A Muddier Shade of Pink

A Muddier Shade of Pink

“I’ve hit a bank,” I said, knowing this was going to take some explaining.

“You’ve done what?” my manager asked.

I had been driving along the winding roads of leafy Mill Hill, in pursuit of unpaid taxes, where there was a temptation to put your foot down. The office pool car had handling as nervous as a newly-born fawn on its legs and taken a sharp bend at a speed the unforgiving steering couldn’t accommodate. As I lost control of the car my career spun before me.

As a young collector of taxes, in the mid 80s, the defaulter demographic of London was filled with self-employed builders and the rag-trade’s outstanding PAYE. I liked to vary my round but cursed my work ethic for trying to do as many calls per day as possible. I wasn’t on commission, I just had an odd principle; to do a good job.

As the car spun I ventured my autopsy would show I had recently eaten baked beans on toast. They would conclude from this that I had spent the morning on call with the bailiff who, convention dictated, bought lunch. While my colleagues lingered in the café to digest pork chops or lamb cutlets, on the bailiffs’ expenses, I settled for quick, cheap and nutritious then got back- out on the road. I was still that naïve to believe that such token gestures to ingratiate made a difference, they don’t.

It wasn’t the only gesture I had made that day. As the car spun I saw everything in star-struck pink; pink walls, pink carpet, pink furniture; the décor of my first celebrity defaulter. I recognised her immediately from a TV series that was her initial small-screen breakthrough. She had fallen foul of unpaid income tax and failed to seek advice from an accountant. It was fair to say I was momentarily smitten but the pink cot quickly dampened my ardour. I had the authority to make her pay immediately in full but who wouldn’t apply some discretion given that she was a young out-of-work actress struggling to pay the bills and with a baby. I agreed an arrangement where she could pay-off the debt by monthly instalments.

“I said; I’ve hit a bank.”

“A bank! Which one Lloyds or Barclays?” My manager was known for his dry levity and I sensed he was already drafting an office circular to inform all my colleagues of my mishap.

“No … mud.”

The car had spun several times across a grass verge and ended up reversed into a ditch. I didn’t know what I was going to get more stick for, allowing the young actress time to pay or damaging government property.

Shortly after my intervention there would be a meteoric rise for the actress in a prime-time sitcom that would place her among the most popular celebrities of that period. I don’t suppose she would remember that young taxman but whenever I hear her less than dulcet tones I recall that muddier shade of pink.

[Kindly note that this is part of a wider collection titled ‘Just Crumbs’ — Please refer to the ‘foreword’ page for an explanation.]

As a precursor, I invite you to listen to … Taxman — Beatles

My first proper job was as a Collector of Taxes and it was in pursuit of this occupation that the events of the crumb unfolded. A bonus point if you can guess the name of the actress.