How am I feeling? Not that any of you reading this really care. I feel like a big fat turkey, wings clipped, rendering me flightless and forlorn. I am aware of my fate yet unable to escape my looming destiny, which is to be plucked and prepared for Labour’s upcoming Budget banquet; someone or something is about to enter my coop and take everything I’ve got.
One of Labour’s flirtations is with a land-value tax, more commonly known as the “garden tax”. They clearly consider access to land or owning it a privilege, and a garden an unfair extravagance. I have spent ten years nurturing my Devon walled garden in what I thought was a neutral, politically free space. No more, it seems. Very soon, as they do now in Wales, drones instead of bees will be buzzing over my dahlias so that property values can be calculated through mathematical and statistical modelling based on data inputs, including plot sizes – or do I mean pot sizes?
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