible”. And I’ve not had a refund since 2003. So a couple of months ago I wrote to the tax man asking for this refund. Six years money worked out to over a thousand quid. I was rubbing my hands together about that one. The letter came back telling me that when they got round to it they would refund me £211.20. I phoned them this morning to see what was going on. Apparently they don’t refund what I’ve paid out, only the tax on what I’ve paid out. So bearing in mind that the ‘er indoors –mobile TM is due for a service soon; after I’ve had this tax rebate I shall still be skint.
Being skint might be avoidable though. The people from whom I got my car loan have put aside a priority loan for me of £5 175 which I can have immediately. An odd amount, but I can have the cash right away. I can repay it (at extortionate rates of interest) over one to five years, and even take a payment break, should I so wish. I think I’ll pass on that.
My union wrote to me. They are having an election, and they thought I might be interested in the election addresses of the various candidates. They were wrong. The letter was two months old. I wonder where the letter has been in the meantime.
And I had two letters about the bank account of the long-defunct snake club. I really should do something about closing that account down. I’m rather loathe to do so though. Apparently legally the cash belongs equally to all the club members at the time the club folded, and we need to canvas everyone’s opinions as to what to do with the cash before we do anything. I had a plan to donate the lot (about £130) to a reptile sanctuary near Biggin Hill. But if I did so, and any ex-members crawled out of the woodwork to complain, I could be charged with embezzlement. I’ll leave the money where it is for a few more years.

Then (as I was bored) I thought I’d have a go at my accounts. An often heard cry from most of humanity at large is “I don’t know where all the money goes”. I’m very good with my money. Well, not so much good, as I actually make a note of what I spend, so I *do* know where all the money goes. The trouble is I don’t write it down often enough and so forget what I’ve spent in between having sessions with my accounts. I’d forgotten I’d spent forty quid at the vineyard on Xmas booze. I thought I’d paid for all the home-brew outlay on last month’s credit card. Woops!
Perhaps I might like that loan of £5 175, or to blag the snake club’s cash after all.

Yesterday I mentioned that I couldn’t be bothered to get rid of the old fridge. This morning I changed my mind. Well, to be honest we’ve a lot of cardboard rubbish in the garden which was sodden. And this morning it was still frozen. I decided it would be a lot easier to shift it to the tip if it was frozen (which it was). And if I was going to the tip, I might as well take the fridge anyway. I got most of the fridge to the tip. The thing was seriously rusty, and I did leave large lumps of rust behind me as I went.
The last time I took a fridge to the tip I was faced with reams of paperwork from the tip-dudes. Today no paperwork at all. That’s progress.

Oh, and ‘er indoors TM has put her Xmas tree up.

Meanwhile the young chav has got bored with his drum set and thought he’d play with his toy aeroplane. He’s even worse with his toy aeroplane than he is with his drums, and he’s pranged the plane into the dog’s dinner.

The dog’s not happy, but the cat thinks it’s hilarious…

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