So it’s the taxman who’s hoping to make a killing
morning meeting late, I had no such excuse. What traffic?
But since the construction on the roads around the stadium in Green Point I, too, had an excuse to be late, although I must say my colleagues and boss no longer buy this story, as no one buys the sixth death of my granny. Particularly now that the media reported the stadium had been handed over to the city authorities. But for a few months, it worked.
But I now, too, have a reason to hate the World Cup, because it is about to rob me of my shelter. Suddenly, my landlady will not renew my lease come the first of February, her reason being she would like to do some sweeping renovations to the flat, including fixing the geyser pressure I’ve been complaining about for so long. This she expects to do probably in the middle of the year, given that she will be coming into a lump sum payment around this time from one of her long-term investments. This means that from the first of February the lease will run month to month, with a month’s notice period.
I’m no sangoma, but I have a sneaky premonition that I will get a letter of notice on exactly May 1, 2010, giving me a month’s notice to vacate the flat I’ve called home for more than three years, to make way for “renovations”.
So I’ve joined the line of disgruntled of the 2010 World Cup, including conservationists, or tree huggers, and those who were refused contracts and tenders for the construction of and work around the stadium.
So when I read about the tax the South African Revenue Service (Sars) plans to levy on those hoping to make a quick buck from the World Cup, I chuckled. It’s reported that Sars is looking to call for anything up to 40 percent of the income made by the enterprising people wishing to make a killing from foreign visitors. This is above insurance policies or other renovations and expenditure people will undertake to make a killing.
So finally I see what Mrs Albert was talking about all along, and I’m on her side on both counts, except the part about thugs. Clearly the wisdom of the elderly still exists, at least in part.
The stadium is finished, and on time, so I have no excuse to be late for work. Not only that, I have no place to stay. Truth be told, no one will lease me a place since they, too, wish to make their buck during the World Cup.
Mrs Albert has always been happy to invite me for tea and ginger biscuits, and I have to hope that she’ll let me use her son’s room, if only until the World Cup craze blows over. In return, I will be more than willing to listen to her gripe about her daughter-in-law’s indecency, such as wearing dresses which reveal her arms, and never having baked a biscuit in her life.