I'm not doing well with working hours that are too long. Half past ten last night, and something similar on a couple of other days this week. I had to miss jamesb's pub quiz because I hadn't had a chance to catch up on stuff at home. I'm missing out on chat time because I get home from work later than my girlfriend who is five time zones west of me. This is not good.
But most especially I'm not doing well with the taxman. Some of you know that I'm fairly paperwork-averse, but at least I did my last tax return reasonably promptly. Life was much better when I could just hand the stuff over to Anne and it all got done as if by magic.
I had a letter from the Inland Revenue in Reading to tell me that they don't have tax returns from me for 1997/98, 98/99, 99/00, 00/01. They've sent me a pile of forms an inch thick, and I hate doing tax returns. And my paperwork is buried in Anne's filing somewhere in her bureau or her filing cabinet or the attic or ...
My then employer ceased to trade on 31st December 2003. I can't go and ask former Boss A for the figures. I talked to the accountancy firm that used to act for them, and they don't have the figures. Anne could have dug out the figures in three minutes flat, but I can't go and ask her. I've asked to get the figures from the Inland Revenue in Portsmouth, and that'll take a week, and they don't have the figures for the earliest year, the year in which I got married. And the Inland Revenue in Reading would really like these forms in quite soon, please.
At least the only thing I got taxed on in the relevant years is salary. And that was through PAYE. I have the simplest tax returns of anyone I know, and I still hate doing them.