"Penitenze age!"

So I followed the advice of the old heretic in "Name of the Rose" and did our taxes, a task that most years is not coincidentally performed in Lent. Once again, the gummint wants vast wads of cash from me and once again I pull Sarah Caudwell's magnificent "Thus Was Adonis Murdered" from the shelf and review her description of Julia Larwood's plight. I assure one and all, especially any federales who may have stumbled across this site, that unlike Julia, I do file the necessary forms every year and as accurately as I can. But nonetheless I relate to Julia. At some deep level I very much relate.

I raised another question which was perplexing me. 'It all sounds,' I said, 'very expensive. How can Julia afford it? I thought that the Inland Revenue had reduced her to destitution.'

Julia's unhappy relationship with the Inland Revenue was due to her omission, during four years of modestly successful practice at the Bar, to pay any income tax. The truth is, I think, that she did not, in her heart of hearts, really believe in income tax. It was a subject which she had studied for examinations and on which she had thereafter advised a number of clients: she naturally did not suppose, in these circumstances, that it had anything to do with real life.

The day had come on which the Revenue discovered her existence and reminded her of theirs. They had not initially asked her for money: they had first insisted, unreasonably but implacably, that she should submit accounts. They had shown by this that they were not motivated by a just and lawful desire to fill the public purse for the public benefit: their true purpose was to make Julia spend every evening for several months copying out the last four years' entries in her Clerk's Fee Book on an old typewriter that did not work properly. I myself am not entirely sure that the age and defectiveness of the typewriter were an essential feature of the Revenue's planning. But Julia was: every time it stuck, her bitterness towards them deepened. The Revenue, on receiving the result of her labours, had uttered no word of gratitude or commendation. They had demanded a large sum of money. More than she had. More, according to her— though I think that she cannot be quite right about this— than she had ever had. More than she could ever hope to have.

In this extremity, she had appealed to her Clerk. Julia's Clerk is called William, an older man than Henry, and perhaps more indulgent. It took a mere two hours of sycophantic pleading, freely laced with promises of perpetual industry, to secure his assistance. He sent out fee notes, as a matter of urgency, requesting immediate payment from those solicitors who were indebted to Julia for her services.

His efforts raised a sufficient sum to pay the Revenue, but left Julia with nothing to live on. Or at any rate with only so much as might support the bare necessities of life. I did not see how she could afford to go to Venice.

'The unhappy events to which you refer,' said Selena, 'occurred some months ago. That is to say, in the financial year which ended on the fifth of April. On or about that date, the Revenue wrote to Julia, reminding her that they were now entitled to another year's accounts.'

'And Julia was jolly miffed,' said Cantrip. 'Because the way she saw it, she'd done her bit as far as accounts were concerned.'

'But she consoled herself,' said Selena, 'with the reflection that it was only one year's accounts and couldn't be as bad as last time. So she went back to her typewriter and in less than three months prepared her accounts for the previous year.'

'But since,' said Ragwort, 'her income for the previous year included the rather substantial sum raised by William to pay her previous liabilities to the Revenue — '
'She now owes them even more than she did last year. And she's really rather despondent about it. Because it seems to her that every effort she makes to reduce her liability will in fact simply serve to increase it. And it is difficult to point to any fallacy in her reasoning.' Selena gazed sadly into her coffee cup.

'It is still not clear to me,' I said, 'why she now feels able to afford a holiday.'

'It is true,' said Selena, 'that if she takes a holiday, she can't afford to pay the Revenue. But if she doesn't take a holiday she still can't afford to pay the Revenue. On the sheep and lamb principle, she has decided to go to Venice. I think it's very sensible. She will return to London spiritually refreshed and able to cope with life.'

Sarah Caudwell wrote three more in this, for want of a better name, the "Hilary Tamar" series. Alas, she died in the year 2000 so there will be no more. If you find any of the four that exist - you'll find them named at the link - don't fail to pick them up. A wonderful read, every one of them. Even if you're not trying to clear your mind of Form 1040 nightmares.