Cornered, cranky and ready to charge

My wife is currently in Africa filming a documentary about rhinos.

Which means I’m home alone on the farm with four kids. The wild Savannah has nothing on this.

“The teachers said Book Week is coming up”, announced my eight-year old daughter over dinner.

“I want to go as The Cat in the Hat!” squealed my five-year-old.

My nostrils flared. In that moment I felt a bit like a rhino myself: cornered, cranky, and ready to charge.

“You’re all going as … me”, I declared. “We’ve got the books. The checked shirts. And you can all take turns with Lucky the sheepdog.”

“But Daaad.”

Then my phone rang. It was Wally, my editor.

“Did you hear? The Prime Minister quoted you in Parliament today. He basically read your last column out word for word.”

“Wally”, I said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“After 22 years working with you”, he replied, “I can confidently say I am almost certainly not.”

Here’s what I was thinking.

If the Prime Minister likes my column so much, let’s see if he’ll read this one out in Parliament.

I looked around the kitchen at my four little rhinos, one still wearing mashed potato on his snout. Their mum is over in Africa because there are men who slaughter rare, defenceless animals just because there’s money in it.

Well, we’ve got poachers here too. Except they’re not hunting rhinos … they’re hunting our kids.

They’re the betting companies.

They use the thing kids (particularly boys) love – sport – to groom them into gambling. Logos on the jersey. Ads on the TV. And odds in their ears before they’re old enough to shave.

Jackpot!

Per head, we lose more money on gambling than any other nation on earth.

Albo, I don’t have the money that the gambling lobbyists do to host a private donors’ dinner with you.

Yet let me tell you, Book Week is about kids dressing up as characters from a story, but the real story this week is the one our current gambling laws are letting them walk into.

It sure looks like you’re not on the right side of the debate. Otherwise you’d treat these punting poachers like the cigarette companies. You’d ban them from sport completely. No jerseys. No stadiums. No ads at the footy.

Albo, I’m totally outnumbered here at home. My wife has flown to the other side of the world to stand between the poachers and something that couldn’t fight back. You could protect my rhinos and you wouldn’t even have to leave the building.

Tread Your Own Path!

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Your Questions & Answers

• I’ll Never Read You Again

• The Accountant Who Can’t Sleep

• The Most Expensive Currency On Earth

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I’ll Never Read You Again

Scott,

You must be so proud that Albanese mentioned you in Parliament. Are you joining his party? I think I’ll just read the other finance experts in the Sunday Telegraph. Very disappointed in you.

Chris

Hey Chris,

Your email reads like one of those notes Timmy Tuffknuckles used to lob at the back of my head in Grade 3. You must have missed that the Prime Minister actually said that Barefoot is “not always part of a cheer squad for the Government”.

True, Mister Speaker!

Especially when it comes to his monumentally dumb and dangerous 5% Deposit Scheme, which I’ve been campaigning against for years. Seriously, the only cheer squad I’m in is for financial counselling and our clients. (Okay, and the Melbourne Demons.)

As Mrs Wilson used to say to Timmy:

“Eyes to the front. Hands above the desk where I can see them.”

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The Accountant Who Can’t Sleep

Scott

I grew up watching money stress eat my family alive. As a kid I knew the mortgage was always one bad month away from disaster. So I did what any trauma-trained over achiever does: I worked from age 14, put money towards keeping a roof over my family’s head, became a chartered accountant, and bought my first property just before I turned 30.

I did everything right. One-bedroom apartment in Rosehill, NSW. Five percent deposit, LMI waived, First Home Buyer Scheme. I was proud of myself. Three years later, I’ve paid $90,000 in interest to the bank. The property has gone up, maybe, $30,000. The metro stop they promised nearby? Cancelled.

I rent somewhere else with my boyfriend. The apartment is tenanted at $580 a week and I’m keeping it partly as a safety net for my mum and brothers if they ever need it. But I keep running the numbers in my head at 2am. If I’d just rented and tipped that money into an S&P 500 index fund, would I be ahead right now? Is the Australian property dream still worth it for single-income buyers – or are we just paying a fortune in interest to feel safe?

Tammy

Hi Tammy,

You’re going to be fine.

You can turn on the lights and you’ll see there’s nothing bad lurking in the closet.

From what you’ve told me, you could sell this apartment and probably break even. That’s a much better spot to be in than a lot of people who stretch themselves on a 5% deposit end up in. For them the nightmare is real, and it never ends.

Now, the 2am maths:

Stop doing them.

You can’t go back in time, only forward.

However, in order to sleep soundly you need to understand how you got yourself into this situation.

And it’s completely understandable: you grew up watching your parents struggle with money. You swore you wouldn’t follow them. So you bought a place before you should have, and tried to make the numbers fit afterwards.

The real lesson from your parents wasn’t ‘buy a property’.

It was to ‘be financially secure’.

You’re clearly a smart, driven person. You’ll hit whatever you aim at. Just make sure it’s the right target this time.

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The Most Expensive Currency On Earth

Hi Scott,

I read your book while I was in prison. It was the first time in my life I had so much "free time": eating without paying, not worrying about rent. Of course, taxpayers paid for it. I paid with something far more valuable: time. The most expensive currency there is.

When I was at my most vulnerable, I became addicted to something I didn’t even recognise at first: other people’s approval. Trying to fill that emptiness led me to the worst decision of my life: transporting drugs. I was punished for it, and rightly so. I read almost every book in the women’s prison library in Perth. Yours was one of only two books I bought after my release.

English isn’t my first language. I grew up during the collapse of the Soviet Union, and I was deported back to Europe just as the world shut down because of Covid. I arrived home alone with about $1,000 I had earned working in prison. After three-and-a-half years behind bars, I had no job, no plan, and no idea who I was anymore. My family and many of the friends I thought would always be there disappeared when I got into legal trouble. I felt like a stranger in my own country.

Then I met my partner. Now we live in Denmark. Six years into my freedom, I’m still rebuilding. I adopted some of the habits from your book, opened a Mojo account, have Date Nights with my partner, understand how to do investments. Now I’m doing an internship that will hopefully lead to paid opportunities as well.

What I really wanted to say is this: your book kept me sane. Today I’m once again facing financial uncertainty. But every time I see your book on my shelf I feel calmer. It reminds me that this season is temporary. Every face has a story, and every story has a face. And I just wanted you to know that your words mattered. They helped someone you will probably never meet.

Eleanor

Hey Eleanor,

English may not be your first language, but you certainly have a way with words.

When I was training to be a financial counsellor, one of my first placements was at a women’s prison. It was a bloody tough gig. The women I worked with were racked with shame and guilt, and for many of them it stopped them from making any financial progress.

And my motivation wasn’t just for the women inside. It was for their kids, and for the rest of us on the outside, because someone who walks out with a plan and a Mojo account is a lot less likely to walk back in.

Here’s what I learned from my time working on the inside.

You can keep judging yourself for the terrible choices you made a long time ago. But all that does is keep you locked in a different kind of prison, one you’ll never be released from.

Or you can judge yourself by the actions you take today. And look at what you’ve done. You’ve rebuilt yourself from a thousand bucks and a library card. You’ve got a partner, Date Nights and an internship to show for it.

You’re right, Eleanor, seasons are temporary.

Bring on summer, I say.

Thank you for reading!

 Scott.