If, like me, you’re convinced you’ll never be truly happy until you’ve shinned up the greasy pole it is easy to forget that not every high-status indicator is desirable. For instance, if I had £100 million my wife’s constant threats to divorce me might actually carry some weight. Then there’s the fate that befell David Ross, the co-founder of Carphone Warehouse, over Christmas. I’ve lost count of the number of Lithuanian girls who’ve stormed out of my house at 4 a.m., but since I’m not a ‘Tory tycoon’ the tabloids couldn’t care less.
However, all of these disadvantages pale into insignificance next to a letter I saw pinned to a friend’s fridge on New Year’s Day. ‘Dear XXXX,’ it began. ‘I would like to welcome you to the HM Revenue and Customs High Net Worth Unit and let you know about new arrangements for dealing with your tax affairs.’
At first glance, the letter appeared to be quite innocent, as if these ‘new arrangements’ had been put in place entirely for my friend’s benefit. It continued: ‘The High Net Worth Unit has been set up to focus on the needs of the country’s wealthiest people to make it easier for them to get their tax affairs right.’ Sounds reasonable, right? But wait until you hear just how the HMRC intends to ‘focus’ on my friend’s ‘needs’.
According to the letter, the Revenue has empowered one man — a ‘single point of contact’ — to help my friend with his returns. This man’s ‘role’ includes ‘developing a sound understanding’ of my friend’s ‘financial interests’ and ‘leading a team of experienced tax professionals’ to ‘assist’ him in dealing with my friend’s ‘affairs’.
In other words, the HMRC has appointed some Javert-like figure to lead an army of beady-eyed accountants to go over my friend’s books with a view to extracting the maximum amount of tax.
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