Most years I have one group
certificate, two if there’s been an election and I spend a day working for the
electoral commission. This year two employers and Centrelink send certificates,
and I earn enough from my business to really complicate things.
I collect receipts assiduously this
financial year: books for my professional library, desk and electrical work for
my home office, IT components to run my business better. For the first time in
ages I don’t know if the taxman owes me, or me him. It’s a worry.
For years my father does my tax
return. He’s an accountant and my tax affairs take about five minutes to sort
out. But he lets his knowledge of taxation slip the longer he is retired. I report
online until my tax knowledge proves inadequate. I hire my former de fact
step-daughter to put my finances in order for the tax office, then she decides her
job is too demanding to have private clients.
Up in Bendigo I let things slip
till I spook myself about late fees. I ask my manager at work if she can
recommend a local tax agent. She tells me she goes to H & R Block. I hate
this company. Their ads on television drive me nuts. But I accept her
recommendation and make an appointment.
The bloke who does my tax is
personable and we get on well. The whole business is quickly sorted and I get a
nice refund. Same thing the following year. Third time round, different agent,
a woman, and a smaller refund.
Back in Croydon I go to the
local office. My finances are more complex, their fee larger, my refund much
less. And this year is a mystery. I’ll be happy so long as I don’t owe.
Rock on.
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