The resignation of the Body Corporate Secretary.

Almost There

Just as I was relishing my new career as Secretary, practising rocking backwards and forwards on my heels, when all has come to a sudden (but not grinding) halt. Readers might remember that on a fortuitous Monday a week ago, I was nominated as Secretary in running together with Chairperson and Treasurer our Strata titled common property. It came out of the blue. Helvi and I both though something was brewing at the AGM which was held at the official address of the Body Corporate. There was an unusual air of joy and conviviality about at this particular meeting.

I accepted gracefully, and even got up from my chair to thank the attendees of the meeting, greatly humbled by the occasion. Who would have thought, and so late in my life? Dad would have been so proud. It brought back memories of the times many decades ago when I was secretary of the Parramatta scooter club. The meetings then were held above the Ambulance hall, an address which came in handy when our president had a nasty fall on his Vespa going down a steep mountains at Stanwell Park during one of the much loved treasure hunts on scooters. I had a Lambretta.

But, lets go forward again. At this AGM meeting it was agreed another small meeting would be held just by the committee. It was to be held the following Saturday at the Treasurer’s town-house just diagonally opposite ours. The meeting was at 5.30 pm. After arrival, the resigning Secretary and treasurer were present and after a few minutes the Chairperson took her chair by sitting on it. The Secretarial books were handed over and I produced my sharpened pencil and shining new note-book to start my duties as the new Secretary. My first entry were noting down the names of all three committee members including my own name, which I still remembered.

But then it all came to crashing halt. At precisely 6.05 pm, I resigned when it became clear I was being groomed to foment discord and disputes between the neighbours living next to the Treasurer and Cahirperson. I walked out and before their meeting was even finished I tucked my letter of resignation under the doors of the three committee members that were still holding the meeting, no doubt discussing what to de next. Looking through the Venetians I noticed they were sipping gin and tonic!

Here is me my letter of resignation.

On 10 Sep 2016 6:43 PM, gerard wrote:

Hello all,

I am sorry but hereby terminate my very short stint as secretary for the Body Corporate at 7 Ascot Rd. I was looking forward to making a contribution to our community and an even nicer place to reside in.

The stumbling block is that I was asked by the Chairperson to write a letter to all residents to park all cars in garages. Any cars superfluous to availability of garages to be parked on the street.

For years, some cars were parked in garages and some in front or alongside garages without any problems. It now seems to have grown into an issue. As most families now have more than one car, I was unable and certainly unwilling to antagonise residents to find alternative parking arrangements on the street.

Number 1 doesn’t even have a garage and parking has never been a problem till lately.

I will not be part of a revengeful shit-fight between some residents.

Yours faithfully,

Gerard Oosterman

The stolen Car and other strange procedures for the Aged

It has been some four months since the daughter phoned us up to say her car had been stolen from inside her remote controlled garage. Even though the car was recovered within a couple of days, the police impounded it because it had to be used as proof in a court case. The sales yard where the car was recovered from had bought the stolen vehicle from the thieves and claimed innocence. A police Court case ensued. Our daughter was told she would have to go without the car for a while. She thought though she would get the car back soon.

It is a complicated story but she finally got it back yesterday. No apology or explanation from the police. They expressed surprise the car wasn’t returned immediately! We gave her our car to use in the meantime. As time went by, we too had to get around and after driving past a car on the highway with a “For Sale’ sign, we ended up buying the car. It looked nice and had no obvious signs of being previously crashed. It was a car built by Bayerische Motoren Werke. What made us decide was that the owner told us you can drive this marvel of German Technology with all four tyres flat. Now, there is car which gives a new meaning for driving flat out.

