Take The Money And Change At Perth
"So," said a friend, the other day, "It's been more than two years since you relocated to Inverness...you'll qualify for that extra ten grand now."
I looked at him blankly and then he told me how the Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú had given me ten thousand pounds to move to Inverness and then another ten because I'd stayed more than two years. The implication being that I was now free to take the money and run.
Except that they didn't and I'm not. It turns out he was confusing matters with the much publicised deal offered to the staff of Scottish Natural Heritage as part of the relocation from Edinburgh to Inverness.
Not that I'm complaining. I was quite happy to move north, despite the funny looks I got (and still get) from my colleagues. Under Inland Revenue rules I was able to claim back the cost of moving house...lawyers, removal van and weeks of fruitless advertising in the property section of a well-known newspaper. Selling my old home was the worst part of it all. Eventually the Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú got fed up waiting for me to offload my humble abode and called in the surveyors. They then took an average of three valuations and offered me that on a take-it-or-leave-it basis. A week later they then re-sold my house for five grand more than they'd paid me for it. I then bought a new house for ten grand more than I could afford. That's why I've never run a small business and why I keep avoiding those calls from the credit card company.
I mention all this because, as a Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú employee, my financial wheeling and dealing is open to public scrutiny and has recently been the subject of a Freedom of Information request. Now, given that I blab about most things on this blog, you might have hoped I could be silenced under a Too Much Information request. Luckily for me, no such thing exists in current legislation.
The most common assumption is that I have a massive expense account and am able to wine and dine my way around the country, guzzling champagne and caviar and laughing merrily at the thought of struggling licence payers. Gosh, I'm even making myself angry with that image. The truth is I've claimed for about three lunches in the past year. Three too many, I know, I know. Most times I buy people drink out of my own pocket. It's the way I was brought up. Not that it matters; they still think I'm going to charge it to the Beeb.,
Then there's my rail and air fares and overnight accommodation. Frankly those train journeys on ScotRail are as luxurious as a trip on the Orient Express and should be stamped out. Not to mention those times I miss my connection at Perth and kill two or three hours gorging myself on pies and beans from the station café.
But here's the worst of it. I have a drawer at home full of receipts for things I just never got around to claiming for. Cameras, taxi fares, pies, beans. I have to swear you to secrecy on this.
Let's hope Mrs Z. doesn't put in an FOI request or I'm toast.
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