Judith Morgan, Wealth Coach for Entrepreneurs

Lady Muck Goes on the Bus - and Likes It!

A gap between the end of my old car contract and a delay in the delivery of my new one means I shall be at least two to three weeks without a car.   Quelle horreur!  No, honestly, I'm not joking.   This is about the worse thing I can think of for several reasons.   Loss of independence, loss of spontaneity, loss of fun motorised jaunts singing all the while, having to find out how public transport works and travelling with the scary Great Unwashed, not knowing how to buy a ticket these days, not knowing the timetables, ages spent Googling the Transport for London Journey Planner in the time it would have taken me to nip there and back en voiture.

But again, I was wrong - and that's TWICE in one day.   This could become habit forming.   Not.

On Saturday I had planned to go to the Money Gym gig in Southwark on the bus, but at the last moment a friend took pity on me and ran me down there in the morning.   Bless.   But I did come home on the 133. It cost £2 and took about 30 minutes, although I did spend about 10-15 minutes waiting as one sailed past me just as I was saying farewell to the delegates on the way to London Bridge tube.   Doh!

And then on Monday evening I went up to Piccadilly Circus on the 159 to meet Marie Taylor at Alternatives.   By then I had sussed that tickets are half price if you buy a book of them in advance in a newsagents (or even 90p if you can work out how to get an Oyster card). Same thing; bus went sailing past as I arrived at the top of my road!  Wait 8-10 minutes then 30 minutes to the West End and only £1.   Bargain!

By this time, I was nearly in love with Ken Livingstone and thinking of exercising my postal vote in his favour in May.  Just as Marion predicted, I've enjoyed some really interesting and heart-warming experiences with my fellow passengers, but can it last?  Watch this space... on both counts, Red Ken and the lovely passengers.

PS  I've hired a car for next week!

Downshifting: Real Progress At Last

I've been tapping on it, that's for sure, but this week sees a real push forward for tidying up the tolerations resulting from my recent house move on 20th February.

On Tuesday alone - three great strides forward.   The Stoves man came and replaced the hob so I can cook at last, which is great.   Then Mick the Chippie came and completed Stage 2 of 3 Stages to me being able to answer the door without leaving the house.   The man put the missing fourth leg on the sofa and stopped it wobbling, see previous post, and today they called to say they would come and fit the curtains and blinds on Friday so, as Peter Stanley so kindly put it, I can stop frightening the neighbours!

What's more, I'm getting to like Streatham.   I've been out and about on foot as I am between cars until the end of April and so on Monday I set out in my MBTs with the intention of posting a couple of parcels and hitting the local branch of the HSBC with a cheque to bank.   Result on both counts.   Imagine that!  A Post Office (rare as rocking horse shit these days and soon to be extinct) AND a branch of my local bank, both within easy and pleasurable walking distance.

I have hitherto been dismissive of the pedestrian delights of Streatham High Road, but honestly?   I was wrong.   There, I've said it.   It was a jolly little walk (you country folk wouldn't think much of it) but I was chuffed to bits.   This little flat is spectactularly well placed for everything a businesswoman could need AND everything a human being could need.   On the way back I passed a Mediterranean grocery, a new NHS doctor's surgery advertising for patients (!) and I noted with pleasure how near I am to the Bus Garage which right at this red hot second is a boon, see next posting. 

Happy accidents rather than good planning, but it seems The Universe was looking after my conveniences after all.   Thank you, good and bountiful Universe.   And a woman I like lives in the road that has the Mediterranean shop on the corner, she's walking distance from here and I ower her dinner. Betterer and betterer.

Downshifting Update 3/08 - A New Car and A New Shed

I'm now nearly seven weeks into my new gaff and everything's starting to come together.   There's still no doorbell and still no functioning cooker hob and no storage in any of the rooms, so I'm living with what we coaches call "tolerations". I always encourage my clients to rid themselves of as many tolerations as possible and it takes a surprising amount of energy, which could be better used, tolerating such things as bumping into stuff wherever you go.

I need to do some drastic clutter clearing which is ironic as I am the most minimalist of everyone I know. One of my 0800 Handymen recommended a plastic shed to store my stepladder, two green plastic crates with workshop materials in them, the mop and bucket, the ironining board and hoover, the cleaning materials, the inflatable pool chair in which I float, tan and read books while gently sipping a G & T on holiday (!), my two shopping trolleys, an array of useful plastic storage boxes, the fan I use in the summer when its hot and my four or five suitcases.   Well a girl has got to have luggage for the UK, for Europe AND for international travel, doesn't she?   Although I wont be using my international luggage via Heathrow any time soon!

