Sven's life in Oz

I think I’m going crazy. I mean: crazier. Ever since I locked myself out twice in as many weeks I have been on a slow decline into abject madness and it ain’t pretty. In my defence, the first time wasn’t my fault, but I let it happen again a fortnight later and I don’t have anyone else to blame.

To get into my flat, you need a swipe card and two keys. The swipe will open the communal door to the building and the keys will admit you to my humble yet fabulous abode. The first time around Nick locked the keys in the flat, but the second time, after a night at a Drag Queen competition, I discovered I had forgotten to take the swipe card. There are places I would choose to be at 2am; locked out on the street in the drizzle is not one of them. I investigated all the options available: jumping into the car park to see if the back door was open (it wasn’t), trying to work out the numbers of the flats with lights on so I could ring their bells (I got it wrong), and trying to reach through the gate to open it from the other side (I couldn’t). I had resigned myself to ringing James and telling him I was on my way over because I was an idiot, when a miracle appeared. When I say miracle, I mean little Asian lady with a swipe card.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when I began to approach her. I think I was at my least threatening wearing my $10 Cotton On scarf wrapped around me like an old woman’s shawl for warmth, but when you’re a 5ft-nothing single female and a 6′4″ man lurches out of a doorway towards you at 2am their wardrobe choices are probably your last concern. My story about being locked out seemed as preposterous as it was, but after I produced my driving licence and proved I was as big a clown as I appeared, she happily let me in and laughed at my stupidity as we climbed the stairs together.

The very next day I resolved to get a spare set of everything, but that was more difficult than it seems. First: one of the door keys is a security key and cannot be cut. I have to travel to Bondi to get a duplicate, but only between the hours of 9am – 5pm and not on a weekend. Taking the morning off work to get a spare key seems a tad excessive, don’t you think? Second: getting a duplicate card requires a trip to Annandale (the opposite direction to Bondi), an application form and a $100 deposit. In short, a spare set of keys will cost me about $175 when cutting and travel expenses are all included. Not to mention a day’s holiday from work. Does all this seem like a waste of time and money to you, too?

Enter the craziness. Since I am clearly too tight busy to get a spare set of keys together, my latent OCD is making a comeback. Whenever I am in a hotel I only ever close the door with one hand when I can see the room key in the other. It’s learned behaviour I now apply to my daily routine: I only shut the front door after I have physically seen that the swipe card and both keys are OUTSIDE the apartment. Even then I dither in the doorway, mentally running through the unlocking process before committing and pulling the door shut. It can take me a good few minutes to cross the threshold on the way out these days. I just don’t trust myself.

On the face of it, that’s not so bad, but it’s not just the front door. OCD function creep is starting to ruin my life. This morning I noticed that I count the train stops on the way to work, and check the station names as we approach to make sure that I don’t miss my stop. Then I check them as we leave again, just in case – what? How stupid can I actually be? When I finally get to my station, not only do I check the name on the platform, but I check the screens on the opposite platform going the other way to make sure I’m in the right place.

Tell me I’m not the only person who does this kind of thing. Or tell me that I am, and $175 is cheap compared to the therapy I’ll need if I don’t sort myself out soon. Somebody, please, save me from myself.

Living alone does funny things to you. Not only must you wash your clothes, hoover your floors and make sure you go to bed at a reasonable hour without anyone telling you to, but you need to keep yourself healthy and avoid the peculiar ailments that only the vivant seuls seem to contract. The most high-profile condition affecting those of independent residence, mainly middle-aged women and upwards, is Stray Cat Kleptomania. The symptoms of advanced SCK need no explanation: there’s at least one poor victim of this peculiar disorder in every neighbourhood. Early warning signs may include, though are not limited to, owning a Nissan Micra with decorative cushions and blanket on the back seat (frequently with feline detailing and needlework); and listening to The Carpenters whilst driving. Stay alert. Fortunately I am a man, I live in the centre of town, and I have no desire to house any pets, least of all cats; my immunity to this particular pathogen is relatively high.

Of greater concern to those living alone is Audible Internal Monologue Disorder. Persons who spend a large portion of their day alone have been known to suffer from internal monologue leakage. This can be particularly concerning when the stream of consciousness – normally purely a mental activity – leaks into the vocal chords, giving rise to what observers have termed ‘talking to oneself’. Sufferers of AIMD are frequently ridiculed as suffering from a mental disorder. This is often incorrect: talking to oneself is the result of a physical imbalance and can be corrected over time by frequent contact with non-afflicted individuals.  It should be noted that sufferers of AIMD generally do not regard their affliction as a burden and report that they frequently produced superior responses in comparison with standard conversation.

