Have you ever wondered what kind of person submits their tax return on Christmas day? There’s a few thousand of them. Haven’t they got any friends or family to celebrate with? Are they such incredible multi-taskers that they can roast the turkey and file the figures? Or so time-starved that it’s the only opportunity to do it?
I can identify with the last category. Normally I’m a complete party animal. Yup, all my mates can confirm a typical weekend for me is a new Prada outfit, a bottle of Veuve, in the club ’til dawn and repeat. Thank goodness Fabric’s reopened, hey? Well, last Saturday night it all had to give way to the needs of HMRC. I made a cup of tea and larged it with the 2015-2016 tax year.
Meanwhile, Dear Daughter had a couple of friends around for a sleepover. What a misnomer – the top floor of the house was anything but restful. R&B boomed from her room as I toiled through my received UK interest table. On the upside, it is the only time I’ve ever connected with Jason Derulo: I had my sheets on the floor, although I’m sure my A4 wasn’t half as compelling as his sweaty red linen.
I tried to focus on whether I earned income from property but my mind kept slipping to a more pertinent question: is Drake the most predictable rapper performing today? After three of his tracks at volume ten, I could say I was quite familiar with his work: narrow range, limited subject matter (lucky for him Fabric’s back in action too). Every song sounds the same – although funnily enough my parents used to say that about Duran Duran.
Fortunately I was spinning my own bangers. With Mr Minted’s input, we discovered that even though I had stopped claiming child benefit, it was still being reclaimed from his tax code – an absolute ‘choon’ as we saved a couple of grand fixing that. We also have a joint account where some of the share dividends fall into my unused allowance so we liberated some income there. For me, the real chart-topper was the final scores on the doors: HMRC owed me £92.50.
Pouring a small vodka as a reward, I danced around the kitchen thinking about what bling – hotline or otherwise – I could get with my refund. Yes, I’ve got cash! I’m gonna spend it on designer clothes and drive my Ferrari. You’re gonna watch me in the club and … Oh my god, it’s the next Drake release! I toasted old Benjamin Franklin. You were almost there, big guy. There’s nothing more certain than Drake and taxes.
See the SMM guide to paying tax here.