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And Finally

And Finally

There is a logic to a tourist tax in Britain

As if the British hospitality industry hadn’t experienced enough government abuse, September saw yet another blow: permission for cities to levy a tourist tax on hotel stays. But not quite so fast. Such a tax need not be bad news: it depends on how you levy it. Done cleverly, a tax on hotel rooms could boost revenues for the classier end of the hotel industry. And I have a few ideas on how to do it. Wine-drinkers know that, within reason, spending a few pounds more gets you much more Barolo for your buck The first rule is that you must not levy the tax as a percentage of the room cost – in which case, it will have a downward effect on people’s propensity to spend. Instead, it must be a flat fee.

tax

Dear Mary: How can I stop my husband from telling the wrong anecdotes?

Q. My problem concerns lavatory usage. I have been staying with some new, much younger, friends who live on the south coast. We share literary connections and have a lot to say to one another. It has all been rather joyful. Unfortunately, however, there is only one lavatory there and it has no lock on its door. I would happily pay for a lock to be installed but, at my age, hesitate to set this rather glamorous young couple thinking too much about my use of their lavatory. So I say nothing and this means I tend to stay one night only, when I have usually been invited for two. Please advise, Mary. – Name and address withheld A. No need to make a song and dance about this inconvenience. Simply walk into any hardware store and purchase a door wedge for around £5.

A coward’s guide to giving blood

If it weren’t for blood, I wouldn’t be here. And by here, I mean in The Spectator. Until my school tutor pointed out that my inability to cope with blood might complicate my desire to become a doctor, that was what I thought I would end up doing. Everyone knows that giving blood is a “good thing to do” (just do it!) and later, while at university, I really did try. But after fainting in a church hall while wearing a mini skirt, I was asked to give it a break. Don’t call us, etc. Then came pregnancy, and blood going in all sorts of directions. It was time to man up. Besides, as the midwives kept telling me, I was O-negative, the universal donor, a “first responder.” Had I considered donating?

Who gives us ‘breathing space?’

The government jargon-turning mills must have rung to cheers of delight when the phrase breathing space was minted. Its glory is to suggest a dawn in which it is bliss to be alive, but without tying anyone down to vulgar sums. The Chancellor has said the Budget will give households more “breathing space.” Is that breathing space on a wide sunny upland or is it a dark, uncertain air pocket in a capsized yacht? I was surprised to find how old the phrase is. George Joye was consoled in the 1540s that God (not the chancellor) “at some certain season giveth a little breathing space to his chirche, making the fyerce seas cawme for a little tyme.” There, space denotes time.