Its been a while since we have posted, this is because we have been busy.
My parents arrived two weeks ago and we have been busy keeping them entertained since.
Its been *brilliant*, I have a sore throat from gabbing so much. I am tired from sitting up late talking. Its been playing merry hell with my diet and exercise plan, but its been so worth it.
The last two weekends have been busy – last week we took them to the east and got some of the best pizza evah, then oop norf to Lancelin, swam in the ocean, sat on the beach and had a glass of wine/bottle of beer and totally chilled.
This weekend we went down to The Beach House (TM) on Friday night and used it as a staging post for a trip all the way to the south coast to see a treetop walk, made wood fired pizza, and then went down to Busselton with probably the best beach I have ever seen – it was gorgeous, clear, calm, sparkling waters and a 2km jetty to walk along. On Friday night we did some star gazing on the beach, absolutely stunning.
We will do a longer post later in the week once we have caught up on some sleep, but this has been fantastic for us – we have been more sociable than we have been in 9 months. Its going to be hard when they leave, but at least we have reinforcements on the way đ My folks leave on Wednesday, and Alan & Penny arrive next Monday đ
On Sundays theres not a whole hellish amount to be done here. Its not quite as bad as when we first arrived, the local wholesalers is open so we can get food which is good for a sudden MUST HAVE BBQ – GET BURGERS impulse. But what Sunday is good for is heading off to the beach.
So, we headed up to Lancelin. We had been there a couple of times, the sand is beautiful, the water is lovely, its all good. So, icebox packed with some fruit and, more importantly, wine and beer and cola we set off. Set up on the beach and chilled. Dad wandered off taking pictures (this is a recurring theme) and the rest of us had a swim đ
We dried off, dad rejoined us and we sat for a bit having a very civilized (but illegal) drink on the beach. Then it was time for another swim
We packed up and headed back down the road, but spotted a sign for Moore River on the way back. I had been told it was somewhere nice to see, so we veered off and headed that way instead. Well worth the detour, it was a really pretty place.
You can see the river doesnt actually flow into the ocean – theres not enough water! So, thats as far as it gets. I guess during the winter when the river is higher it will, but for now, you can stand on that sand bar and have a river on one side, and an ocean on the other.
They also have free to use gas barbies there. Someone was cooking sausages. Apparently the smell was making everyone else hungry. Certainly the idea that someone was cooking sausages was enough to make me hungry.
Jen had one wish for her birthday – a nice big bit of meat, done well.
But before that, we went to Outback jacks again. đ
Had a great steak – and also had a problem with getting our order taken. Only a couple of days with folks from the ‘old country’ and our accents have thickened up again.
It’s quite interesting to listen to what Jen’s mum and dad say, watch the waiting staff look at them in complete and total bemusement, then repeat the order (which sounds exactly the same to us) and see the dawning recognition.
The giant croc on the roof made a pretty good attempt at sneaking up on us again…
Jen’s folks don’t reckon that our accents have changed, but i guess they must have changed a little – we don’t get looks of bemusement in the shops any more… alan and penny can be the next ones to judge!
Anyway, after an excellent meal out, we drove to East Perth near my office to go to the Royal. it’s a pretty special little spot, and a favourite with the work guys. I don’t have any good pics – need to get one next time. had a couple of relaxed drinks down by the marina, then headed off to the embankment in South Perth to let Bob get his camera out.
Big Bob and Mary Doll (did I get that right BJ? đ ) have now landed in the land down under. We watched them coming from quite a long way away:
We went to the airport to watch the flight come in – Perth being flat, you can see it from a loooong way off, but rather than post a picture of what is essentially a white dot on a blue sky background, here’s one of the plane on the ground instead:
Then we waited for over an hour in the entrance for them to appear from security. Jen and I debated whether Bob had insisted on hanging onto an apple from the plane, or attracted the anger and attention of security in some other way (smiling really annoys them). Still, eventually, they appeared, and much tearful hugging and welcomes ensued. nobody needs to see that, but we have the pictures. heh.
At least Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs thinks so.
Back in 2005, shortly after the company folded, I had a fairly unpleasant letter from HMRC telling me that they had lost my details. This isn’t the same incident where they essentially lost the whole country’s tax records on a couple of CDs, but a more targeted one.
They lost details of Standard Life pension customers (which includes me). They told me that I shouldn’t worry, because they had put precautions in place to make sure that my records would remain safe.
It got weird, and eventually, I wrote a flaming complaint letter:
Dear Sirs,
I am shocked at the appalling level of incompetence and poor customer care that you have shown towards me.
I received a notice of outstanding payment from you (around ÂŁ40) for tax year 05-06.
