I thought Rocket Surgery was hard...

I thought Rocket Surgery was hard but now I have to deal with Politics.

At least Terri Butler drinks beer. Fuck knows who the wine was for, but Old Tezza looked like she’d already had her fill when she was ordering. In the true tradition of Hawkes Labor Party, Grain will always beat Grape. Whomever the Communion Juice was for is irrelevant, they clearly aren’t committed to The Cause. My experience with the Labour movement/Labor Party and their Union affiliates has always been one of Beer and Brown Spirits. But to channel Old Robbie Zimmerman - - The Times, they are a Changin’.

The last few years have seen The Coalition ramp up their attacks on Labor for posturing to the inner city Green Vote, and red wine at a Labor Party Rally is a sure indication that The Conservatives are onto something. When blue singlets have been replaced by berets you know “The Workers Party” has lost their way.

I watch these people. These alleged advocates for The Underclass and I’m not impressed. They look like the parents of the overprivileged children I was forced to attend High School with. Some of them probably even send their kids to the exact same over-priced and overrated Institution across The River that I was housed in.

At one point I go outside because it looks like one of The Faithful is having a bit of a go at The Shadow Minister for Who Gives A Fuck? (I’ve never bothered to learn his name, but Terri must have a reason for him being here). Leaving The Stool, I utilise the back door to loiter at the fringes of the crowd.

Bloody Energy Policy. He’s rambling on about some shit about the lack of uptake of roof-top solar in a South East Queensland Electorate, which has had one of the largest uptakes of rooftop solar in the country. Hang on, he’s talking about renters and the fact we don’t have solar panels on our roofs or the ability to have them installed. I can’t let this one go. I voice my contribution.

‘Let Investors Negatively Gear their solar panelled properties’.

Some people clap. I should stick around and drill down on some serious policy issues, but the phone is buzzing away in my pocket. The Old Man is in town and his arrival is imminent. I finish my smoke and let the Shadow Minister keep talking after my interruption to go inside and shut down The Office for a few hours.

Almost a week later and The Office has continued its nomadic existence and I find myself on The Couch at The Tan Tan’s. Reading back and remembering, I figure I should at least put my case forth.

I’m opposed to Negative Gearing on Principle, but I’m opposed to Global Warming on so many more levels. It’s kind of like the recent incident on Bourke St. in Melbourne. Guns aren’t a real good thing to have in crowded cities, but those cops needed to use it to subdue an incredibly violent individual.

So, here’s The Plan.

Solar Panel installation is Tax Deductible on investment properties. Batteries will store the power and tenants won’t have to pay for electricity unless they exceed the amount power generated and stored. Plugged into The Grid, all excess power produced earns profit for The Landlord which is Tax-Free.

Watch The Slumlords go nuts over that. Every shit arse run down piece of shit rental property will get an absolute dick load of solar panels on the roof, so those greedy fuckers could make some more coin.

Fuck. My Landlord votes Labor. He could have been in the assembled throng. Every Election I find Labor Advertising staked in my front yard. I don’t really care, it’s a good location and if he’s passionate enough to promote his team, it’s his property and democracy at work.

At least I know he didn’t send his kids to my Alma Mater, they’re girls for starters, which would have turned more than heads, and I have it one good authority from the kid who used to live in the house next-door that he went to State High with them.

But the greatest financial benefit will be for Tenants.

The Cave has several annexes, one of which is occupied while the other three are for cooking, ablutions and bathing, with another which by day is my news feed and by night my comedic relief. My housemate, who occupies the first annex, is a smart man and disciplined. He weighs out his Tobacco of a morning for fucks sake. He understands The Logic of switching off and unplugging appliances that are not being used. As a result, when we receive an electricity bill, we are informed that we consistently use less than the average one person home.

Mull on that one for a moment.

Seriously. Think.

OK.

Solar panel your investment property and your tenants (who in a lot of cases are receiving some form of Government Assistance) figure out they can get free electricity if they bother to switch off the lights when no one is in the room, means you get extra Tax-Free Income.

