I received a summons yesterday for non-payment of council tax. Ah well. It was good while it lasted. I reckon at £1,000 each year for 10 years residence at this address, I probably saved in excess of £10,000.
Still, all good things must come to an end. What a pity those rotters at the council caught up with me.
Then I realised - I already pay my council tax automatically by direct debit to fund the firemen, refuse collectors, recycling collections, the lengthy queues at the tip on a Sunday morning, the multitude of speed bumps and liquid lunches for the fine councillors of this parish.
I read the letter more carefully and then I remembered. This demand for council tax was for a property in Dover. I do not own a property in Dover. I do not want to own a property in Dover. In addition, the named person on the summons was not actually me.
Then I remembered. I had already received an initial bill from Dover City Council which I ignored followed by a red letter which I ‘annotated’ and returned to sender. Finally, I received a final demand from Dover City Council so I had to write yet another letter explaining the situation.
At this point, Norma started to worry that I might be sent to prison (and be molested in the showers by hard-core criminals) so now I was forced to call Dover City Council on the telephone to explain the situation to a human being.
I was assured by a helpful lady with a funny accent that they would update their records accordingly and she even apologised for the inconvenience and upset caused. Then she passed me onto ‘Debt Recovery’ where a menacing, softly spoken gentleman demanded to know if I knew where ‘Andrew Henderson’ actually lived.
This communication ended the whole administrative nightmare and I forgot about it until the summons arrived yesterday.
Now Norma is locked in the house armed with a shotgun, living in fear of the bailiffs arriving to seize goods to the values of £548.21. I told her my United programs were absolutely sacrosanct and maybe consider wearing a short skirt, a wide smile and negotiate ‘payment in kind’. This strategy worked very well with the driving examiner.
However, I suspect when I return home, I will discover that she will have buried all our valuables (both of them) in the garden and deposited all our money (£17.89 and some dollars) in the loft.
I only hope she doesn’t shoot the window cleaner who calls every other Thursday.