Tea Time Tales: Dave’s Dreamie Tax Disaster

Alice first noticed something was wrong when she saw the excavator moving without anybody inside it.

It wasn't moving quickly.

It wasn't digging.

It was simply heading in a different direction from the one the excavators normally did.

Alice adjusted her spectacles.

"Well," she said.

"That's unusual."

She watched it for a moment.

Then another.

Then she heard a familiar voice somewhere beyond the site cabin.

"Oh, come on!"

Alice followed the sound.

Dave was halfway up a ladder attached to the side of the site cabin.

He looked particularly dishevelled.

Not ordinary construction-site dishevelled.

More the sort of dishevelled usually associated with small explosions and administrative deadlines.

His hi-vis jacket was dusty.

His fur appeared to have argued with a hedge and lost.

And several pieces of paper were circling him in the breeze.

"Good afternoon, Dave."

"It was."

"Oh dear."

"The CIS slip escaped."

Alice followed his gaze.

A single CIS slip fluttered through the air above the cabin.

The wind caught it.

It dipped.

Twisted.

Rose again.

Then drifted lazily away.

As though it had nowhere in particular to be and all day to get there.

Dave climbed down.

The paper drifted.

Dave followed.

The paper drifted further.

Dave followed faster.

At one point he disappeared entirely behind a skip.

At another he emerged from a wheelbarrow looking mildly surprised.

Alice continued after him at a more sensible pace.

Inside the site cabin she discovered what was clearly the real problem.

Receipts covered the desk.

Receipts covered the chair.

Receipts covered the floor.

Invoices protruded from folders.

CIS slips peeked out from clipboards.

Several pieces of paperwork appeared to be supporting a mug of tea.

The tea looked old enough to have witnessed previous tax years.

And in the middle of it all sat several carefully arranged piles of Dreamies.

Alice paused.

The Dreamies looked important.

The paperwork looked important.

The relationship between the two was less obvious.

By the time she stepped outside again, Dave had finally cornered the runaway CIS slip.

It had landed neatly inside the bucket of the excavator.

For a moment he stood perfectly still.

Alice recognised the expression immediately.

It was the expression somebody makes shortly before making a decision that will eventually require explaining.

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing."

"That worries me."

A few moments later Dave was standing triumphantly inside the excavator bucket.

The elusive CIS slip was only inches away.

He stretched.

A little further.

A little further still.

Got it.

"Ha!"

He held the CIS slip above his head.

At last.

Finished.

Home time.

Poker night.

Victory.

With the sort of confidence usually reserved for cats and circus performers, Dave leapt from the excavator bucket.

He landed perfectly on all four paws.

Naturally.

The CIS slip remained firmly between his teeth.

For one glorious moment, everything appeared to have worked out.

A seagull landed on the excavator.

The seagull tilted its head.

Looked at Dave.

Looked at the CIS slip.

Looked back at Dave.

Alice would later insist the seagull looked entirely innocent.

Dave remained unconvinced.

There was a click.

The seagull had landed on a control.

The excavator arm began to swing.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Towards the site cabin.

Dave looked at the excavator.

Alice looked at the excavator.

The seagull looked at the excavator.

The excavator continued rotating.

Nobody said anything.

Because everybody understood the situation.

The bucket moved closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Then nudged the corner of the site cabin.

The cabin lurched.

The kettle slid.

The tea mug tipped over.

And somewhere inside the cabin, a long-standing truce between gravity and paperwork finally came to an end.

Receipts burst from shelves.

Invoices cascaded from folders.

CIS slips launched themselves into the afternoon air.

Dreamies bounced across the floor.

Paperwork sailed out through the open door and into the wind.

Alice looked up.

Dave looked up.

The seagulls looked up.

Paperwork drifted gently across the construction site like administrative snow.

Alice had often observed that paperwork travelled surprisingly well in the wind.

She had never before seen it assisted by heavy machinery.

Dave stared at the disaster.

His phone buzzed.

He checked the screen.

Then sighed.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?"

"Poker night."

"What time?"

Dave looked at the clock.

Then at the paperwork.

Then at the Dreamies.

Then at the excavator, which had somehow become part of the situation.

"In fifteen minutes."

Alice nodded thoughtfully.

A receipt landed on her shoulder.

Another landed on Dave.

A third landed neatly inside the tea mug.

Alice watched a CIS slip disappear over the fence.

"Curious."

"What is?"

"You seem to spend a great deal of time chasing paperwork."

Dave followed the departing CIS slip with his eyes.

Then looked at the receipts.

The invoices.

The Dreamies.

And finally the clock.

"Oh."

Tip from Numberland - If paperwork keeps following you home, multiplying on your desk and stealing your evenings, it might be time to let someone else organise the receipts while you get back to earning the Dreamies.

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