Lucky Pennies

By J King

LET ME SHOW YOU HOW TO SAVE YOURSELF RICH THROUGH PROPERTY INVESTING ... and to SAVE yourself FROM … • Relying on a pension that may not exist and deciding between buying a tin of soup or heating your home aged 77! • The dreaded rat race and working for someone else! • Wave goodbye to being a slave to a stupid rota or some other type of really annoying schedule! • Working HARDER and LONGER for LESS and LESS! This is just plain nuts!• Missing precious family time! Your children are growing up without you while you sit at work all day trying to dodge your boss's stale coffee breath! • A life-time paying the Taxman (or as he’s better known in this book, old Scar Face!) far too many of your Lucky Pennies!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781326074319

Book preview

Lucky Pennies

LUCKY PENNIES

How to Save Yourself Rich through Property Investing

J. King

Copyright

Copyright © 2014 Jahlyn King

All rights reserved.

Lulu Digital Edition

Also Available in Print: ISBN: 978-1-326-01497-1

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Published by: Powerhouse Publishing

Printed and bound in Great Britain.

This book is dedicated to my mother -

because watching her struggle,

I had to find another way ...

In memory of Raffaele

Acknowledgements

I would like to say thank you to all the following people.

My family: I could not have achieved all that I have without the family that stands behind me. It was through the most painful moments of my life - boarding the plane after each brief visit home from Saudi Arabia - that I realised how much every single one of you mean to me. This, for me, was the most valuable lesson of working abroad, allowing me to realise how lucky I am to have you all.

My best friends: Teresa, Elaine and Vanessa. Thank you for all your love and support throughout the years. The endless cups of tea, gossip and shoulders to cry on have kept me going. Thanks for the times when you’ve held my hand through the darkest times, when the dream was in my heart but I didn’t know how to yet achieve it, and during the resulting frustrations. Thanks for telling me to keep going and not give up. My three unofficial sisters!

Shaun, the man with tools (and a bright yellow van!) You have the knowledge, skill and dedication to tackle anything that any property throws at you. Thank you for being there through the ups and (many) downs! Thank you for your excellent standard of work, always. A true professional, advisor, and dear friend.

Thank you to Nigel Mathers and all those at John Charcol Mortgage brokers, for your professionalism and excellent service.

Thank you to all the property investors that I have rubbed shoulders with, past and present, for your knowledge and guidance over the years. Thank you to all my colleagues - especially the wonderful hard-working nurses who have worked alongside me over the years. All your encouragement and well wishes will never be forgotten.

A big thank you to Stephanie Hale, for all your expert guidance with the book itself and the following promotion. The insider strategies, expertise and vast knowledge base has been invaluable to the success of this book.

Thank you also to Lou McDonald for building me a fantastic website! At least I now know that ‘hosting’ is for websites too and not just dinner parties!

Dad, though you have not been there, I know you care. Today as a grown woman, I can honestly say that is enough. Thank you for passing the love of bricks and mortar down to me.

Thank you to all my patients for making my nursing career very colourful and so rewarding.  Those of you whose stories touched me, or who needed the most care, you are forever in my heart. Thank you for reminding me to be grateful for all that I have: my health, my mind and family.

Thank you to Gavin Barry - my mentor, my friend. Thank you for polishing this very rough diamond. It’s through your guidance and support that I’ve carved out a business from all the scraps of paper covered with endless arrows and doodles. I saw in your eyes that you believed in me from day one and for that I will always be grateful. When I wobbled and stumbled along the road, it was your wise words of encouragement and support I remembered and which helped me get back up. Thanks for pushing me out of my comfort zone and for making me strive to achieve all that I set my heart on. I have learned so much from watching all the hard work, determination and sheer strength you put into your business. I am in awe of your amazing success. You are my inspiration.

Thank you to my sister, Isha. My very best friend and twin 10 years apart. Thank you for being there. The three-hour chats that have seen me crying with laughter have carried me through when life became too much to handle. I remember the moment you were born. The little scrunched up bundle would turn into the beautiful young woman I am very proud to call my sister. We didn’t have much growing up. I will never forget sharing a bag of sweets as we walked and talked to wherever we were going. We never had enough for a bag of sweets each or the bus fare! Ha ha. We didn’t care, we had each other, and that will never change.

The biggest and the most heartfelt thank you goes to the person who really I couldn’t have done this without. My mother. The strongest and kindest woman I know. I love you more than life.

Times have been hard. I watched everything you did for me and Isha: how hard you worked, how many jobs day and night, and the money still did not stretch.

It was watching you that I had to find another way - so I made it my life’s work to give you the life that you deserve more than anyone. From making curtains for the flat in Stratford, listening to my heartache or latest crazy dream, you’ve always been there. You are selfless and loving as any mother could hope to be. Though times are hard, you still do the things that take my breath away and have me in tears. Letting yourself into my flat, cooking me dinner, filling the washing machine. Even laying out the plate and cutlery and then leaving again before I got home from those long draining shifts at the hospital. If I can be half the mother you are to me when I have children, I will be satisfied.

