The Two Thousand Euro Plan (2)

€2000 would cover a flight to Australia and the time it would take to get work/chill out and soak it all in. I don’t want to go to Asia right now, but I like the idea of Australia. Y’see, America’s lovely and everything but in fairness….no. Not yet. Australia drives on the same side as us, have a liberal attitude towards alcohol, a truly carefree yet hardworking culture which owes much to Irish influence. And I have relatives there, who bummed off us enough when they came to Ireland. I have one great aunt in The Bronx in New York, but that’s not the point. Oz is where the L side of my family go; well, either there or London. My Mam is supposed to have wealthy relatives in Pennsylvania who once sent a photographer to her school when she was 7, but I think they’re fast becoming myths.

Dad once told me to go to Australia; it’s one place he’s always wanted to go to. It’s America without the baggage, an incredibly remote yet welcoming place with glorious weather and an interesting history. I just want to be there.

The Two Thousand Euro Plan involves me saving €100 a week in the credit union until I hit the magical two grand mark. €200 to be saved the day after payday every two weeks. I’m to be unmerciful with it; I will slide into debt, get an overdraft or even get a second job. But the €100 a week plan will not budge. You see, even if Elaine, Sinead and Sarah put their tails between their legs and head back to Ireland dejected after a fruitless month looking for work in Australia, I’ll still have two grand. Which is always nice.

I walked to the credit union the other day to set up an account, having taken €150 out of my bank account (in other words, emptied it) and €50 out of my credit card. They wanted proof of address and a passport for ID. And my PPS number. So I walked all the way home and got my P60, which is issued by the government and had my name, address and PPS number on it. And my passport. The passport was fine, they said, but the P60 wasn’t good enough; they’d need a bill or bank statement for proof of address. Not a government document. Pissed off, and with only half an hour til closing, I ran home and got a bill and bank statement. I cycled in the almost dark down the back of my estate (very dangerous in hindsight) and got to the credit union in time. Finally, I was set up. It felt like a test, a test to prove my new conviction. I will go to Australia. And now I have the first step completed. €200 in the bank. I mean, credit union. Some of you may wonder what a credit union is. It’s what happens when a load of pissed-off people, tired of being screwed by corporate Ireland, decide to set up their own bank. This means lots of interest on savings accounts and cheap loans. So don’t tell me you don’t learn anything here.

In the meantime, between now and 24 January 2003 (Two Grand Day), I will enter a period of relative poverty. I have, since I went full time in work, been doing a Ja Rule and “Livin’ It Up”. Now it’s time to put away the Cristal, sell the Bentley and tell the assorted bitches n’ hoes to split. Joe gonna go Antipodean on yo’ ass.

j

p.s. I realise that was lamer than Marty Crane’s cub-footed and crippled half-brother but it had to end somewhere.