Worry

I’m worried about the budget next week.

To be fair to myself, there is probably a fair bit to be worried about!

It’s the first budget of a new government, secure in the knowledge that whatever they do, the electorate will have almost five years to get over it. It’s also the first Labour Party budget for a decade and a half, so is more likely to be a radical about-turn than a tweaking of what has gone before. The warnings of tax increases and ‘pain’ have been trotted out almost glibly for weeks now. And we’ve already had some hugely divisive announcements like the means testing of the winter fuel allowance.

If what is predicted comes to pass then I am likely to be hit on a number of fronts.

I am relatively well off. I own multiple assets which, when I dispose of them, will fall within the capital gains tax regime. I have a reasonable sized private pension pot (undrawn). I have an income which sits deliberately close to a tax threshold.

I feel a bit like a pinata at a toddler’s birthday party!

But I can’t control any of this. There is nothing I can do. I can’t change what is coming. So why worry?

Worry is one of those things that if you allow it to take hold it will beat the fuck out of you long before the toddlers get anywhere near! And if you’re not careful the beating that you get from worrying about what you can’t control will be far worse than the one you actually get from all those grubby little cake-covered hands!

What is a pinata’s favourite song?

“Que sera, sera…”