Tax return fun while ,,jdu do hájzlu"

Dear Reader,

If you've ever known the excitement of sitting down to a nice big form in English where you have to read accompanying notes and fill in the details of your income or loss over the last year, then you are lucky enough to be living in a very different world to me. Yes, I admit it, the system for filing a tax return in the UK was easy. I made a huge song and dance about it, of course because I hate accounting, but in the UK there was help. Free help. (At least, that was when Labour were still in power. I imagine one or two things may have changed on this front by now). For starters, at the time I first registered as self-employed, it was possible to sign up for a free morning course at the lovely inland revenue building somewhere along Kensington High Street and get all the info you needed just incase the notes accompanying the form hadn't helped.

Now try doing all of that stuff, with no free course, no notes and it all being in Czech. And there being three forms because for some reason the social security department and health insurance department are not capable of checking the amounts that you've paid were accurate and want proof, independently of having to deal with the tax office themselves (that would be far too integrated and efficient), that you don't qualify for a higher rate. And you cannot post these forms. Oh no. They need you to go in person, for maximum wastage of everyone's time, presumably. Can you say, 'job creation', anyone?

So, of course, I hadn't a hope in hell of working this out on my own, and two weeks before the deadline, the cowboy having reassured me previously that he'd help me fill in the form because I really hadn't earnt very much so it 'couldn't take long', declared that it all looked a bit too complicated actually, so I had to get an accountant to do it. Who of course gets paid for what amounts to about 2 hours' work in total (at most) including the meeting up with me to hand over the info I needed to provide and return everything to me at the end, the same amount as I get paid for 5, 90 minute meetings. So that's 7 and a half hours' work of mine spent entirely on getting a tax return done. But it doesn't end there.

Oh no, of course, the accountant can only return me the forms which I then physically have to take to each office (finance office, health insurance office and social security office), taking away yet more of my time. And the first stop is the financial office in Háje. Let me tell you a little bit about Háje. It's not only the end stop on the C line (also known as the red line to people who don't actually live here) and looks like the kind of place where hope goes to die a miserable death (see photos, yes people, this is the other face of Prague...) but it happens to bear a linguistic resemblance to an unpleasant phrase stolen somewhat from German. The expression is, ,,jdu do hájzlu", meaning 'I'm going down the toilet'(In other words, 'I'm screwed/there's no hope for me'), but the word for toilet is more like, 'bog' or something ruder. And people tend to say it when they've got to go somewhere that feels like the pit of hell. Hence, whenever I think of Háje, I cannot separate it in my head from this delightful expression.

And taking a look at these pictures, perhaps you can appreciate why. To be fair, Chodov isn't much better. And Chodov lacks the Dr. Who-reminiscent tardis decorations at the metro station that Háje has. 

So, I guess it's much of a muchness.

I'm glad I decided to brace the tedium of the tax office by wearing my ironic beret that says, "La vie est belle." 

I somehow felt that it was the perfect kind of attitude to walk around with when surrounded by dull buildings, run-down shops and tax return people who don't seem to know any more than I do what was actually required to do with my form. (Turns out all I needed really was to get both copies stamped and to leave one of them with them there, but you'd think this was a totally unheard of practice the way the woman at the counter reacted.) Thankfully, there was no queue and I was in an out of there in five minutes. Now, you can be sure, if this sort of thing were required in London, there's no way it would have taken any less than an hour. So, I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies.

And I hope I'll be getting some nice chocolate soon, to make up for it. The cowboy will be getting this:

I am trying not to despair that I will probably not get anything more than a Lindt bunny and a cursory, ,,Veselé Velikonoce", but I guess I can live with that. For the time being. 

I hope you are eating lots of very good quality chocolate as you read this. Not that nasty, cheap Cadbury's stuff. Even the cowboy thinks that kind of chocolate is something the UK should be ashamed of. I have to say I agree. One must get oneself to 'Hotel Chocolat' or something of that ilk for the sake of retaining a reasonable level of mental health, quite frankly. I mean, if you can't get good quality chocolate, you may as well throw in the towel and move to Belgium. Or something.

I bid you a fond and very Happy Easter dear Reader. Thank you for indulging yourself in these frivolous tales from the edge of the platform in my mind.

Yours unapologetically,

Ms. Platform Edge. XXX