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Tradie goes from broke to 18 homes, $11m after power move
Tradie goes from broke to 18 homes, $11m after power move

News.com.au

time6 days ago

  • Business
  • News.com.au

Tradie goes from broke to 18 homes, $11m after power move

They went from drowning in debt to having the kind of money lottery winners would envy. A trained electrician and nurse who were once bleeding $40,000 a year in losses have revealed the remarkable way they turned their lives around to get $11 million in property wealth over 18 properties. It's an unlikely empire that generates them nearly $542,000 a year in gross rental income – but it almost never happened. Michael Kowalczyk, 35, said he was in a desperate situation a few years back when his then eight properties were burning a hole in his pocket and, with a baby on the way, he was stuck. The father of four recalls it being a nightmarish scenario given how well he and wife Nicole had launched their real estate investing ambitions only a few years before. Mr Kowalczyk had bought his first property aged just 21 using money saved from his work as an apprentice electrician. He was also moonlighting at a local cinema. He had saved his deposit faster by living with his parents and being 'super frugal', he said. Wife Nicole had also got into the real estate game early, snapping up her first property at age 23 while working as a registered nurse. The couple had then used a combination of smarts, renovations and clever timing to leverage their investments into six more properties around the country by 2017. But that's when the problems started. 'Eight properties sounds like a great position, but it was hard,' Mr Kowalczyk said. 'We were relying on negative gearing and it was so overwhelming we considered selling everything.' With Nicole pregnant with their first child, the couple had to go through some hard introspection. It was a bitter irony. Mr Kowalcyzk had spent years chasing the dream of financial independence, a dream born from the memory of growing up in public housing in Sydney suburb Greenacre, watching his parents, Polish immigrants, struggle to make ends meet. Money had been tight growing up. The future, always uncertain. 'I didn't want my kids reliving what I did,' Mr Kowalcyzk said. An Epiphone helped turn the couple's fortunes around, he added. The couple realised they knew other investors who had succeeded in getting more than 10 properties without the same issues as them. 'Clearly there was something missing in the puzzle piece … we had to get more educated,' he said. What followed was a re-evaluation of the strategies they had used to build their property portfolio in the beginning. Mr Kowalcyzk's first investment had been a townhouse in the Western Sydney suburb of St Marys. It had delivered solid capital growth, giving him rapid equity to leverage into his next buy. Subsequent purchases used the same formula: they aimed for high growth properties that would rise in value quickly and allow them to pull out equity for the next purchase through refinancing deals. The missing piece was cash flow. 'We had to restructure the whole portfolio. It took us two years to turn it around from negative to positive and it cost a lot of money.' One of the other tactics that helped was expanding the types of real estate they purchased, often with a focus on acquiring properties with a dual income – such as those with granny flats. They also began to dabble in commercial properties, which typically have much higher rents relative to the purchase prices. Today, they get 21 rental incomes from their 18 properties because many are dual occupation sites. About $6.5 million of their $11 million portfolio is debt and the rest is held in equity. Mr Kowalcyzk said high rents relative to their mortgage costs mean the portfolio is cash flow positive after their expenses are paid. He added that they turned their portfolio around by working out their end goal and working backwards. 'In the beginning, things were a lot more emotionally driven,' he said. 'It's a common problem for investors. They don't start with any thought of what they want to accomplish. You have to think of what you want to do and how each property is going to (contribute).' The couple changed careers during the Covid pandemic. Mr Kowalcyzk worked as an electrician for close to 10 years but, with Nicole, is now a buyer's advocate after founding agency Tailored Property Group. They meet lots of budding investors and Mr Kowalcyzk said a common mindset often holds them back: they won't consider investing outside of where they live. 'We've bought in WA, NSW, Queensland and Victoria. You have to be open to where the opportunities are.'

