I’m writing this on a ferry, going to Europe. Why Europe? Because every now and then I like to eat fruit and vegetables that aren’t rapidly self-destructing after hideous journeys and because, in Europe, there’s a chance I can earn bits of money. Many arts workers now find working outside the UK impossible, so I’m very lucky in this regard. Still, HMRC no longer processes the forms that prevent me from paying double tax on overseas earnings. So I pay double tax. Can I claim it back? That remains a bit of a mystery. But you’re welcome, Europe – enjoy your relatively functional infrastructure and wide range of perky tomatoes. Never mind – you say tomato, I say: Are these rancid objects meant to be sweet potatoes, or goblin testicles? Both? Jeremy Hunt, the chancellor of the exchequer, popular Freudian slip and Norman Bates lookalike, is trying to scare the bejesus out of us with a fiscally impossible plan to abolish national insurance. But most of us have no bejesus left to give. If he announced he was issuing woodchippers to every Department for Work and Pensions office so they could just be rid of pesky pensioners, poors and sickies, that would simply feel like an average Tuesday.
But I shouldn’t think of that – too stressful.
