It's difficult to make predictions, especially about the future

 

1 Runnyford Road, Nelligen

 

The old church up on the hill has been sold again, the fourth time since it first went into private hands in 1997 and was restored to its former glory, after which it was used as a sort of glorified art gallery. The next owner, a nice lady who bought it in 2012 for $450,000, added a mezzanine floor as a bedroom, and then lived in it.

She used the vast open space for some memorable parties, some of which we attended, including a wonderful Christmas party celebrated appropriately in a former church. And there should have been many more memorable parties, but seven years later she thought the real estate market had topped and she should cash in. She found buyers at $740,000 who then rented it back to her for an undisclosed rent.

 

 

Smart move? It depends! It depends on the real estate market not going higher and the new owners not selling up again, which they just did, for $1,200,000. The nice lady not just lost her rental but also the extra $460,000 she would've made had she stayed put and sold up later.

It's difficult to make predictions, especially about the future.

 

Googlemap Riverbend

 

Welcome to my blog!

 

 

𝕴 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖇𝖚𝖇𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖞 𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑 𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖊𝖓[𝕬𝕿]𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑.𝖈𝖔𝖒

 

I had to add this little preamble because something has gone wrong with the software. For some reason the side panel does not display unless I add this fixed "Welcome" post to the top. The mysteries of computers and computer software. Perhaps I should stick to playing my accordion. Last night a neighbour hammered on the door. It was already past midnight! Luckily, I was still awake and playing my accordion — I'm only joking; we live on seven acres and our only neighbour is the river.

 

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, and I really need to question whether President Trump's mental capacity extends beyond kindergarten level

 

 

As the war in the Middle East heats up, the US President says this latest war is not really a war, and that despite two other Middle Eastern wars having cost trillions of dollars, led to thousands of deaths and ultimately achieved nothing, this one will be settled, like the one in the Ukraine, within twenty-four hours.

In the meantime, the Greens in Australia have proposed a national day of mourning following the death of the "Supreme Leader" while the Australian Prime Minister has announced he stands fully behind the United States’ decision to invade (insert Middle Eastern country name here), which was necessary due to (CUT AND PASTE REASON FROM WHITE HOUSE PRESS RELEASE HERE – DON’T MENTION THE OIL).

I got out of bed this morning, expecting the share market to get a real hammering, but, after a few hesitant moments when BHP dropped as low as $57.08, it roared ahead, closing the day at $59.25, up 84 cents. Woodside, predictably, was up 6% on fears that oil shipments through the Strait of Hormuz will be stopped if the Iranian Navy gets its way.

Of course, it's all about money. And what backs money? The 17th century English philosopher, Thomas Hobbes, had an answer. Violence! The power of the state is secured through its monopoly on violence. When the state issues money – that money is secured by the state's ability to wage war. Or as Comedian Denis Leary famously explained, "Because we’ve got the bombs."

 

 

End of lesson!

 

Googlemap Riverbend

 

Endstation Kiwittsmoor

 

Endstation Kiwittsmoor
Image licensed to commons.wikimedia.org

 

My recent contacts with the scion of the once mighty South Seas Island traders Breckwoldt & Co. reminded me again not only of my time in the islands but also of my time spent in Hamburg in the cold winder of 1967/68.

 

Near my office on Neuer Jungfernstieg

 

I had returned to the old country when the Deutsch-Südamerikanische Bank promised me employment in their head office in Hamburg and an eventual transfer to one of their many branches in South America. And so I started with the Banco Germánico de la América del Sud, as I preferred to call them to practice my recently acquired basic Spanish.

I was assigned to their "Hauptbuchhaltung" which was full of German-speaking Argentines who had fled their bankrupt (and corrupt) country and were more keen on practising their German on me than letting me practise my Spanish on them. I began to have my first small regrets.

 

 

I had taken a furnished room "auf Untermiete" with a family in out-of-town Kiwittsmoor. The room was supposed to have "Zentralheizung" but only ever heated the "Zentrale" of the house, leaving me to shiver under a thin blanket during those long cold nights of the German winter.

My room was so tiny that I had to store the sea chest, which I had brought back with me from Australia, in the basement, necessitating many trips up and down the stairs. Gradually, letters from friends left behind in Australia began to arrive. Addressed in hastily scribbled English to "Mr. Peter Goerman", they aroused a sudden deference in my landlady who voiced her surprise that someone so young was already a "Dr." I could correct her mistake before she could increase my rent.

I boarded the train to the city when the sky was still pitchblack in the morning and returned when the sky had turned pitchblack again in the evening. Of course, I travelled during peak-hours which meant it was standing room only for what seemed like an eternity but what GOOGLE Map tells me was a 'mere' forty minutes to and from the Binnenalster.

 

 

In my short lunchbreaks the sky would turn itself into a foggy grey, and it was during one of those lunchbreaks as I descended the bank's marble steps to get some frosty fresh air when two directors bailed me up.

Wasn't I an employee of their bank? Yes, I was! Well, then it was not for me to descend those marble steps but to use a humble sidedoor around the corner. Well, that was enough for this not-so-obsequious employee of theirs: I walked up those marble stairs and tendered my resignation.

Two more bank jobs, one in my hometown Braunschweig and the other in Frankfurt, which was conveniently close to its international airport, and before another German winter could catch me with my pants down in another unheated rented room, I was on my way to South Africa and, six months later, back to Australia. No more Endstation Kiwittsmoor!

 

Googlemap Riverbend

 

The Flying Dutchman of the Clyde River

 

 

Weekend after weekend, throughout the summer months, this elegant houseboat moves from its private mooring two-hundred metres upriver to this public mooring two-hundred metres downriver, directly opposite Riverbend.

 

Its permanent mooring is between the other two houseboats to the right

 

Like the legendary Flying Dutchman, it silently moves downriver, with never anybody to be seen behind its tinted panoramic windows. Then, at the end of the weekend, just as silently, and with seemingly no-one on board, it moves back up two-hundred metres to its private mooring.

It is said to belong to an erstwhile — how I have been waiting for a chance to use that word! — prospective buyer of "Riverbend", who sought us out in 2011, salivating while saying, "We want lots of land!"

They then decided that $2 million for a substantial two-storey brick home on 7 acres of totally private waterfront was too much, and bought what could only be described as a nicely converted fishing shack on 1900 square metres of land for $950,000 just across the lane from us.

But they didn't stop there: a few months later, they bought the last remaining vacant block next to them for another $750,000. Now they were the owners of a converted fishing shack on 3800 sqare metres of land, all at the price of $1,700,000 versus "Riverbend" for $2,000,000.

But they didn't stop there either: tired of — what? — life in the country or the ever-gossiping neighbours, they sold up again: the fishing shack went for a mere $750,000 and the vacant block for a low $500,000.

So what's he doing now moored off "Riverbend"? Bemoaning his loss of $450,000? (before stamp duty, commission, and legals) Or bemoaning he didn't buy "Riverbend"? Like the Flying Dutchman, we will never know.

Yesterday was the first day of autumn, so perhaps last weekend was the last we saw, or rather, not saw, of him until the start of next summer.

 

Googlemap Riverbend