You can’t stop Michael Wilson when the poetic muse is upon him, you know.
The Walrus and the Chancellor
Walked out on Blackpool Strand.
They gawped like anything to see
Such surplus cash on hand.
“If only this were hoovered up,
The taxes would be grand!”
“If seven thousand fiscal brains
White-papered for a year,
Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
“They’d get us in the clear?”
“No chance, pal,” said the Chancellor,
And shed a bitter tear.
“I’ve got my work cut out, you know,
The tax gap isn’t shrinking.
In fact, it’s likely set to grow.
So much for wishful thinking.”
When, gazing at the sand below,
He saw his feet were sinking…..
Alas! Alack! No turning back
From the encroaching mire.
But inspiration struck – what luck! –
His mind was now on fire.
“Put HMRC on attack!”
What more might one require?
“We’ll fudge the legal line between
Avoidance and evasion.
We’ll bust those trusts, stir up the dust,
Confuse the ruddy nation.
And institute a special fine
For every such occasion.”
“We’ll limit public handout hikes
To one per cent a year.
And, while the public celebrates,
We’ll stitch them up to here.
There’s a thousand stealthy ways to pay
More taxes, have no fear….
“We’ll put back budget-balance day
“Until two thousand twenty.
That ought to give us time to turn
Our problems into plenty.
And a little smoke and mirrors will
Confuse the cognoscenti.”
Alas, such dreams were soon cut short.
The tide was coming in.
Next year’s intimidating thought –
An Election Day to win!
“Aaaargh, dammit”, said the Chancellor.
“Looks like I’m foiled again…..”
