Saturday stuff...

I would think that most people would agree tax time is a pukeable time of the year. In Australia the Financial Year ran from 1 July 2006 to 30 June 2007. So as you do, I have been gathering up all my receipts to have my tax done. I am pretty good at keeping them all in a pile. It’s not an organized pile but at the end of each financial year I sit down with all my receipts spread around me and I sort them into smaller more organized piles. You all know what it’s like. It’s as boring as all get out but it has to be done. So, I did that this arvo and now I have a nice organized heap of paper to take to Sylvia- no, not her real name - my tax guru. Sylvia knows everything about tax and even the most obscure question asked will not throw her. She is also one of those great people who remains totally deadpan all the time even when she or you are taking the piss (Aussie for pulling your leg). I swear I could walk in with an elephant attached to a red ribbon tied around my wrist and ask Sylvia could I claim Jumbo as a tax dependant and she would not be at all fazed by the elephant in her office. She would say something like…did you use Jumbo to get to and from work? Was Jumbo a dependent for purposes adding to your income or was he used for depreciation purposes? I hate tax time but I like Sylvia. The first thing she always says is Let’s get you a tax return this year – we then both laugh hysterically because this never happens. May everyone have a tax guru like Sylvia.

I decided to get my passport updated because I have this wild feeling I will be off overseas once more. I travelled a lot in my late teens to mid twenties. Then I came back to OZ and thought what the bloody hell am I going to do with my life? I decided to come home and go to University and get my Bachelor of Arts and…what? I didn’t really have a clue. I still don’t really know but I don’t worry about it now as I realize life just happens when you least expect it so go along with whatever happens. Would I go back to being 19 again? Nah. I like me the way I am and I get better with age. But I digress yet again, I had a new passport photo taken today. Ye gad! It looks like I have just been released from jail after doing hard time. I believe it will scare the crap out of any airport official looking at it and it may even cause a security alert. However it is marginally better than my driver’s license photo which looks like I have just had an autopsy performed on me. Am I photogenic? Probably on planet Zork. But it does not matter as I firmly believe you are not your photo as a one second snapshot does not define you. When I was travelling with some Chinese girls many moons ago, one of them looked at my prissy photo taken at age 19 and said You look like Julie Andrews….yes that still cracks me up. Anyway I took the new photo around to my friend Ethel and asked her to sign the back declaring it was me. She looked at the photo and burst out laughing. When she managed to catch her breath enough to speak, she said Bloody hell no one else would want to claim this. Yes, she is a mate and Aussies like taking the piss about of each other.

Speaking of mates, I was chatting on line to Anny Cook and Kelly Kirch today. They are my partners in blog serial crime. Anny will have the next instalment of Emmeline, the twins, the peeler and the virgin on Saturday on http://www.annycook.blogspot.com/ and we will find out what becomes of the bugle. Kelly will have her own unique spin on Monday on http://www.kellykirch.blogspot.com/. Anyway I was talking to these ladies and the subject of Tim Tams came up. All Australians, particularly women, understand that Tim Tams are sent by the gods. They are ambrosia. They are used for medicinal purposes – PMS, break up with nitwit lover or they can be used for happy occasions, sad occasion and just because you bloody want to occasions. Of course Anny and Kelly are Tim Tam virgins. I have declared that I will rectify this matter immediately as I believe it is against the law for a romance writer not to have easy access to Tim Tams. So I have made it my sworn duty to send them several packets. So Monday morning I am off to the supermarket to secure Tim Tams for these girls. Despite their fears, I will not send Vegemite – again a gift from the gods – as I don’t believe their palates would appreciate it. Vegemite is something you have to grown up on. So rest easy you big wusses. They in return have promised me 12 margaritas when I get to the US again. I have promised I will dance on a table top providing I have the correct drinking shoes on.

Sunday tomorrow. I am dedicating the day to writing. I probably will not get out of my pj’s. I know I will not answer the door and I guarantee the phone will be going to messagebank. I believe it’s actually safer that no one speaks to me during this period as I can become quite feral if interrupted. Writers are scary arsed people. If they are sitting at a computer with a glazed look in their eyes, with half open junk food packets and smudged specs perched on their nose, back away slowly.

Rain water tank Countdown – 3 days to go

www.freewebs.com/janetdavies

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?