Taking pride in a life well spent as a sparkie
Taking pride in a life well spent as a sparkie

The Guardian

time6 days ago

  • Business
  • The Guardian

Taking pride in a life well spent as a sparkie

Thank you, Adrian Chiles. You genuinely made me feel proud, reading your words (Kids, don't look to me for career inspiration. Look to your electrician instead, 16 July). For 47 years I've been honing my skills as an electrician, the vast majority of that time on a self-employed basis, with the added pressure that can impose. Work security is a real worry, especially during recession periods. So is chasing payments, the endless paperwork and the added burden and expense of Part P building regulations, which are constantly evolving with updates, new books to buy and exams to sit, plus one day a year spent with an assessor scrutinising your work. The body takes a battering, which becomes obvious as you approach retirement, and the goalposts on that look set to be moved yet again by those who have no idea what putting in a good shift means, with more years likely to be added to the state pension age. It's been great fun and absolutely fulfilling, though, learning how tools can simply and effortlessly be an extension of my hands. Thanks again for the recognition. Mark AbleyWing, Buckinghamshire Adrian Chiles should do a day of work experience with an electrician. If he has to chase out a cable run in a wall or scramble around a filthy, crowded loft swimming in glass fibre, he would find out what it really is like. I have a degree in chemical engineering; I left a career in that after four years to go into data processing and loved it, retraining on the go. Approaching 50, I had to retrain again, and I was a qualified sparkie for 15 years. It was bloody hard work, finishing the paperwork as late as 10pm. I did it because I had to. Some jobs were fun, but many were a grind. I'd happily have had a desk job on regular pay instead. Mike Joseph Chipperfield, Hertfordshire Have an opinion on anything you've read in the Guardian today? Please email us your letter and it will be considered for publication in our letters section.

The online activists trying to stop ICE from making arrests
The online activists trying to stop ICE from making arrests

Washington Post

time20-07-2025

  • Washington Post

The online activists trying to stop ICE from making arrests

Two decades ago, Sherman Austin decided the life of an internet activist was no longer worth the trouble. He'd landed in federal prison at 20 years old after investigators found instructions on how to make a bomb on a website he hosted. After a year behind bars, Austin retired his self-taught coding skills. He found work as a low-voltage electrician in Long Beach, trained in mixed martial arts and started a family.

Amanda Holden is left red faced as she makes an awkward confession about accidentally flashing her electrician in her garden
Amanda Holden is left red faced as she makes an awkward confession about accidentally flashing her electrician in her garden

Daily Mail​

time09-07-2025

  • Entertainment
  • Daily Mail​

Amanda Holden is left red faced as she makes an awkward confession about accidentally flashing her electrician in her garden

Amanda Holden was left red-faced as she made an awkward confession on Wednesday's Heart Radio. The TV personality, 54, revealed on her radio show with Jamie Theakston that she has been accidentally flashing her electrician. Speaking on Wednesday, Amanda revealed her back garden has been undergoing a renovation and that a time lapse camera was installed to help understand the layout. But in an embarrassing turn of events, Amanda revealed she didn't realise the camera was recording and had been naked in her garden during that time - as well as flashing her breasts to her husband Chris Hughes. 'We are having our garden done over the summer and I thought it would be really fun to put a time-lapse camera over the whole of our garden,' she said. 'He [the electrician] said "oh well I'll have to look at what we're doing for all the angles are right on that [time lapse]". 'Yeah he said it's been going for the last couple of days and I went "I am always naked in my back garden".' Amanda continued: 'No word of a lie, I have definitely been naked and then for a joke the other day, I was sorting something out in the garden and my husband waved at me, from the bedroom window, and I flashed my boobs at him Jamie Theakston asked: 'What's wrong with you?' 'Because I thought this is funny! And I went "woo-hoo!" like that,' Amanda replied, to which Jamie clarified: 'And that is all on the time-lapse.' Amanda replied: 'I had no idea! Because it was all stuck to a drainpipe which is black and the camera's black, I had no idea it was up and now Andy's going to be reviewing this footage and I need it all deleted! 'So it's all automatically uploaded to the cloud,' Jamie said, as Amanda confirmed it was. 'And can you access this footage on the phone? Asking for a friend?' Jamie cheekily asked. It comes one day after Amanda looked radiant in a butter lemon dress as she joined her lookalike daughter Lexi Hughes for Wimbledon. The radio presenter and her daughter Lexi, 19, were spotted leaving Global studios in London on Tuesday after Amanda's Heart Radio show. Amanda looked incredible as she changed from her all-white work attire into a butter lemon maxi dress, featuring a high neck and capped sleeves as well as a full skirt. Meanwhile Lexi opted for a summery white linen co-ord, consisting of a cropped sleeveless blazer and high-waisted flared trousers, while carrying an Aspinal of London Midi Mayfair handbag (£1,650). Amanda took to Instagram later that day to share a snap of her and Lexi sittingat Centre Court for the quarter finals of the Ladies' Singles. 'Centre court can't wait for this afternoon's play we fell so lucky @ she captioned the snap. Last week, Amanda put on a leggy display in a brown skort for a go-karting race in central London against F1 legend Jenson Button. After showing off her look in an Instagram video earlier in the day, Amanda was snapped arriving in sunny Leicester Square looking noticeably tanned. Sporting an all-brown ensemble consisting of the £125 skort from The Frankie Shop and a coordinated silk tank top from Mint Velvet, Amanda seemed thrilled to be trying her luck at go-karting. However it seems Jenson, who enjoyed a 17-year career in Formula 1, unsurprisingly got the best of the rookie as he was pictured whizzing around a corner in-front of Amanda. The contest was played in great spirits however, with the blonde stunner and the victorious Jenson embracing with a hug afterwards.

