Let's tax again

Finished it at last!

At something of a crossroads in life over twenty years ago, I did a bit of soul searching. I realized that being rich was not an ambition, just having enough money to enable me to spend time doing those things I enjoyed. So, I stopped trying (not having bothered that much anyway). In hindsight, the logic was pretty stupid, I’ve NEVER had enough cash to do all the things I enjoy. I suppose what I really meant was that I didn’t and don’t get a kick out of reading bank statements with lots of noughts all written in black. Put more succinctly, I make money to spend not to keep and count.

Partly as a result of that wayward thinking, my financial affairs are not that complicated. Nevertheless, once a year, I have to report them to the taxman.

It isn’t all just numbers, wading through the differences between “resident but not ordinarily resident”, “non-resident but domiciled” and “domiciled, ordinarily resident but a non-resident landlord” is necessary before the full stop symbol is allowed to become a decimal point. That last one describes me, by the way, (non-resident landlord not a decimal point!) in Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs (HMRC) speak.

Talking of HMRC, HM Customs had, and may still have for that matter, powers so Draconian that those of the notorious Nazi SS were modeled on them. Under the name of Customs and Excise, they had the right of entry to search any premises, private or business, at any time, under their own authority and without having to give a reason. It’s best not to mess with them then.

With that last thought in mind, out came the full armoury of bank statements, spreadsheets and receipts, all marshalled under the leadership of MicroSoft Money before the well-checked numbers were fed into another piece software, TaxCalc which in turn talks to Mother, otherwise known as HMRCs master computer for receiving on-line tax returns.

When Mother speaks you listen and obey. This year she was kind, announcing that I had overpaid tax. Would I perchance like to leave it with her, or gave it to charity, or (be sure about this) would I like it back? Such is the power of HMRC that I actually gave the question a few milliseconds thought before plumping for having it back and by electronic transfer immediately please not a cheque in the post. No, Mother, please do not misinterpret what I said before as a dislike of money - oh no, not at all.

It used to take my father a week, with not just the dining room table but the floor of that room being littered with papers and a menacing buff form before his Eureka moment of … "It's done for this year!"

So what I've finished is the tax return and not all my cash yet.