It used to be a percentage of your earnings. Plus a percentage of what you spent on non-critical stuff. Plus a percentage of any capital you gained.
Then one day, I woke up, and my finger was missing.
The tax man had come in the night, and like a psychotic anti tooth fairy, he lopped off a digit, and left me a receipt.
I don’t mind paying my fair share.
My finger went to a good cause. It’s now being used to type information slowly into a computer so that hospital appointments can be made.
I have a feeling that the toe he took the next year is now plugging a hole in an aircraft carrier.
And the ear the next year is now listening on a helpline for traffic cones.
I can’t help noticing that the rich people on my telly still have their fingers, toes, and ears though.