However, now that our daughter finally got her car back, we took the train yesterday to Sydney to retrieve our car, the Peugeot (with foot-rest). However, we don’t need two cars. The BMW is smaller with endless electronic gadgetry for which one needs to take a couple of weeks to plough through the manual. A baffling mix of so many options on heating, steering, lights, the seat tilting up, down, sideways or forward. Locking of doors and bonnet alone takes a PHD to comprehend. However, as we again became embroiled in the Strata Body of our housing complex, and a heated dispute about parking problems, Helvi thought it best to keep both cars in order to give the neighbours something to worry and speculate about.

Just as things had calmed down and peace returned, the painting by the Iranian born Father and Son contractor and conflicting claims of priorities to some owners resulted in the percolating up of dormant problems. Some owners claimed their patch of front garden had been trampled on. One owner reckoned her Rosemary bush had been snipped. The colour of paint was wrong, or not enough coats of paint. Some demanded their town-house be painted first. It just kept on bubbling away. The usual fights of periodontal suffering pensioners, all keyed up and nowhere to go. So little available irony despite all the attempts for seniors to do fitness classes.

In any case. We will keep both cars for the time being. The rego is free for one car but not for both. There is a limit to our Government’s generosity towards pensioners. We would like to claim our spot of visitors parking which is next to our garage. The neighbours opposite us have three cars. One for each daughter and one for husband and wife. We get on well with them. They also are considerate enough to have lots of potted plants in front of the house which gives us a glowy feeling. Kindred souls so to speak. They were nice to the painters.

Spring is on its way. Millions of daffodils are nodding in parks and nature strips. All is well and the daughter has her car back.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Oosterman-Treats-Gerard-ebook/dp/B01IRQZY7C/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1470877728&sr=1-1&keywords=oosterman+Treats

The ‘Meeting’ , Final Body corporate.

 

The good readers might remember the issue of the painting of our housing compound. There are eight housing units which are called somewhat grandiosely ‘villas’. I have been pulled up a couple of times when referring to our homes as units. They don’t take kindly to calling a spade a spade. A villa in Holland is usually an imposing residence of grand proportions, perhaps with a sign at the gate for tradesmen to go to the back entrance. Delivery boys of groceries and the weekly gardener have to overcome their fear of a huge growling dog at the back entrance. The owners of villas are hardly ever seen. They glide about in sleek black cars and are rumoured to own bordellos in Porto Rico and even Spain.

I have been somewhat neglectful in attending Body Corporate meetings, and like Milo, have low boredom tolerance, having reached a stage where I too could easily take up barking at the ducks hidden between the reeds. The Body Corporate in Australia is a  defined entity that regulates shared ownership of the common areas around the housing units that people share. About six months ago I noticed some activity around the place and was told that the whole estate was going to get painted. I was surprised that nothing appeared about this from the minutes of the last meeting. The meeting date had been changed. We could not attend because we were in Bali.

I queried why there was no mentioning of all this beforehand and was somewhat alarmed about a single painting contractor from Melbourne being awarded the job. The reason given was that he would carry the shortfall in our saving/sinking fund for over five years. I then wondered why not more quotes had been obtained and why a contract was given to a painting contractor a thousand kilometres away. I also queried that it might be prudent to wait till enough was in the kitty to pay for the paint job. The odd thing was that the residents rallied behind the Melbourne quote, mainly because of the debt being paid into the future. Now going into debt has never been my forte. Indeed, the opposite. I don’t ever buy anything without paying upfront. The exception being the occasional mortgage taken out to buy our home. Our credit cards never earned the banks any money. Never!

I tried to get answers but was stone-walled. After not getting responses from either the Body Corporate or other owners I went and asked for some guidance on rules from the overseeing governmental body ;the NSW Fair Trading Commission. By then the hostility was getting thicker. People ducked behind closed doors, the venetians were stirring and whispers were being overheard behind the Magnolias, roads in avoidance were skilfully being crossed. One owner started skipping. A strange and hostile neighbourhood was showing its slip.