Inside Ukraine's drone-infested ‘grey zone' where machines are replacing men
Inside Ukraine's drone-infested ‘grey zone' where machines are replacing men

Telegraph

time05-07-2025

  • Telegraph

Inside Ukraine's drone-infested ‘grey zone' where machines are replacing men

The crack of a Ukrainian howitzer splits the air, mingling with the rumble of thunder. Then there is another sharp blast, followed by a sound similar to shredding paper as a Himars missile roars overhead. Unfazed by the orchestra of war, a Ukrainian electrician continues repairing a power cable severed during Russian shelling. Bust as he works, a less familiar sound signals a new threat: the insistent beep of a drone monitor. Even here – in a village on the outskirts of the front line in the eastern city of Pokrovsk – Russian surveillance and strike drones now maintain a constant presence. 'Keep your eyes on the sky and listen,' says Vitaliy Asinenko, a regional chief at DTEK Donetsk Grids, looking up at the lead-grey clouds. Artillery his men are used to; you hope it's aimed elsewhere and take your chances. But if one of the drones circling overhead decides to target the crew, they will have little chance of survival. In his hand, Vitaliy clutches the drone monitor, a £200 device first handed to employees last autumn. Its beeps - now sporadic - will become a single, high-pitched scream if a drone approaches, providing seconds of warning to take cover. Unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) have become ever-present more than 10km behind the trenches in both directions, making the front line perilously difficult to reach, or leave. In response, Kyiv's military planners are attempting to reduce the amount of men sent through this lethal 'grey zone' and replace them, where possible, with machines. But DTEK power company's work regularly takes it into the zone. To reach the damaged cables, Vitaliy drives in his armoured Land Cruiser and instructs The Telegraph to be ready to jump out of the door. 'There is a surveillance drone 400m from the car,' he says, as the beeps from the monitor get louder. 'It's following us.' The car turns into a corridor of anti-drone netting that has been recently erected over the 'road of death' into Poksrovsk, the city at the crux of Russia's summer offensive. The webbing is flimsy, albeit strong enough to entangle a light drone before it explodes. By the side of the road, soldiers fix a gap made by a recent artillery strike as one watches the sky with an anti-drone gun. UAVs – be it suicide, bomber or fibre-optic – cause around 70 per cent of all casualties in the war in Ukraine. Troops can no longer be safely transported to their positions inside armoured vehicles, a point one soldier illustrates with images of wrecked MaxxPro MRAPs on his phone. In one of the pictures, a charred torso lies face down in the blackened dust, arms flung into the air either side of its helmet. Evacuation is equally perilous and infantry now spend longer in their dugouts, unwilling to risk any journey unless it is absolutely necessary. In Dobropillia, one of the last towns en route to Pokrovsk, soldiers in uniform relax in cafes beyond the reach of the drones. A recruitment billboard shows the pilot of a first-person-view (FPV) drone standing back-to-back with an Iron Man-like robot, shielded by armour on all sides. 'We will give you the innovations to stop the enemy,' promises the 1st brigade. While soldiers who used to fire stingers or mortars retrain as drone pilots, Kyiv is also pioneering the use of robots that can travel across the ground, delivering supplies, retrieving the dead and, on occasion, carrying out attacks. 'We need to replace soldiers with robots,' Col Pavlo Khazan told his superiors in a 2023 presentation. Ukraine, he argued, could not match Russia's recruitment level, which is now around 8,000 soldiers per month. Nor does it treat its men like 'cans of meat' to be frittered away in suicidal assaults. One general told him he had ideas above his station, but the principle was endorsed by Gen Valery Zaluzhny, the former commander-in-chief of the Ukrainian army. Today, drones mean that fewer men are needed to hold the line on parts of the front, says Col Khazan, a former unmanned systems commander now serving in the field of electronic warfare. 'My grandfather used to be an artilleryman in the Second World War,' he adds. 'I have deep respect for the artillery and infantry.' But drones are cheaper than artillery and require fewer operators. 