I’m not sure I should write this. It might be seen as political. I don’t want it to be. I just want to have a bit of a rant. If that’s the right word.
First off, I need to confess something.
Something really embarrassing.
I don’t work for a living! There. I’ve said it. It’s out.
I generate income from investments. Oh my god. But at least I’ve come clean.
I’m not a “worker”.
The debate recently ahead of the budget (and one that will continue for years, I would guess) is about who “working people” are. According to the government working people are people who earn money in the form of a pay packet or salary. I think that means anyone who earns income from swapping their time for wages.
By that definition I am not a working person.
That’s not to say that I’ve never been a working person. My income isn’t from inherited wealth or some huge trust fund. But I don’t think that matters.
The debate stems from election manifesto pledge to not raise taxes for “working people”.
And the general feeling circling this debate about who workers are and are not is, in very simplistic cave-person language, that “Workers, good. Not workers, rich. Rich BAAAAD.”
This simple dichotomy masks a million different subtleties that are clearly lost on todays electorate. These days everything seems to be reduced to a binary. We seem to have lost the capacity for much middle. But that’s a rant for another day.
I’m not rich. I just have enough. But I am not a working person. Therefore in the eyes of many I must be BAAAAD. And that makes me (and all the BAAAAD people like me) fair game in the hunt for more tax.
And it puts me on the wrong side of an arbitrary line drawn to divide us into binary camps. Like good and evil, right and wrong, haves an have nots.
So I guess that I owe an apology to all the working people.
I’m sorry.
Even though I had a paper round from age 12, added a car cleaning round from age 13 and a job washing dishes in a pub from 14, the fact that all the money I earned went to save up my own spending money for the annual foreign holiday means that I had a privileged upbringing. For that I can only apologise.
I’m sorry that I studied hard at school. I’m sorry that I got good exam results. That was probably a fluke and I’m pretty sure I didn’t deserve them.
I’m sorry that after college and after working for three years in both public and private sector jobs and after failing in my first ever business I didn’t continue my worker status driving a fork-lift truck on night shifts in a warehouse. I’m sorry I chose to go to university.
I’m sorry that, unlike all my mates who were buying fast cars at 19 and spending money on designer clothes and holidays, I bought a house. I am sure that I deserved the 15% mortgage interest rate.
I’m sorry that my first house went up in value and that I used the money to fund my university degree. I perhaps should have been more normal and blown it on holidays and shit.
I’m sorry that after three years of university study I managed to secure a job in a law firm earning less than I used to earn driving a fork-lift truck. But I needed the experience. I needed that to be able to secure a low-paying training contract so that eventually I’d be able to qualify as a solicitor.
I’m sorry that after working for several years for someone else I took a huge risk and set up my own law firm. I mean, at first you could hardly call it a law firm – it was just me in a windowless office with just one client. So I’m sorry if it sounded like I was bigging it up!
I’m sorry that I worked long hours. I’m sorry that I tried my best to do the best job I could for my client. I’m sorry that meant that they recommended me to others and I’m sorry that meant that my business had to grow.
I’m sorry to all the people I employed. I’m sure they deserved better than working for me. And I’m especially sorry to those people who still work at my firm after almost two decades.
What I’m truly sorry for is that after doing all that I eventually sold most of the firm to my business partner – a partner who I had taken on as an employee and watched grow into a superb leader. On behalf of he and I together, I’m sorry that since I left he has grown the business almost five-fold. I’m sorry that I retain a stake in that business and that generates me an income. It’s not an income derived from work, so that is something I feel I cannot possibly deserve.
I’m sorry that after that I’ve invested much of the money I made into property. The properties that I bought and spent literally hundreds of thousands of pounds doing up now provide lovely holiday accommodation in a beautiful part of the world. For almost a decade I have had people spend happy and memorable times there. Whilst I may have brought pleasure to many, many people I must apologise that I have earned an income from that. It’s not really work. So I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that throughout my life (working and, let’s call it – ‘post-working’) I have delayed gratification and saved diligently into my pension. Looking back at the seven years during my 20s when I didn’t have a holiday I am sorry I wasn’t more reckless. I’m sorry that my pension is now worth quite a bit. It wouldn’t be anywhere near what it is if I’d followed the path of most people and just spent what I earned. I’m sorry that I still plan to put more in, if I can, because you never know what is round the corner.
I’m sorry that I spend my time helping the local school and helping run two charities that provide support to it. I don’t get paid for the ‘work’ that I do there. It serves me right for having nothing better to do with my time. It serves me right for not going to work for a living.
I’m sorry to anyone who thinks that throughout my journey I haven’t paid enough in tax. I can honestly say that I have paid every pound and every penny that I have been required to pay. As have all the people who I’ve employed over the years. Contrary to what many believe, there are no tax fiddles or loopholes available to the vast majority of us. We fill in our tax returns honestly and diligently and we pay what is due without delay or complaint.
And on the subject of tax, I’m sorry to my son. Because as a result of my having more than most, I can’t pass it onto him without him having to sell large amounts of what I have built and saved in order to pay the tax bill for my death.
I’m sorry to all those people who I offend by my existence. I know that come the revolution I will have my head on the block while most stand jeering in the crowd.
I’m sorry that at some, unknown, invisible point in my life I crossed a line.
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