The sole item in this morning's post was a brown envelope marked 'HM Revenue & Customs'.
Most Brits will be familiar with the feeling that the cold, clammy hand of the tax inspector has just gripped them on the back of the neck when such a letter lands.
True to form it seems that I owe them some money. They've kindly agreed to extract it from me over the twelve months of the next tax year.
There's a lot of taxation about the place, but representation seems in devilishly short supply.
Anyway, I'm not going to start dumping tea in a convenient harbour.
I do have
some standards.