The law was on my side and I had it in black and white. H and I turned up at the Extraordinary Meeting of the body corporate. I came prepared. I took my portable laptop. At the meeting I unfolded in a significant manner my light blue laptop.  I took the chair and as I had practiced a few phrases, such as “responsible governance, due diligence, contravention of corporate laws, accurate recording of meetings” together with a calm demeanour (but not without a few authoritative coughs in between), let fly.

There was a silence. You could cut the air. The other owners and the hostile manager all looked around. There was nowhere to hide. They all turned into mice.  See how they run, … see how they run!   They all ran to…..

A feeble attempt was made to still go with the Melbourne mob. Previously I had posted an e-mail with details of an $80.000,- underpayment made to its painters by the Melbourne mob, that was dealt with through an industrial Court, hardly a recommendation.

This is were I held my trump card. I had in black and white that no maintenance could be done without having the money up front. The meeting decided to go with the cheaper quote that I had obtained. An extra levy of $1000.- per owner had to be raised. They all filed out in silence. The cheaper quote was for a local painter for $ 29.990.- compared with the $43.995.- from Melbourne. Not a single ‘thank you’. I smell a bit of a ‘hand-0ut’ to the Body Corporate  from the Melbourne mob.  Milo smelled something too and it wasn’t a pig’s ear.

 

The latest! A tumultuous night.

It had to happen. A new Prime Minister for Australia. He is Malcolm Turnbull. A rich man who doesn’t need the job but whose whole adult life has been driven to become a PM of Australia. An ex-banker and  top notch legal eagle married to woman whose family  is famous and highly regarded. If Australia had royalty, the late Robert Hughes of the Fatal Shores and world’s best known art critic and his QC brother Tom Hughes would both be Emperors. Our new PM’s wife is Lucy Turnbull daughter of Tom Hughes. She was Sydney’s Lord Mayor during 2003/2004. It is of course one of the oddities of our language and  culture that a Lord can be a woman. It is no wonder things about the English lend themselves to great TV comedy. Of course a female Lord is balanced by a male worker in a hospital  called a sister or even, if of a higher order, Matron!

No matter what, last night’s drama was played out on TV. Millions settled on their couches after about 4pm and followed the show. The world of Twitter and face-book went in overdrive. A secret ballot ( the second within six months) was taken after all the Liberal MP’s, ministers, backbencher et all filed into Parliament House. It was great drama. The triumphant Malcolm duly appeared as the victor on TV and gave it his best not to look too smug, giving due praise to the vanquished Tony Abbott whose whole life had also been geared to become a PM. He did, but was unable to see out his first term as PM. Not a good rapport card!

It seems he was unable to shake off his perceived brilliance as opposition leader and for two years as PM remained as if in opposition while being PM, continuously attacking his opposition and failing badly to come up with anything  in the area of making policies. He was famous for three word slogans;  The perennial ‘stopping the boats’, ‘stopping  carbon tax’, ‘leaders not leaners’ and of course, ‘ jobs and growth.’ Of course, the Westminster system thrives on adversity and invites attacking in ‘holding to account’ much more than seeking consensus. He had great trouble resisting doing things on his own bat. The bizarre Knighthood to Prince Phillip was a huge blunder.

No matter what, as a human being he must be hurting badly. His ambition to be seen as a good PM now denied. He too worked towards that his whole life. He failed in becoming a Jesuit priest but overcame by entering politics.  Of course, he did manage to get to the top job but his defeat last night an unimaginable and undignified knock-out blow.  He would know as an ex boxer.  In leading one has to take the people with you. That was something he failed in. He kept making ‘captain’s calls’ and when there was a spill and secret ballot six months ago promised to be inclusive. He said and I quote “today is the first day of a new and more inclusive Government”. As the weeks went on, things went bad. Costly helicopter flights to private functions. All and sundry dipping into allowances, hiring limousines and whooping it up in overseas first class travel with spouses in tow.