I contacted you to make payment, and enquire about whether this meant I needed to complete a self assessment (I had previously been told that this was not the case). The letter said that I should contact the Cumbernauld Office if I had any queries.
I called the Cumbernauld office, using the number on the letter.
The number held a recorded message indicating that this office no longer handled these enquiries and that I should phone a generic 0845 number.
I called the 0845 number.
Your assistant asked me if I was someone famous. Which was incredibly odd. Itâs not the case â I work in an ordinary job for a PLC. They asked me if I worked in government service. Also not the case. They even lowered their voice and asked me if I worked in the military. Which would have been funny, if it wasnât so creepy. Eventually, they said that I should phone Centre 1 in East Kilbride, as they could not access my records.
I called Centre 1.
They asked me if I was famous. âno, and I donât work for the government eitherâ I said. They said that they could not access my records, as they had been moved to Cardiff. They said I should call Cardiff.
I called Cardiff.
Guess what? They asked me if I was famous. Then they asked me if I worked for the Government. After much tapping of keys, they insisted that they could not access my records, which were held at Centre 1 and that I should call them. When I explained that I had just spoken to Centre 1, they said that there was nothing that they could do, and I should phone Centre 1 back anyway.
I called Centre 1 (again).
I explained, and the assistant went and found a supervisor. The supervisor came on the phone and asked me âAre you a celebrity?â. I swear I could almost scream at this farce. Instead, I politely explained what I had been through that morning. She then explained that my records must have been lost. Not the âlost down the back of the sofa on two CDsâ lost that your organisation seems to be so good at, nor indeed the âlost en route to Standard Lifeâ lost that you wrote to me about a few months ago.
Just the plain old fashioned incompetent sort of lost. She insisted that there was nothing she could do, as the all powerful âsystemâ showed that my records belonged to Cardiff and she couldnât access them. âPerhaps you should call Cardiffâ was her suggestion.
I called Cardiff (again).
Explaining to the assistant, he sought a supervisor. Explaining the joke of an experience that I had had, she said that the records were somehow lost in transit between the two offices, however she would check into this and call me back. She carefully took all of my details â and I mean *ALL* of my details. Address, dob, NI number, bank account my wages are paid to, employer, employerâs payroll number and most importantly, my home and office phone numbers.
She said that she would look into this and call me back. Perhaps because I was so beaten down by the process, I didnât get a note of her name â which I regretted by the end of that day when I had not been called back.
When I had not heard anything for a week, I called back to Centre 1 again. They once more launched into âare you a celebrityâ, then explained that they could not access my records which were at Cardiff.
I called Cardiff.
They said that my records were still not accessible, and that I should call Centre 1. I asked to speak to a supervisor. The supervisor apologised that I had not been called back, told me that they would look into this⌠and call me back!
The next day, when I had not been called back, I called Cardiff. Yet again.
This time, the very helpful man on the phone said that the records could take a couple of weeks to sort themselves out if I had just changed job (that happened about 9 months previously).
He then suggested that I simply make a payment and post it in. I asked where I would post it, given that my records were âsomewhere in the systemâ. I also explained that I needed to confirm whether or not I needed to do a self assessment for the coming year, as I had two letters â one saying that I should, and one saying that I didnât need to. He said âIâll look into this, and call you backâ â he then took my details.
So, would you like to take a guess? Was it third time lucky in the HMRC call back lottery for me? Was it stuff. Iâm still waiting for my call back, as far as I know my records are still lost somewhere in god-knows-where, and you just sent me a blooming LATE PAYMENT NOTICE?????
I am a tax payer. I have paid every penny that I am due in tax. I would happily pay you what I am required to. Iâll complete whatever forms I have to. What I am not going to do is pay a blooming penalty notice for the sake of your muck up.
You wouldnât take my money when I tried to pay â in what world does that make me to blame?
My daytime phone number is: 0xxxxxxxxx
My evening home number is: 0xxxxxxxx
Now, can you please, PLEASE, find where my records are, have someone call me and explain what it is I owe, or what it is you want from me, and settle this matter? I am waiting for your call â just as I have been for the last three months.
They got back to me. It seems that after my records were lost, they moved me to PD1 – which is the super secret tax office for celebrities, the politicians and ninjas. probably.
They sorted it out – basically, I have a ‘phantom’ tax record in the normal system, where I am still a Self Assessment person, and my ‘real’ record in the secret system, where I am not. easy, huh.
The hassle is – PD1’s not listed on the HMRC website (because they don’t really want to go shouting about the fact that footballer’s wives and the good and great get special treatment from the tax man).