'We are well on the way' to an army of machines, he says, speculating on a future where drone swarms – not men – bear the brunt of assaults. On his last deployment, Ivan walked 8km (4.9 miles) to his position. The unit travelled at dawn, hoping to avoid the Russian drone pilots, who he says 'work mostly at night'. The team crept through the flat, tree-lined landscape, around 10 metres apart. Any closer would have made them an easy target; any further apart risks the lives of the wounded. The march was heart-pounding. Not far from his dugout, the 21-year-old machine gunner with the Da Vinci Wolves set up an automatic MK19 grenade launcher. 'We killed two a few days ago,' he says in between drags of a cigarette. The commander spotted a Russian advance and told the unit to raise their drone. Watching on his monitor, Ivan clicked on the soldiers' heads and the gun fired two 40mm grenades. 'Pof,' he says, slapping his skull emphatically. At the beginning of the war, the MK19 had a margin of error of 20 metres but with the drone it is more precise. 'If I tell you [why I'm in this unit], they'll definitely say video games cause violence,' Ivan says with a smile before listing his favourites: Minecraft, Stalker, World of Tanks. His friends have joined the same unit, which specialises in robotic platforms. 'We drank. We signed up. I'm standing here,' he says, gesturing to a dark hangar full of unmanned ground vehicles (UGVSs). He will return to the front next week. Ukraine has stabilised the lines around Pokrovsk since the turn of the year. The Russian army, blocked at the entrance to the city, is attempting a pincer movement. Magyar's Birds, one of Ukraine's elite drone units, has helped to slow their advances by picking off troops and supply lines up to 20km (12.4 miles) behind the front. Earlier this month, Robert 'Magyar' Brovdi, the newly promoted commander of Ukraine's unmanned systems forces, reorganised the reward system for confirmed kills to prioritise Russian drone operators. But Vladimir Putin is expected to throw more resources at the city, which would give Moscow a crucial foothold in its attempt to seize the entire Donetsk region. As the DTEK electricians work in the village near Pokrovsk, a group of residents gather by the roadside. Only 300 remain from a pre-war population 10 times the size. Most lack the funds to flee. Without electricity, the villagers are unable to draw clean water from their well. Food is scarce. On the other side of the road, a graveyard stretches through un-mown grass that rustles in the wind. Ambulance services and undertakers will not come here, so residents are forced to bury the dead themselves. Makeshift wooden crosses mark the more recent graves. 'It's nerve-wracking,' says a tall, thin man in a gilet and black tracksuit. 'There was a time when there weren't any drones, but now they're here every single day.' Only last week, a team of five Russian saboteurs was killed in the village. One of the DTEK employees is up a ladder resting against a pylon when – around 10 minutes after Ukrainian fire – the Russians launch a return volley. Four whoomphs can be heard in succession. 'Guided bombs,' mutters Vitaliy, 'closer and closer'. 'Can you see the mushroom clouds?' he asks the worker up the ladder, who pokes his head up to take a look. 'No,' he replies. Unlike last Thursday, they will not have to abandon the job and take cover. At a nearby substation, the power to the village is turned on again. 'On to the next one,' says Vitaliy, opening the car door to listen as another Himars flies overhead. In Pokrovsk itself, electricity is a distant memory. The city stinks of death and just entering has become a form of Russian roulette, says Vitaliy, who left not long after an Iskander missile landed on his neighbour's home. In a temporary office in the city of Dnipro, Serhiy Dobryak, the mayor of Pokrovsk, admits that the pendulum has started to swing in Moscow's favour, at least when it comes to drones. 'The Russians are mass producing drones now,' he says, his tired eyes behind a pair of rimless spectacles. 'Before let's say October 2024, we had an advantage in drone warfare, but then they caught up with us.' Most concerning is the arrival of the fibre-optic drone, which uses a system that trails a cable back to the operator like a child's toy telephone. Parked outside, the mayor's orange pick-up truck hosts a four-pronged drone jammer, but electronic warfare systems such as this are useless against the new weapon harnessing old-fashioned methods. Specialist Russian units are using them to devastating effect around Pokrovsk. Shiny spool covers the fields across no-man's land, glinting with dew in the morning light. 