Thanks to the Lord above for his guidance and gentle hand. He is the biggest and most important business partner of all. He’s given me this opportunity to help others, firstly as a nurse but now hopefully on a larger scale.

Thank you for the life you have given me.

To anyone else I have not mentioned here … thank you.

This book is for You!

If you think investing is boring and is only for gentlemen in the city with long umbrellas and bowler hats, then this book is DEFINITELY for you. Don’t look over your shoulder! Yes, I mean YOU!

This book is also for all those people who know they should invest something, but find themselves doing the following instead:

... Watching the latest drama in EastEnders and Coronation Street, which take all year leading up to the Christmas special - who’s going to get shot/find out the baby’s not his; the will they/won’t they affair of the year; someone realising they were adopted as they ‘happen’ to find their birth certificate while packing for Ibiza (delete as appropriate).

... Screaming at the telly at the latest result, but still refusing to vote in X Factor, and definitely for those who have a guilty addiction to The Only Way is Essex. Oh, the glamour! So fake, but so addictive!

... Socialising with great mates in the pub, or throwing some fantastic shapes together on the dance floor, dancing away the week’s stress ...

... Selling bits and bobs on eBay ... then wondering if it’s all worth it when you’re standing behind the 99 pensioners at the post office slowly losing the will to live ...

... Curled up in Starbucks or Costa with a juicy new book (this is me).  Do NOT disturb me! The coffee machine may have exploded AND the beans on fire! But who cares? He’s about to KISS her!!!

... Updating your Facebook page to make out what a fantastic life you have, to out-do that ‘Kelly’ from school with her perfect life! You’ll show her!

... Trying to work out if buying 2 for 1 in Tesco’s ready-meal selection is a better offer than buy 2 and get the 3rd half price! Why do they make it so difficult?  Why don’t they stick a £1 sticker on everything and make it easier? It’d save the brain ache of trying to work out which one is cheaper!

… Sneaking into Pound Land or the 99p shop and buying lots of stuff and then using a carrier bag from a less embarrassing shop to take it all home - feeling smug inside that you’ve got a bag full of bargains in an old Marks and Spencer’s carrier bag!

The Drive

Squashed on the Central Line Tube.

Smelly breath being puffed into my face and more people squeeze on, the man behind has his Metro newspaper wedged tightly between my butt cheeks  ... Nice!

Bloody hell, it’s only Monday. How much more can I take?

But all is not lost ...

Why ...

Because of my lucky pennies ... I spend one and then save one!

This means that one day I won’t have to do this for much

longer.

I’ve worked just over 12 hours today. I’ve hardly had a break.  I am an exhausted nurse. My back, my feet and head all hurt but not as much as my heart. My mum was cooking dinner for me today. We had plans. I was due to be there at 6pm, but a problem with staffing meant I couldn’t leave on time. 

It’s not the first time. It certainly won’t be the last that work has taken over my life. I’ve phoned mum and apologised. She’s put the dinner in the fridge as I won’t be able to get round to hers tonight.

It’s nearly 9pm when I finally get home. I’m more than resentful.

I’ve missed time with my mum; unacceptable, unforgivable.

As I wipe away the tears of exhaustion and frustration, I say to myself, ‘It won’t always be like this’.

Sitting alone in my flat, eating toast, I don’t lose hope because I spend one, save one.

I’m telling you this so you can see what drives me to invest. What drives me to get out of the rat race. What drives me to be my own boss, to be in control and work my own hours.  What drives me to be more than I am today.

Introduction

This book is written to show people that I’m just like you. If I can do it, you sure as hell can.

No need for any violins, but I was brought up with my sister by my mother and the support of a loving extended family. We lived on a council estate and I went to a regular comprehensive school run by some scary looking but lovely nuns.

I loved all the things that young girls did back then: Take That and New Kids on the Block; Just 17 and Smash Hits magazines.

But from an early age, I knew I was different. I wanted the life I knew others had. So even though I chatted, giggled and swapped posters of pop stars in class, when I got home, I studied hard (after Neighbours and Home and Away, of course). Good grades, followed by a place at City University nurse training.

Once a qualified nurse, I found I could never settle. I had this feeling deep inside. It felt strange, sometimes almost uncomfortable.

I couldn’t talk about the ‘career’ I had spanning out in front of me with happiness and relish, like my colleagues did over endless cups of tea in the staff room. I was not satisfied.  Something just didn’t fit.

I loved my patients and have boxes of cards and photos from grateful people and relatives that grew and grew as the months turned into years. It is the love and affection of those very patients and their relatives that got me through some very rough days and nights on the wards.

What I hated with a passion were the hours, the red tape, the politics and -worse of all - the devil of a rota. Show me a rota and I will turn green, steam will plume from my ears and I will combust! There’s nothing worse for me than receiving a rota showing all the nights and weekends that have been stolen from you a month in advance. These are the shifts that have been allocated for you to work to cover the shifts in your place of work.

