Please open immediately
Seriously Revenue chaps, please tell me the self-assessment form you sent me is just a bad, bad, confusing dream and I will wake up soon to find that all I actually have to do is tell you how much I earned and at what point I earned it.
The first instruction was simple enough to understand: "Open immediately". Well, I've already got that wrong (although three months after I got it surely isn't too shabby).
But am I offsetting my claim against earnings outside of allowances on total pocket/birthday/Christmas money received in the tax year 1983-4? Where is the extra form in which I detail the poems inside the birthday cards? Did I sign up for gift aid? Would I like any tax owing to be assigned to Beryl Reid? Would I like to use my tax code to fund criminal gangs in Bolivia? If Lucy drinks .7 litres of water and Sam leaves the house at 7.42am, who gets the Scalectrix for Christmas? I don't know, tax people! I DON'T KNOW.
Clever flatmate Caroline Vorderman (not her real surname) has taken me through the Form of Fear and pointed out the bits that I need to fill in. Just thinking about it makes my throat close with terror. If she wasn't there to guide me, I'd probably end up accidentally donating my car to an orphanage and falling down dead on the floor with a stress-induced heart attack.
Hopefully, this will never have to happen to me again. The two months that I was shoved mercilessly out of the warm and cosy cottage of P.A.Y.E and into the icy wasteland of self-employment will, I believe, scar me for life. Thank god they heard the frantic clawing at the door and let me back in.
The first instruction was simple enough to understand: "Open immediately". Well, I've already got that wrong (although three months after I got it surely isn't too shabby).
But am I offsetting my claim against earnings outside of allowances on total pocket/birthday/Christmas money received in the tax year 1983-4? Where is the extra form in which I detail the poems inside the birthday cards? Did I sign up for gift aid? Would I like any tax owing to be assigned to Beryl Reid? Would I like to use my tax code to fund criminal gangs in Bolivia? If Lucy drinks .7 litres of water and Sam leaves the house at 7.42am, who gets the Scalectrix for Christmas? I don't know, tax people! I DON'T KNOW.
Clever flatmate Caroline Vorderman (not her real surname) has taken me through the Form of Fear and pointed out the bits that I need to fill in. Just thinking about it makes my throat close with terror. If she wasn't there to guide me, I'd probably end up accidentally donating my car to an orphanage and falling down dead on the floor with a stress-induced heart attack.
Hopefully, this will never have to happen to me again. The two months that I was shoved mercilessly out of the warm and cosy cottage of P.A.Y.E and into the icy wasteland of self-employment will, I believe, scar me for life. Thank god they heard the frantic clawing at the door and let me back in.
posted by Elizabeth at 5:31 PM
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