Oh, and I've decided to buy a new car.   The Beetle Cabrio is SO not the right car for on-street parking in Streatham Hill. Apart from anything else, it's done nothing but rain since I moved here.   Don't ask me why, but I have settled on a Nissan Qashqai which is really quite dreadful.   The spelling, not the car. This means my new cat and my new car will both be spelling mistakes or made-up words.   I think the main reason I chose the car was that it will EAT speedhumps and I am fed up of creeping over them like a little old lady because the Beetle was so low.   Sad to lose the soft top, for now anyway. But the Nissan is SO the right car for Streatham Hill.   Ha ha, getting into this now, which - let's face it - is the only way for not only is resistance futile it is very, very unattractive to the Universe when it comes to the things you do want.   Works like a dream for the things you dont want though.

April projects - get the doorbell and cooker working, take delivery of new car and use it to go to the dump with clutter (the Beetle was also totally unsuitable for that having no boot whatsoever), find a way to feel confident about commisioning relatively expensive storage solutions in bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. Ditto landscaping and gardening - a HUGE project but the clocks going forward turns one's thoughts towards Spring and Summer dans le jardin.   Rid myself of clutter tolerations wherever possible.   I already know that EFT will be the answer to the confident commissiong of yet further expenditure. 

As soon as the finances settle down, I will publish a proper accounting of the profits and losses of downshifting so far.   Accelerating towards Financial Freedom now - and towards the next speed bump!

And Here She Is, the Glamorous New House Guest chez Judith

Ah, now, bless. Dont tell me you could have resisted homeless Mitsy?

She's having a tough week.   She just came out of hiding yesterday and started to trust me and then today Beverley, my new cleaner, has done a wizard job with the Hoover and I haven't seen Mitts since!

Cat lovers - go big. Click on the picture and go large, she's an adorable angel and she's putting on her coaching face!   Pristine paws, whiskers and breastplate and beautiful eyes.   We are tippytoe-ing round each other at the moment, but soon we will be the best of pals, just as soon as I can get someone to fit a catflap and she can get out into the garden which she is eyeing with desire.

How NOT To Move House, A Very Long Rant

Firstly, here, as promised, are the photos of the cheeky foxes in my back garden. I think this first photo is rather special since it includes a partial shot of my computer and you can see I am checking my internet banking, together with a good view of the flowers Nicola Cairncross sent me to welcome me to my new home.   Actually I notice its not a very good one of said fox. How about this one then? Perhaps a rather better one of Reynard and the leaves, about which more later.   And this story will tell why I was so desperately checking my internet banking!

It's now three and a half weeks since I moved house and yes, I know, I've gone on rather a lot about it like a right old drama queen.   I think I have perfected the art of how NOT to move house and this has led me obvously to calculate the best way to move house, the only way to move house, in fact, and the way I intend to do it next time.   Let me begin with the catalogue of horrors this time around.   May I apologise in advance that this is a rather long posting, but many of you have been asking "how did the move go?"  Now you know and I bet you will end up wishing you hadn't asked.

Actually the main reason for writing at this length is because I intend to write a book about my downshifting experiences and my journey to getting back to where I really want to live and how I did it, financially most particularly.

The Downshift - Going Backwards to Go Forwards Again

Another of my 2008 intentions was to open up a huge gap between my income and expenditure by greatly reducing my expenditure and vastly increasing my income in a bid to end living beyond my means, a lifelong habit, and to create reserves and to have more money to invest.   And to be in ever-increasing integrity with what I teach all day long.

The first part of this plan revolved around moving back from the rented sector into owning my own home.The amount of rent I paid afforded a half million pound luxury flat in London's swanky Docklands with THE best view over London and my beautiful river flowing past the door.   The same amount of monthly outgoing when buying your own home in London affords a 100% mortgage on a rather downmarket garden flat worth £300k in upwardly mobile Streatham Hill!   Hmm.   There are sacrifices to this downshifting lark.

There's no doubt that Streatham was once very grand.   It's housing stock is nothing short of plentiful and elegant and gorgeous.   One of my early callers (an 0800 Handyman) advised that perhaps we should not put up the picture of Canary Wharf as it might make me too sad.   Bless.   And also it was his opinion that I was not living in Streatham Hill, but Telford Park.   Bless, again.  When I first lived in this neighbourhood some 29 years ago (!), there was a branch of John Lewis in Streatham called Pratts.   I was an account holder.   No-one remembers Pratts now and Streatham High Road has become a ghastly race-track to Gatwick and Brighton.

One of my clients is a professional property investor who owns no fewer than three properties in this area and she tried to cheer me up about my choice, as I ducked in through my side gate covered in bird poo underneath the two (!) satellite dishes - and me not even owning a telly.   This building was beautiful when I bought the flat and they had already mutilated it by the time I moved in, in the name of footie.   Bah humbug to Murdoch.