God, forbid, if you forget to request your birthday off! You’ll be humming ‘Happy birthday’, while collecting full-to-the-brim steaming bedpans or holding the patient’s hair out of the way of a rapidly filling sick bowl. Nice! That is really hard.

How dare you plan my life? Who the hell do you think you are? You’re my manager? Manager of what exactly? My job or my life? Or is that one and the same thing? I may not want to work on that Wednesday 23rd of March, I may want to lie in my bed (or Mr Right’s bed, if I’m lucky!). Thank you very much. Clear off and take your rota with you!

Oh, I almost forget, this is the best one! You have to choose whether you would like to work Christmas OR New Year. It should be considered illegal to mention ‘work’ and ‘Christmas’ in the same sentence. I choose to work neither Mr Manager! Also, I’ve found a really nice, warm place where you can stick your Christmas rota!

Set me free from this horrendous rat race!

Just can’t get no satisfaction

For 14 years I’ve had to work on New Year’s Eve (well there’s no way I was going to work Christmas)! The shifts normally started at 7.30am and finished around 8.30pm. By the time you get home, eat and have a bath there’s barely enough time to stick your false eyelashes on before Big Ben rings in the New Year. What’s the point? You’ve been working all day and are knackered anyway before the fun even starts. Your legs are wobbly before you’ve even hit the dance floor from standing at work for 12 hours. Total rubbish!

Working Christmas was the worst of all. I have done it a few times. Awful! I don’t want to be sitting there eating a rubbery lukewarm Christmas dinner from the canteen when all my family and friends are screaming over the big finale in EastEnders! ‘Oh my god, he’s found out about the affair’ or ‘she’s found out that her brother is her dad’ or whatever! Christmas is sacred family time, so I was happy to work New Year, but just once it would be great to have both off and join the human race.

I completed my midwifery degree shortly after I qualified as a nurse. I qualified as a nurse on a Friday in September 1999 and started my Midwifery Degree the following Monday. So yes, I had a weekend’s break in nearly five years of continuous study. I was that desperate to be the one thing I’d always dreamed of being, a midwife.

What a really great profession! I loved delivering those squeaking, flapping babies into the world, but I still wasn’t happy deep down inside. There would be the moment of pure amazement when the baby’s little chest moved signifying the drawing in of the first breath. The first squinty peak of the baby’s eyes from over the edge of the blanket, used to take my breath away as much as any parents.

Sadly, the feeling of discontentment soon showed up at my door, and after a few years, my career was becoming more and more dissatisfying. The chronic underlying shortage of midwives meant I was just working on a delivery production line. I was unable to give people the individual care I so wanted to give. It was just: pull the baby out and shout, ‘Next!’ Forget about breastfeeding help or baby care advice. ‘No time love, I’ve got six other women to care for and a mountain of paperwork to complete for each one!’

Stressed up to my eyeballs

Over-worked and stressed up to my eyeballs. I put on weight and developed a whole list of allergies and intolerances. More and more hair fell out. I’d find more and more black curls on the pillow and glugging down the plug hole. I was heading for a breakdown, physically, mentally and spiritually.

Then it happened.

I was struggling to cope in the middle of one particular shift. I had four women who had delivered and one woman in advanced labour (just to highlight the point of how I was looking caring for NINE humans (five women + four babies) on this particular day.

I spoke to the midwife in charge and asked for help. There was a fresh batch of midwives arriving for the afternoon shift, so I asked if someone could take over the care of one or two of my already delivered ladies. It was around 2pm. I had not even had a break. Yes, that means no food and probably just a few mouthfuls of lukewarm sugary tea to keep me going. More importantly, I would not have been any good to anyone if an emergency had reared its ugly head.

I was immediately told, ‘No, this isn’t possible’, as the new incoming staff had a rota to sort out in the office before they could be put on the ward and look after any women. So the paperwork was really more important than the lives of those woman and newly-delivered babies?

Enough is enough

Your staff midwife is standing in front of you about to collapse, telling you that she can’t give safe or effective care and this is your response? What planet am I on? These are the people running your wards! Forget the stupid rota: these patients are the most vulnerable people we care for. Four brand new babies who have recently taken their first breaths, with no midwife watching over them. Anything could happen!

I walked up and down the ward and sat down with each set of parents to explain to them that I was leaving. They understood my reasons and that I was putting their care first. The only woman who got really upset was the one in active labour. She begged me to stay. She didn’t want to let me go as she wanted me to deliver her baby. I explained that they would give her a fresh midwife to take over and that it was in her best interests that I hand her care over.

All I was really doing was popping my head around the door, checking the baby’s heartbeat and rubbing her back with words of encouragement.

It was just a few minutes of human contact before I had to dash off to the woman next door to check her caesarean wound and help her get to the bathroom while the other woman was yelling for help with breastfeeding. I’d run past with a plastic doll and shove it on my chest and say ‘do it like this’ as I whizzed past the end of her bed!

It was all too much. I was only human myself. I could see myself going back into the room to the woman in labour, after being away from her for too long,