I am fortunate to work in an industry where talking and meeting people is an everyday activity, and am therefore inoculating myself daily against the threat of AIMD. Nonetheless, I have not been so lucky on all fronts, and James recently diagnosed me with a severe but reversible case of a common male complaint: Bachelor Fridge Syndrome.

A prescription for a week’s worth of proper food shopping and a course of fresh vegetables should clear it up. Failing that, we will have to cauterize my take-away menus. Fingers crossed for a full recovery.

I might have mentioned before, but one of the biggest changes I’ve had to make now I’m living on my own is learning how to budget. James has taught me well and I seem to be managing – just about – to live within my means. Inspired by – and as a tribute to – Bossy’s Daily Poverty Party, I created a little category called “Life on a budget” which I shall fill with all my little tips on how to avoid blowing your entire fortnight’s salary on facials and crisps. Saving is the new spending, after all.

All those years ago when I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and I bimbled around like a lost puppy in search of direction, I put bread on the table by working in a bank.  Two-and-a-half years later I can say that the most important rule I gleaned from the whole experience is this: the only way to save money is NOT TO SPEND IT. It’s a fairly fundamental lesson, I grant you, but I think it’s worth repeating, just in case: you can only save money that YOU HAVEN”T ALREADY SPENT. SO STOP SPENDING.  If you aren’t sure whether you can save or not, think to yourself: “have I already spent this money?” If you have:

• a credit card bill
• a loan
• an overdraft
• a debt to your partner/parents/hamster
• any form of borrowing anywhere at all

then you have actually already spent that money. Saving it will never make you more money than borrowing it costs.  This is my philosophy and it’s served me well since I emerged from the soul-destroying world of apocalyptic personal debt three years ago. However; storing it short term while you wait for the credit card bill to arrive is probably a very good idea.  The problem is, I find, that it’s just lying there in my account, looking at me every time I check my balance. “Spend me!” it says. “Have a few more drinks tonight. You’ll have a better time! Doesn’t it feel good to be naughty? You know you want to-” and then things get a bit less CBA and a bit more xtube and it worries me a bit, not least because their uniforms are the polar opposite of sexy.

I can only tell you to be strong and refer you back to the beginning of this post: you can’t save it if you spend it. To that end, I have been trying to stick to as many zero-dollar days as I can this week. The theory behind this is simple: you can’t spend money yesterday. If you can get through today without spending anything, then all the money you would have spent is still in your account tomorrow. I know the science is complex, but stay with me. If you can repeat this for another day, or maybe even two, then by the day after that you could have twice, or even three times as much unspent money in your bank account! It’s a revelation! Who knew that by NOT spending $10 on lunch, I could be $10 richer the next day? What will they think of next?

I have decided that Monday will be my $0 day from now on. (Household bills, groceries and travel don’t count – I have to spend them and I budget accordingly.) There are a couple of reasons I chose the worst possible day of the week to deny myself even the simplest form of pleasure.  Firstly, I’m quite clearly as mad as a box of frogs; taking that as read, my rationale goes something like this:

• I normally get my groceries on a Sunday, therefore my fridge is full of lovely goodies to eat. I also have time on a Sunday night to prepare tomorrow’s lunch.
• there are good things on television on Monday nights, so why would I want to go out and spend money when I can stay in and entertain myself for free?
• The rest of the week can only get better because nothing can be worse than a Monday with no money, no treats from the coffee shop or the vending machine, and a home-made lunch in a plastic container.

This week I have managed not only Monday, but Tuesday as well. I put this down to beginner’s luck greater confidence in my powers of restraint. I even walked through a shopping mall today and came out without a single purchase! So, impulse purchases aside, had I spent $10 per day on lunch, I would not now be $20 richer than I was this time last week.  I will probably fall off the wagon tomorrow, since I have to buy a stamp. Damn you, Australia Post! You get me every time! $20 may not sound like very much, but that’s one quarter of my monthly Visa bill stored up, and that can’t be bad.

Try it yourself and share your unimaginable frustration let me know how you get on in the comments.

When I first realised I would be living alone I was rather worried that I would have nothing to do, no one to do it with and nowhere to do it.  It turns out that all those people who said “Sveny, you have nothing to worry about” were right: I’m jam-packed till the middle of the week after next already.  I’m not complaining; I love being busy.  It’s nice to have things to do to get me out of the house.

