Hanushka Toni

Once upon a time, there lived a very bored (but exceptionally diligent) paralegal. Everyday she would head to the office and stare at the same Excel spreadsheet. It contained a litany of things that really don’t belong in an excel spreadsheet – friends and family members, photographs, old records, engagement rings, a collection of saucy novels, a Constable painting, and boxes filled with the detritus of faded memories – theatre tickets, thank-you cards and wedding invitations.

Exceptions aside, Spectator readers are not consumers of luxury for luxury’s sake. They are unassuming keepers of style, guardians of distinction – and firm of belief that any claim to sophistication demands a renunciation of bling. In fact, I can only assume that this is being read by a pious confederacy of cashmere-clad clones. You may recall the early noughties. It was a halcyon age. Everyone was flush with cash and casual credit was king. We were at our most acquisitive and if there was money to be spent, it was invariably on one thing – the obsession of the era, the latest 'It Bag'. Just thinking about it turns me all misty eyed.

I used to like aphorisms. Maybe a little too much. In the good old days, I sought them out on Google – their infinite wisdom reassuring validation for whatever romantic or existential mess I'd gotten myself into. Today, they hold the appeal of a ripe Époisses. Rendered hackneyed and empty by social media. Occasionally, amid the deluge of syrupy cack on my Instagram, I’ll spot a gem. If you want more luck, take more chances. You may play the Euromillions, own Premium Bonds or like me, indulge in the occasional turn of roulette. Unlike me, you probably didn’t disappear on your husband for three hours, before breakfast, inside a Monaco casino. But as we all know, you’ve got to be in it to win it.

You’ve traded in your beat-up turkey of a car. You’ve forked out on insurance, finance, the MOT, and what you think are tasteful new rims. Next thing you know, you’re being summoned to court. The tricked-out wheels were a step too far. The car-maker is suing you for messing with their product. The fluffy dice in the rear view are also a problem. If you lose in court, it’s goodbye to your gleaming saloon – dice and all. 'Get off it mate. It’s your car. You paid for it. We don’t live in some preposterous ownership dystopia,' I hear you say. After all, if this were true, there would be protest and peaceful liberal chest-beating to the hymn of the Magna Carta. Fortunately, such partisan rules do not affect our daily affairs.

The jig may finally be up for Britain’s non-doms. After years of having it all this beleaguered elite are in the cross hairs. And now they’re going to pay. From the 6 April 2017, non-doms who have lived in Britain for at least 15 out of the past 20 years – the 15/20 Rule – will lose their privileged status. Under the new rules they will be taxed like the rest of us. Previously, for the fortunate few the UK was something of a tax haven. Non-doms could move to Britain while broadly keeping their worldwide assets outside the UK tax net –  indefinitely. However, that is not to say they were completely exempt from tax; the fly in the ointment being that any income earned in or remitted to the UK was (and will continue to be) fully taxed.