Monday, 20 February 2017
Death and Taxes
It is a beautiful day outside, I am on holiday, and I spent the whole bloody morning talking to a civil servant on the phone because of a payment issue of our council tax, because of a confusion due to us moving home last year. Not our fault, or at least I do not consider it our fault, but for the taxman it's the same. We received an unfriendly letter, so I gave them a phone call. I remained as polite as I could be. The minimum required. In the end, I paid the bloody thing. I guess it was inevitable.
Labels: home, home sweet home, maison, N'importe quoi, whatever
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They always say you can't fight City Hall.
i can't even think about what we pay in taxes. and now my tax money is going to take care of trump. disgusting!
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