Rumors say that Rachel Reeves swings for the month of November with a budget that would make the loud tax feather like a stuck pig. Properties, pensions, profits, pies – all at the treasury factory.
The cabinet does not leave any stone without change, nor a non -chosen pocket, nor a non -open wardrobe. The only thing, one suspects, who miraculously remains a miracle of her financial sickle is Larry The Cat.
Cat food has escaped, so far. But give him time. If Reeves wakes up one morning and it is believed that Felix is a luxury commodity, Larry may have to re -identify himself with Whitehall.
This will be, let’s face it, the first appropriate day he did in a decade.
Mood music is familiar. Reeves is described as a consultant in Britain, the most hawk since Gladstone, where he audits all allocations and relief with the intensity of the singer who examines smuggled pockets. You talk about “closing gaps” and “financial responsibility”, which translates as follows: if you earn them, spend them, save them or feed them on your cat, I want a chip. There is a whiff of Victorian work about the entire matter – the feeling that entertainment, comfort and small mercy is an indulgence that the state should be extracted for.
The idea of Larry Bag from Sheba was turned to 20 % VAT is only half a joke. Reeves did not say it. But given the way you give up in the country’s shopping basket like a customs officer in Dover, this may be the fact that she is afraid of voters who love animals that keep Burina safe from the counselor’s claw.
Larry, then, becomes the perfect parking for our rest. He lives in the bosom of political luxury, which was depicted, did not bear accountability for his failure to fulfill the “mouser” part of his career title. However, it is only one mental storm of the cabinet away from its weight. On the day when the food bill doubles, it is the day that Larry begins to hunt mice again.
And so he is with us. Once it was pampered, it is now rotated, the British taxpayer is pushed towards self -sufficiency by mitigating. First, I imposed taxes on our wine, then our cars, then our pensions, and now we have every side hunting. Tomorrow, our pets will be, the next day, our plants, and in the end our patience.
The comic element really is not that Reeves may be seduced by imposing taxes on pet food, but it has become reasonable. When the government makes you believe that Moggy dinner is at risk, you know that you are in the world of sarcastic simulation. It is like imagining the air that is measured. Please enter 1 pounds to continue breathing.
If Reeves can know how to slap an obligation on rubbing the abdomen or impose additional fees on escape, you feel that it will do so before breakfast. The only thing that prevents it is the optics of seeing it to shake the cat that has a larger mass base than most of the cabinet ministers.
However, stripping the cats, and the point is clear: this scattered approach to taxes is not sustainable. You can not impose taxes on prosperity more than you can quietly celebrate the refrigerator in the middle of the night. What Reeves needs – but it seems hesitant in risk – is growth, investment and a really bold thing. Instead, we get a budget similar to the feverish contents of the wet handbag at the kitchen table: receipts, mint half chewed, and a few deviant metal currencies of the lining.
Larry’s food may remain safe this time, but the message is unambiguous: the cabinet has its nose in the cabinets, its jaw on our wallets, and its eye on the cat dish. Heaven helps us when they start looking at the tray of garbage.
The post Is Cat Food the Only Thing She Won’t Tax? first appeared on Investorempires.com.
