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Watch the Wall, my Darlin’s!

Accountant dutifully reminds me of that great impending day of festivity and joy – January 31st.  Prepare!   Bake!  Bring your own fireworks!  It’s Self-Assessment Day!   

And here – oh joy beyond expression! – is an extra frisson to excite!  His fees have risen in line with inflation!  Whose inflation?  My fees haven’t risen – my costs have, and not least among their number is my accountant. 

OK, a circular argument, I know.   But from this incendiary date springs the germination, the orange flowerof my revolutionary zeal.  Everyone has to pay taxes, one of life’s two certainties, and god knows I do – as a British citizen – oh!  Sorry!  as a British SUBJECT – I pay more tax pro rata than almost anyone else in the world.  My resentment springs from the need to employ an accountant, at substantial additional cost to myself, in order to render to Caesar.  If I don’t, as a small-fry tax-payer, I will certainly come under investigation from Her Majesty’s Revenue (who survive only by their unique skills in picking on small targets) and be subjected to further accountancy costs in order to fight my case.  No Legal Aid (remember Legal Aid – that was when we lived in something approaching a democracy?) no redress.  I will simply be hung out to dry by The System.    So, tax plus accountancy fees – to feed the Westminster leviathan with its repetitive nightmares of costly consultants and failed incompetent schemes?  I would infinitely prefer to have my money rowed over in darkness from France so I could at least take my chance with those merciless Cornish cliffs.

   The self -assessment website’s logo should be a drain.  I love my country, but can somebody tell me who put these god-awful people in it?…..

New Year’s Eve

That’s original, isn’t it?  I’m not sure of the significance of the New Year in the western Gregorian calendar – that is, I’m not even sure if we  start  in the right place.  And how far do you count back?   I mean, do you start with Jesus, because wasn’t he born somewhere around April, or something, or do you go right back to Adam and Eve?  Can someone tell me when fig leaves are in season?  It is refreshing at least to acknowledge that the grand old tradition of getting abominably pissed and stuffing ourselves silly has a reliable foundation:  the feast of the winter solstice is far older than Christianity and  far more logically anchored  – the last opportunity to use up the fresh produce from the fields before we all had to endure three months of pemmican and pickles on our way to spring.

Personally, I attach more importance to  Chinese astrology:  their New Year is not for some time yet,and involves lots of tempting things like fireworks and dragons:  I, by the way, was born in a year of the Dog, which may explain my attitude to lamp-posts and my slightly eccentric manner when approaching the opposite sex.

New year’s resolutions?  Well, I’ve become of an age when my only firm resolution is a determination to get to the next New Year.  Maybe this year someone will recognise my talent – maybe this year somebody will scrape the dust off this blog and actually read it?   

A brave new year to you, if you’re out there.