Heavenly Beverley : Round and Round the Garden...

Friday unfolded like a deranged episode of "Yes Prime Minister" or "Utopia" with a good dollop of "Max's Dragon Shirt" thrown in for good measure. I was sure that I could hear John Clarke's laughter in the background all through those furiously frustrating daylight hours. By the time darkness was falling, I could have written an entire series based on the repeated insanities I had experienced. And I just thank the universe that there was actually a happy ending.

The events that became Friday had their genesis the day before. After eight years on the public housing waiting list, (including four years on the Priority List), Alex was offered a property by the Housing Authority, otherwise known as Homeswest. I sent Alex and his support worker, the invaluable Pascal, to check out the property. From Beverley, I had repeated amiable conversations with a Homeswest representative, Narelle. The unit was deemed perfect by Alex, a few faults were noted and photographed and as Alex returned the key back, he delightedly announced to the entire Homeswest office that he was accepting this property. He needed to return the following day to fill out and sign all the necessary paperwork for his forever home.

During a couple of phone calls between him and me, I asked Alex if he would like my company for this very important task. Initially, he responded he would be able to manage the process himself. I could almost see his chest puffing with pride. Later he thought better of this decision and asked if I would come to Perth to see him through the piles of paper. We arranged to meet at Homeswest Mirrabooka at around 9.30 am. I warned him I may be a little late as I would be having an early start from Beverley.

An enormous agricultural machine taking up the entirety of Waterhatch Road and the ongoing saga of roadworks in Mundaring slowed my progress. As I pulled up outside the Homeswest building, I could see Alex straining to catch sight of my car. I waved, parked the car and went to meet him on foot. His agitation was palpable. Waving a Centrelink income and assets statement in my face, he continued his descent into a panic. The statement showed an "asset" of $38,100, dated 4 August 2016. Alex was distraught, stuttering that a Homeswest officer had told him he may not be eligible for his property due to his financial status.

For the first time since Michael had nearly died three years ago, the world turned red. Instantly I knew my ex-husband (Alex's biological father) had his fingers all over this transaction. Years ago, I'd had to go to the tax office as Alex's voice to get a previous family trust disaster removed from Alex's record. And now, it appeared that the same tactics had been used by my ex all over again, with no regard for the consequences that Alex may have to suffer.

Alex was adamant he needed bank statements to prove his innocence. My mind was whirling in response to his distress. We decided to go to the library across the road to print off the documents. In hindsight, we should have just gone and done this deed at Centrelink. I just wanted to act quickly to reduce Alex's confusion and fear.

Around the same time, I received a phone call from the ex himself. He was somewhere overseas and the line was terrible. I was only catching every second word and his flippantness was enraging. With as much composure as I could muster, I asked him to get his accountant to ring me to sort out this mess. What I really wanted to do was to smack him out of his complacency.

My handling of printing off the required bank statements was the stuff of bedlam. The library was packed with families preparing for story time. I needed to fill out a membership form and show ID to use their computers. In the midst of this chaos, the accountant's office rang. The accountant responsible for the ex's affairs was in a meeting. I stated the accountant had better get out of the meeting and fix this disaster. In my anger, surrounding by masses of mums and small children, I denounced the ex and used a particularly colourful metaphor to describe him.

A librarian suggested I take this conversation elsewhere. I hung up, took a deep breath and apologised to all those present shorter than me. We were able to print off Alex's bank statements without further ado and then set off for Centrelink. I doubt I could ever return to Mirrabooka library.

After standing in the queue and waiting for assistance, the very polite and pleasant Centrelink officer was unable to alleviate Alex's misery. She told him he needed a document that stated this asset was not assigned to Alex. Almost unable to bear the dazed and disbelieving expression on Alex's face, I decided then and there that I would secure the desired notation from the accountancy firm before the end of the day.

In the meantime, we returned to Homeswest to clarify the situation. At last, a gem named Keryn provided us with a glimmer of hope. Even with this imaginary farce of an asset attached to his name, Alex was just under the threshold and would be able to take possession of his Homeswest unit. And his rent, until he was able to remove this asset from his financial record, would only be very slightly higher.

For the first time that day, Alex smiled. We waited whilst Keryn completed yet more paperwork, which Alex duly signed. All his information would now be given to a housing officer, who would process the application and contact Alex when all this was finalised. Alex could then pay the necessary rent, collect his key and move into his unit in due course.

After a quick bite, we were off to the accountancy firm in Osborne Park. I had arranged to pick up a letter stating that Alex had not received this asset and that he was no longer part of the family trust as of 30 June 2016. Whilst speaking to this smarmy accountant, I managed to wipe her air of amused confidence. She had queried the amount of the asset distributed to Alex and the date of that distribution. I responded that her understanding was irrelevant as both the tax office and Centrelink thought otherwise. She was silent so we hung up in mutual loathing.

En route, we stopped at Alex's proposed home. We could not get inside but I was pleased with the location and the layout. Boasting a front and a back courtyard with a side clothesline, security screens and doors and an open plan layout, I was pretty happy. Yes, it was still a Homeswest property and needed a great deal of spit and polish - somebody had attempted to set fire to the benchtop - but I was sure that some elbow grease and cleaning products would do the trick. And Alex was so proud.

Onwards and upwards. The letter received from Carbon Accountants (with a big C) was so grammatically untidy. I was highly amused. However, at least the letter stated the bleeding obvious. As a final port of call, we tried to lodge the letter at Centrelink. The staff were unable to receive the letter as they were engaging in an afternoon of strike action. At that point, I nearly broke into hysterical laughter. Alex and Pascal would have to undertake this task next week.

I dropped Alex back at his current digs, attended to a monetary disaster of my own making, performed the minimum shopping and turned Goldie in the direction of home. Having left at 8.30am, I was ecstatic to sight Beverley just before dark. A quick toilet break and we retired to the pub. There was no way I was cooking dinner at the end of this memorable day.

And I have lived to fight yet another day! Stay tuned.