The Tax Year Though Gaveth, Lord, is Ended...

Today marks the official end of the tax year. So, let's get the dreaded self-assessment tax return out of the way on the first day it's due, shall we?

As if...

Let's usher in the season of procrastination that lasts until January the 31st at 23.59:59.

Except, sorry to sound swotty, but some fifteen years ago I made a pact with myself to never again spend those however many sleepless days at the end of January sweating in a receipts bath. I now do a mini-tax return each month from my bank statements, then simply tot up the running total on April 5th when I submit my HMRC self-assessment return. 

'Oh, bog off!' I hear you all cry.

And fair enough. 

Of all the self-employed professions, performers and cab drivers most frequently underpay tax; ergo they are the two professions most likely to be audited by HMRC. 

My advice on this is the Chinese proverb that says: Don't listen to them, go see.

I am not presenting the following examples as being definitive. It's not all, it's some. 

In fact, it's just a heap of three bizarrities. 

Anyway, don't listen to them saying this sort of thing:

'I claim for all my rent because I so often stay up late sewing costumes.' 

You cannot claim either for the hours when you're asleep, or for any other rooms besides the designated space you use to carry out any paid work. I doubt you wander all through the house from dusk to dawn sewing...

'I had my teeth whitened to make me more employable for television and film.'

Your teeth are now not just whiter for a role that might require it, they're whiter permanently. So, any loss claim here is unwarranted, unless you can prove that you re-stain your teeth for your down time.

'I'm the direct medium transmitting the performance and need to be in good physical health, so I claim for weekends at Champney's, including the full range of spa treatments.'

Just ringing the tax fraud hotline number now... 

  

Apropos, more usefully go see this, HMRC’s own guidelines: Expenses you can claim if you're self-employed...

PS — I did try and research the US equivalent of this. Yeesh alive! All I can say is, what a relief that in 1776 they scuppered their right to being a pretty pink on our map of the Empire any longer.

Keep all your receipts, contracts and diaries going back at least seven years. 

I've kept a Doings and Gubbins diary since 1999.  I write up my profit and loss entries for tax purposes and, on the same pages, notes concerning my work. 

For example:

15/12  Hours at desk writing blog: 6.22
16/12  Hours as desk sewing ballet ribbons: 0.36
16/12  Profit: £1,018 box office split Bath Rondo Theatre
15/12  Profit: £121 for eleven days house and pug-sitting. 
16/12  Loss: £22.50 train fare to Liverpool Street
16/12  Loss: £2.49 Foundation
16/12  Loss: £2.49 Lipstick
16/12  Loss: £9.99 Ballet tights
16/12  Loss: £4.99 Talcum Powder
16/12  Loss: £4.99 Mauve knickers
16/12  Loss: £5.80 Fuller's Honeydew.*

*I incurred this loss (actually, two pints) after I neglected to pack my tiara for a Christmas gig at Club Kaboom. Two city traders drinking outside The Rising Sun witnessed me filching festive flora from the railings of St Bart's Church to wear on my head instead.

Note on dog-sitting the pug:

Mr Timothy Beans-Moomin-Baa-Lamb must not be left home alone for longer than two hours. Otherwise, he will block re-entry to the house: slumped in desolation against the front door; he will have dug away quite an impressive amount of seagrass; and staged a dirty-protest on your pillow.

Note on Giselle, rising from the grave:

She would be cold and clammy, and the earth would fall away in clods as she came up.

Note on gigging at Club Kaboom: 

Be fully prepared to do your act to any music at all that DJ Dan might have left running while he's hors du combat at the far back corner of his booth getting head from Annabel, Chloé or (at a K-Hole push) that Royal Marine.

  

If HMRC sends you their first letter expressing that unhealthy interest in your tax affairs, reply with photocopies of similar diary pages to let them know just who and what they're dealing with. 

If they visit you to perform an audit-proper, answer the door wearing a crocheted, all colours of the rainbow beret; a yellow maternity smock; fly-fishing waders. Skip about. Cry Gather (making yourself as small as possible) then Give (jumping wide and upright, meanwhile chucking lilac petals over the HMRC inspector's head.) 

Groom him for lice. 

Ask him questions such as, 'Was it your poor child bricked up in the chimney?'

That sort of thing. 

And if things do go ill for you, just blame Jesus.  Not stopping at prostitutes and lepers, he consorted with Matthew of Galilee, thus bestowing holy kudos on tax collectors.

Sorry. 

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