And I just got a demand for my (overdue) self assessment. again. Complicated by the fact that this year… I actually should be doing a self assessment, because I am an NRL1 (non resident landlord)…
so, after finally doing the right handshake to get put through to PD1 (and another half hour of “I’m Sorry Sir, but I can’t access your records”), they inform me that the forms for self assessment are only sent out in April (when I was a PAYE employee in the UK, and didn’t qualify for self assessment), but I should somehow have just known that I would have do one now…
Yes, it’s true… the A380 is no longer my favourite plane to fly in. That honour now lies with the Nanchang CJ6A.
Back in December(whilst i was in Melbourne), I celebrated my 37th Birthday – and we kinda decided to make it a special one… So Jen treated me to something a little bit special – a flight in a fighter plane.
There’s a group called Fighter Combat International that operates from Jandakot airport south of Perth (just off the Kwinana Freeway)
They have a fleet of Chinese Nanchang fighters – prop driven planes that are used to train fighter pilots. We arrived at the hangar and signed in. Predictably, I was bouncing off the walls like a 6 year old amped out of my tits on tartrazine and sugar, the night before christmas.
First, I had to get changed into my flight suit:
Quite cool actually – that’s an XL, and it was pretty darn big on me. With the getting suitably dressed out of the way, it was time to sign my life away:
We had a safety briefing, most of which I missed on account of turning to the other guy flying today (who seemed rather neutral about the whole thing I have to say), going ‘This is SOOO cool’, and so on. There was a description of what we would do, and what not to do (touch any of the controls, projectile vomit, draw willies in the guest book. I may have made the last one up.).
The guys then gave us a couple of minutes to calm down before walking out to the plane… which was soooo Top Gun:
Once settled in, Chooky (yes, the guy’s callsign is ‘chicken’) showed me how to use the straps and intercom, how to slide the canopy back and so on. he also pointed out the various dual controls that I had not to touch, and strapped on the camera (there’s a DVD of me screaming like a girl still to come). That all seemed to go well:
once suitably immobilised, we trundled off down the runway, and took off in formation. You have no idea how cool this feels – almost as cool as it looks, I guess. What then followed is just an insane blur of adrenaline. I’ll try to put some structure to it rather than rambling, but I’m not promising anything.
We performed a set of formations around each other – flying in a close echelon formation. The planes are unbelievably close together – in formation, only a couple of metres apart:
After we had flown formations around each other, the two planes broke off into seperate chunks of airspace and went aerobatic. My pilot asked how adventurous I was – ‘pretty adventurous’ was my answer, so he threw a sharp turn with 2G, then 3G, then 3.5G… like the best damn rollercoaster you have ever been on, but it just kept getting better.
I was making ‘wooo haaaaah’ noises, so he kept going, pulling an amazing turn on the wing (I need to look up what that move was… basically, you fly ‘up’ a ramp, turn sharply on your wing (look right, and you are looking straight down)and slide back down the ramp..
again, I was making good noises, so he did a more extreme one – the barrel roll,where you go fully inverted, and pull about 4G as you pull out… insane.
A couple of full loops (up and over), then the most insane so far – a stall turn. You build up some speed, then go fully vertical until the engine approaches stall – at which point, you kick the tail and dive straight toward the ground (or in my case, the ocean).. it’s eerily quiet, as you are essentially motionless at the top, and the G forces you pull at the bottom… wow.
here’s a youtube video of what a stall turn looks like (this is a remote control plane):
The final ‘stunt’ was a half reverse cuban 8. it’s an odd enough name that it stuck – so I found another video from the same guy:
I had my camera in my pocket, and tried to capture one of the more gentle movements (I couldn’t actually lift my arms off of my legs at anything more than about 2.5G!!):
The view from up there was incredible – here’s looking back towards Perth (the skyscrapers are in the centre of the picture):
So after all the aerobatics, that was it, right? not on your life…
What comes next is probably the most insane experience I have ever had in my life.
The two planes got into radio contact again, lined up and pushed at each other at max speed ( a closing speed of about 680 kph). as soon as they passed each other, they turned 90 degrees, and instantly started dogfighting. One of the pilots is an RAAF instructor, the other is an aerobatic pilot who has competed in the Red Bull aerobatics tournament… and they dogfight, desperately banking, turning, climbing, diving trying to get into a guns position on the other guy.
My pilot (the RAAF guy) got the drop on the other pilot twice, each time, they broke off and started again.. until the other passenger called ‘knock it off’, and they broke off… he was getting sick, and wanted to level out.. so my pilot asked if I wanted to head for the reef, or do some more aerobatics… well, what do YOU think I did? đ
once my stomach was well and truly spun around, We dropped to the hard deck for the flight (500 feet) and raced each other along a reef, looping and banking over the islands… then came back around to the airport and landed (again in formation).
