Fergus smashed our 13 year old (wedding present) iron into many pieces on Wednesday night, gaining himself a good sized tuft of singed black hair, and a small pink spot on his skin, where we suspect he got a zap as the cord separated from the main body of the Sunbeam. Apart from a generally freaked out demeanour, there seemed to be no long term damage. He’s pretty much an indestructable dog. Yesterday I picked the highest wattage iron I could find at Target (another Sunbeam) and bathed in the luxury of not having to worry about the impact on a solar battery bank, as was the case at Bagshot. Speaking of Bagshot, because of the Capital Gains complication, I took a number 57 followed by an 82 tram from Elizabeth St. on a torturous hour-long journey to Footscray after work Tuesday to see a Tax Agent that had been recommended by my family. It’s something that we Vandenbergs seem to do every couple of years – get disenchanted with our current Tax guy, and then move to a new one – egging everyone else to move over to them too. So far, Pauline, Mum and Dad and Kim and I have made the jump. The new fellow was a pleasant older Greek who whipped through it all with little fanfare, and wasn’t too upset at us for failing to bring in all the Bagshot insurance/improvement details that we can apparently claim on. He seems to think that instead of paying a couple of thousand, we will pay nothing, so I’m very pleased about it – even more so because he doesn’t seem dodgy and hasn’t suggested anything untoward.