It seems this year I am the taxman's bitch. He has me leather-bound to the bed posts while he penetrates every orifice.
I am reeling from the knowledge that, after spending most of this year totally skint (see any entry from earlier this financial year for an example about my poverty striken whinges), I enter up owing the tax office money. For a few months there I thought that I would be living in my car.
Since then I have worked my arse off to pay my debts. Working two jobs at times. I wonder why I bothered. The more you work, the more they tax you.
I don't know how this has happened. Maybe I should go check the figures one more time or look for stray receipts for charitable donations.