I have been up to my eyes today.
I have had a bellyful of talk of taxes and difficult budgets and hair shirt times. Listening to the news these days is a fifty Prozac job. Even Sharon looks depressed.
I decided to do something about it.
So now all my spare cash is nicely tucked away where no fucking tax man can find it. I also now own a nice little drop of gold bullion. The little I have for day to day expenditure is in a foreign bank too. Just in case the tax man does hear about my shenanigans, I have registered myself as a charity.
That takes care of tax.
The problem then is how to avoid VAT and duties.
I have established a nice supplier of tobacco that the excise men are unaware of. I’m not bothered about the excise on drink as I know Pullit has his own dubious sources for the village pub. That just leaves petrol. There isn’t much I can do about that, as I refuse under any circumstances to go electric. I would rather be castrated with rusty shears than satisfy that fucking Green Party. I’m thinking of converting the car to run on waste chip-oil from the chipper in the village. That would have the nice advantage of stinking the place out, too. Just to be on the safe side, I have told the tax people that I am back in business, so if I do inadvertently pay any tax, I can claim it back.
It has been a lot of trouble, but it’s worth it.
There is no fucking way that clusterfuck of a government is going to get any cash from me to bail out their buddies.
I earned my nest egg.
They can go fuck themselves