It is strange, but the present state of our Strata- adventure seemed a bit like last night’s political drama. The people were not taken in consideration. A decision to spend $40.000,- was a captain’s call by a single person if ever there was. Of course the spending  of owner’s money without them knowing anything about that was ludicrous. How did anyone think they could get away with it? I had a call yesterday and spoke with the NSW’s Fair Trade and was reassured that an new meeting has to be held and that all owners have to be informed of a decision to consider painting. After that, if the majority approve, the sinking fund has to have the funds to pay for it, either by waiting or raising a special levy. Oddly enough, The dept. of Fair Trading  named as Strata Manager  someone I never heard off. Is there now a new manager? What happened to the old one?

We shall see.

 

 

The Strata-Plan. ( A re-post due to great demand.)

Pardon me Madam; your Body Corporate is showing

Sometimes, it is true, storm clouds gather in Strata-Titled communities joined at the hips by the regulations of The Body Corporate. They say, and many historians agree, Australia really got on its own when land ownership was denoted by giving parcels of land ‘Title’. This is how the name of “real Estate” came about. I remember my father being very puzzled when, after arrival in 1956, he assiduously queried the name of ‘real estate agent’. Are their estate agents that are not ‘real’, was his logical Dutch question?  Apparently before ‘Title’ people just put pegs in the ground and claimed it as belonging to them. People squatted by putting down their swag between the pegs and went to work tilling the soil, had babies and went to sleep in between. The document of Title was called Torrens named after a pioneer of Title, Mr Robert Torrens. Robert lived to a ripe old age of 94 and is buried at Rookwood. It is claimed the last words he uttered, were, ‘ I am feeling as Crook as Rookwood.’

However, and this is the crux of this little piece, when many arrived and populations grew faster than Torrens Titles could accommodate, many wanted to share the same block of land on the one single title. This was first used by large Italian migrant groups. We all know that ‘en famille’ around the’ tavola’ and forever ‘en casa’ is what makes Italian lives tick and has so for thousands of years. Not for them the world of segregated privacy and gloomy darkness with the enforced separation of the Robert’s Torrens Title.

It was an extraordinary large Italian family who just all wanted to remain together on the one parcel of land but living at close quarters. The name of this very large family was Signore et Signora, ‘Strata’. After seven years of marriage they had nine children. Both papa and mamma were very busy and fertile.  The family included many uncles and aunties, many of indefinable ages. They were born so many years ago, they simply never thought of the passing years. They just wanted to be able to see any new bambinas and sorellis at any given time of the day. A beehive of life and birth with the occasional death celebrated at Rookwood with copious amounts of Chianti with lots of calamari and prawns. It has to be said though, in respect for those dearly departed; many aunties would dress up in black. Some had also forgotten who they were mourning for, but that’s how Italian families functioned best. It was all a bit of a tradition and many had died so long ago. Mourning and feasting were always very close, almost the same. Both involved the intake of good food and plenty of it.

That’s how it was around the late nineteen fifties or so. They called their multi families property, the Strata en Casa.  Officials that visited this large community of Italian migrants felt it needed a more formal and Anglo name and decided on Strata Title. And that’s how the term ‘Strata Title’ was born. It was incorporated into statutes and made into a stern law. Soon many communities followed suit.

However, and we all know when ‘however’ is used, it is usually followed by a disclaimer or worse, some kind of dreaded bit of news. When the Strata Title was used and incorporated by those not used to communal life in order to get a foot-hold in a cheaper form of ‘real Estate’, (are their Estates that are not ‘real’?) it now is a “Title” thick with possible stirrings of discontent. Some people do not hold to common values and shared Strata ownership and insist on doing Torrens Title things. In other words, they want to do individual things on shared communal property.

Many annual Body Corporate meetings are now steeped in anger and misgivings about differences between both forms of Title. Both Mr Robert Torrens and the Family Strata used to live harmoniously together.

Not anymore now. Or so it seem and it has come to pass.