In January I had a phone call from the Inland Revenue: they wanted to come and inspect some professional records I was meant to keep. My heart dropped and I felt sick. What records I had were scant and on checking the maximum penalty, I focussed on the word "imprisonment". The next 3 weeks were spent getting my papers in order and worrying. The inspection was on Wednesday and, of course, went without much of a hitch. So I remain a free man, able to enjoy a glass or two of rhubarb wine - a dependable mid-week bottle.
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