That’s it.

Win-Win.

 The poor as fuck Tenants don’t have to pay for electricity and The Landlord gets free cash. Solar Panel Installers and Technicians will have plenty of ongoing work and grid power can be prioritised for businesses that don’t have the capacity to provide their own energy due to location, space, purpose or a raft of other reasons.

For the foreseeable future, we will be relying on fossil fuels for energy. However, if we incentivise property owners to invest in renewable energies to power their investment properties, we can reduce the reliance that residential properties have on traditional energy producing sources.

If we prioritise our grid power for business, we may be able to save what remains of our manufacturing industry and potentially reinvigorate it. By turning our population centres into clean energy producing hubs we can divert consumable energy to industry and shut down the highest carbon polluting power plants as they become surplus to requirements.

Battery Storage is The Key in the energy debate. Labors bullshit policy of building a shit load of renewable energy producers without any storage is more near sighted than most policies put forward by all parties. It pales into insignificance when you consider The Governments position to completely ignore the science and be open to building more coal powered power stations when our cities can provide and store an inordinate amount of energy simply by utilising the roof space available to us.

I live at the top of The Hill and the wind whips through occasionally. A simple wind turbine could probably power the three parcels of land on the corner of The Hill – all owned by the same Trust Fund and, excluding The Landlords residence, are rentals that are probably already negatively geared. Imagine the income that could be sourced, Tax-Free, from such a set-up. The traditional rental property could become a power plant in its own right if proper storage capacity is provided.

Simple really.

I have a shit load of good ideas.

Maybe a run for The Senate in 2019 could be on The Cards…

Have to rid myself of that filthy New Zealand inherited Citizenship, but these sort of things can be accomplished with a well scripted appeal to The New Zealand High Commission to accept your relinquishing of said Citizenship. Along with a more tersely worded threat that if not accepted, expect me to run on “The Aramoana Ticket”, and sweep to power on a groundswell of the disaffected lunatics that populate The Shaky Isles.

They don’t have compulsory voting across The Ditch so if I can pull out The Nutjob vote, I’m sure I can win a seat somewhere.

The Mother’s Family populated The Highlands of Central Otago, so I could possibly get good showing there, but I think I might be better served on the dreary and unhospitable West Coast where my Aunty has decided to make her home.

I worked in the Corner Store my Uncle owned when I was 14, (they call them Dairies in New Zealand. And Victoria, which makes me more concerned about those Mexicans. It’s bad enough that the West Australians can’t pronounce Derby or Albany correctly, but for the allegedly culturally superior Victorians to misunderstand that Dairies are where cows are milked, not where you buy a newspaper is simply justification for those of us north of The Tweed who appreciate the toe-banjo as the epitome of musical ability and call a store, a store).

Once again, The Tangents have led me astray. What I was getting at was that if my run for a Senate seat in Australia crashes and burns as it more than likely will, I just have to tap into the disenfranchised inbred demographic that populate the hills of The South Island of NZ.

I remember a sibling couple who were so inbred, and used to come into the store, that their kids didn’t even look like the deformed examples the parents presented. It was as if they’d bred the inbred out.

I’d have to, of course, reapply for New Zealand Citizenship to run for a hexagon in The Bee Hive. But I think I can appeal to those people. The one’s that desperately need their power prices reduced because rabbit fur and meat don’t deliver the same prices as they used to. The Sun barely shines in New Zealand but there is a shit load of wind coming North from Antarctica. They also have  bunch of geo-thermal vents dotted across the country that could keep my Nana’s house warm.

I don’t want to do this. My skills are much better suited to risking libel and slander than taking advantage of Parliamentary Privilege to shame a female journalist for my own Political Point Scoring, why in Fuck’s name would I volunteer to have The Right to name and potentially shame someone who didn’t want a bar of it in the first place is a question for someone else to answer.

But that’s it.

I’ve no News feed. The Stool is crowded, and I need to go home and cook food.

H.H OUT.