'We all laughed at them' when they first appeared, Ivan recalls. But he can remember the exact moment he came face to face with a fibre-optic drone: 9.54am on April 30. Unlike radio drones that need a pathway to the sky, fibre-optics can nose around enclosed spaces, similar to a snake tipped with explosives. That morning, the Russian drone exploded in Ivan's dugout while he was still sleeping. But it released no shrapnel. 'I woke up with stars in my eyes and my ears ringing,' he says, picking up a hand grenade in wonder. 'I was wearing one of these on my vest too. I can't believe it didn't explode.' Ukraine's catch-up operation leads to a nondescript house in the Donetsk region, where 'Lug' works at a desk surrounded by shelves that are loaded with cartons of spool. Each is marked by length: 5km, 10k, 20km. It is Lug's job to engineer the fibre-optics used by the Dovbush Hornets, a drone battalion with the 68th brigade, so they can rival their Russian counterparts. He lifts one with the appreciation of an artisan. 'It is a good drone,' he says. Different statistics on drone capabilities fly around. Russia is said to be able to trail at a maximum around 50km of spool behind its drones. For Ukraine, the figure is closer to 30km. Initially, Kyiv bought spool from China but now it manufactures its own, says Lug. With his soldering iron, electronic scales and magnifying glasses, he has spent the past few days trying to improve the detonation mechanism so there is not too much delay as the signal travels down the wire. Training pilots also takes time. Fibre-optic drones have to fly at lower altitudes, slower speeds and in an 'S' shape, so they trail enough spool behind the craft. Sharp turns are not advisable either. The drone's rotors can sever the cable, which is thin enough that it can hardly be felt even on your fingertip. Around 5 per cent of the drones used by the Hornets are currently fibre-optic, Lug says, but he proffers a video of proof for why the figure will rise. 'Good morning motherf----r!' one of the battalion's new fibre-optic pilots shouts, angling his drone towards a Russian soldier in a sleeping bag under a bridge. The Russian desperately kicks the drone away, but it loops back towards him. The camera cuts out and it's good night. If Ukraine is lagging behind in fibre-optics, it has edged ahead with its use of robot systems to retrieve its own casualties, so many of which are now caused by the homespun devices. In spring, Kyiv announced plans to deploy 15,000 UGVs to the front. As things stand, they are relatively rare – a reflection of the cost, novelty and troubles of poor weather. But supporters believe they will have an impact as transformational as the airborne drones before them. In April, the Da Vinci Wolves' robot platforms platoon began using the 'termite' to deliver weapons to the front and then bring back fallen comrades. Ivan gamely hops on the loading bay of the tracked buggy, which can carry up to 300kg. Two colleagues were brought to safety in the past week. 'It doesn't matter too much if you lose the system,' Ivan says. 'And you don't need to waste men as drivers.' Improvements in the communication systems mean that operators can now sit far away from the front line, fiddling with their joysticks in safety. Ara, one operator, says the unit's UGVs have killed around 100 Russians in Kamikaze attacks. In a gloomy corner of the hangar, he gives the nicknames of around a dozen vehicles parked side-by-side: Bandera, Shark, F--- Beaver. When Russian troops stormed a dugout in Pokrovsk, the Da Vinci Wolves sent in a Ratel S, driving the large-wheeled buggy equipped with an anti-tank mine over the rough ground and tipping it head-first through the opening. 'The whole dugout, together with the soldier, goes up in the air,' Ara says. 'God help us, it flew twice as high as the trees.' Before Vitaliy heads back to the DTEK headquarters in Dobropillia, he checks in at the Church of the Intercession of the Virgin Mary. Two small dogs bark manically in the courtyard. The windows of the golden-domed church have been replaced with plywood after they were shattered by drone strikes, the latest only a week ago. In one corner of the garden, a fully-intact quadrocopter lies among the flowers, almost like a miracle. 'We only have God to protect us from the drones,' says the gray-haired wife of the priest, throwing her arms open wide and gazing up at an icon on the front of the steeple. On the 'road of death', a high-pitched whine announces a lone personnel carrier before it can be seen. The vehicle is narrow and boxy. Inside are more men on their way to the front, their hearts, lungs and limbs still so frail in this war of the machines.

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