James’s flat finally completed this week and on Friday he moved the last of his stuff out of my home and now we are now officially living alone.  Of course I was straight round on Friday night to help him unpack and get everything set up.  I’m quite jealous as his flat is twice the size of mine and has two toilets, but I only need one bathroom so it’s not much of a complaint, is it?  After a quick dinner at the local Thai restaurant the time came to go home, back to my flat for my first ever night of living alone.  It was a very strange feeling saying goodbye to someone I’ve seen every day for the past nearly four years, but I’m sure it will become more natural with time. Back at home I decided the best way to really enjoy the first night of solitude was to stay up all night watching The Matrix and drinking gin-and-tonics and Frangelico.  I woke up at 2:30am on the sofa and dragged myself into bed.  An inauspicious beginning if ever there were one.

The following day I could hardly think for things going on.  James and our friend Kristie arrived at my flat just as I was putting on my Bioré nose strip and took me out to buy a new kettle and a shedload of booze, and my second attempt at wrenching out those blackheads was thwarted by my afternoon date arriving literally the very second I applied it to my face.  Clearly Fate had other plans for my nasal sebum that day, and I was forced to bring it on the date with me for an afternoon of bowls in the sun. It’s a very popular sport amongst the youth in Australia, mainly because you stand around in the beautiful weather and drink all afternoon, I should imagine. Certainly that’s the appeal for me.  Amazingly I managed to come away with only a very slight toasting, given I was standing in direct sunlight for most of the afternoon and have the DNA of a ginger person. By rights I should be lobster-coloured.  Perhaps the nasal sebum has hidden properties…

After my topping up my Vitamin D and alcohol levels at the bowling green I was back at James’s flat within an hour to help him break in the carpet by spilling wine all over it.  This is where the shedloads of booze comes in. We sat on the floor, ate crisps and drank cheap sparkling wine till the place was littered with empty bottles and I almost had to crawl to the taxi to get home.  I rolled in at about 3am and, after some ill-advised twittering (I always say the most ludicrous things when I am drunk) I passed out with my head in my laptop some time around four.  Thank the gods for the thunderstorm today – I had promised to hit the Danks Street Festival but the rain put an end to that plan and let me mooch about the house in my trackies all day.  A well-deserved rest, I feel.

Next week, in amongst the dinners, birthday parties, dates and movies, I also have to hold down a full-time job and get 8 hours a night.  Good job I can multi-task!

Ahead of my big move, and inspired by Bossy’s Poverty Party, it’s time to talk about money. I call it my ‘big move’, but as a friend pointed out the other day, moving to Australia was a big move: moving ten minutes down the road hardly even warrants a ‘minor’ excitement. However, it is a big move for me because this Thursday I get the keys to my first ever flat where I will live alone.

It’s a pretty daunting prospect. Not only do I have separation anxiety from James, but I have never lived alone before, let alone in a different country. Everyone has told me I will love it and who am I to question the well-intentioned words of my friends? I’m sure it will be great fun but the price of independence is sticking to a budget.  Since straightening out my finances a few years ago I have developed a mortal fear of debt.

Living in Sydney is not cheap. According to stats I read in England it is four times more expensive to live in Sydney than any other city in Australia. I think that figure overstates it but suffice to say that it certainly feels that way sometimes. Being 10,000 miles away from my parents means I can’t just pop over to freeload if I run out of magic noodles or washing powder, so I’m going to have to watch my money carefully and hunt out bargains if I’m going to stay in the black. It can be done but it will take some self-restraint, which as recent events have shown is in short supply these days.

I’m no maths whizz but living with an accountant for the past four years has taught me a few things about handling money. The main lesson I learned was that it’s nice to have some. James used to run all the finances for us both (especially while we were saving to come to Australia) so all I had to do was live within my means. It was often tight but I stayed in the black for the most part.  There’s nothing nicer than a pay day where your balance is that little bit higher thanks to a surplus from the month before. My plan to stay solvent is as follows:

1. I get paid into an ordinary bank account – the “household” account – once a fortnight. (Don’t ask me why – it’s an Australian thing). All my direct debits and regular payments go out through this account.
2. I work out all the expenses to go out, then transfer my spending money to the “spending” account, and whatever I can save to the “savings” account.

That’s it! The only hairy question is how to pay my rent. For the first time ever I can pay it by credit card. So, do I trust myself to charge my rent to Visa every month and then pay it off, or do I forgo the reward points and stay in control? What would you do?