Denise Van Outen holds a cheque for Great Ormond Street Hospital. But can she claim back the tax? Credit: Getty
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How charitable tax deductions work

We've heard Osborne's plans to crack down on tax dodgers/ philanthropists (delete as appropriate), but what about higher rate payers and their charitable deductions?

The Financial Times is reporting that George Osborne is set to back down over proposals to limit the tax-deductability of charitable donations. The chancellor's planned cap on tax relief limited deductibles to the higher of 25 per cent of annual income or £50,000 per person, but the inclusion of relief given due to charitable donations in that cap sparked condemnation from all three parties and many charities.

As a result, Osborne is considering two new possibilities:

One plan is to have a separate limit on charitable donations of 50 per cent of a person’s income, allowing charities to claim tens of millions of pounds more in reliefs than under the current plan. Another is to let donors roll over any unused tax reliefs into future years if they are used for donations.

Treasury officials are locked in talks with representatives from the voluntary sector, and expect to make final decisions on how best to mitigate the effects of the planned cap in a few months. But they estimate raising the ceiling for charitable donations to 50 per cent would cost £40m, taking the overall savings from capping charities tax relief down to just £20m.

It is worth clarifying what the proposed changes are. Most of us are only aware of the most basic level of interaction between the tax system and charitable donations: gift-aid.

If a basic-rate taxpayer makes a donation, then a charity can claim back the tax paid on the money donated, boosting the value of the donation by 25 per cent (if the donor gives 80p, then the charity gets £1, which is the amount the donor had to earn to receive 80p post-tax income). There are no current plans to change that, and it has been an invaluable source of revenue for many charities.

If the donor is a higher- or top-rate taxpayer, however, tax relief kicks in for them as well as the charity. In addition to the 20 per cent gift aid, the donor can claim back the 20 or 30 per cent they paid on top of that, and count it against taxable income at the end of the year. So that 80p donation still earns the charity £1, but when the time comes to fill in their tax return, the donor won't have to pay more than basic rate tax on the money donated – they get 20 or 30p back. For a top rate taxpayer, that means that they are out-of-pocket by 50p, while the charity gets £1.

It is important to note that no-one makes money by donating to charity in this way. If the charity is a real one - and this whole affair was sparked because some people are apparently donating to bogus charities, which really is tax dodging - then the donor will always lose at least 50p in every pound the charity receives. It will indeed reduce the total tax they pay, but that reduction will necessarily be less than the amount they donate.

Despite that, there will be people using donations to avoid tax. It won't be rational, and it won't make them richer, but sometimes dodgers go to ludicrous lengths to not pay tax. Willard Foxton reported people "dodging VAT on cars by having them flown in at more cost than the tax". It is certainly believable that those who think like that would donate £2m to avoid paying £1m in tax; but it isn't going to be many.

Even for those who aren't donating out of blind desire to reduce their tax take, the cap will hit hard. Combined with other tax deductions, charitable donations may be enough to push the total tax-rate of a wealthy individual to less than 25 per cent. That is what is concerning charities. Under the proposed rules, the cost of donations to philanthropists with an already low tax rate will rise by 37.5 per cent. If donors react to that rise by donating less, then charities will be sorely hit.

The core issue at stake is whether or not charitable giving abdicates one's responsibility to pay for the machinery of state. On the one hand is the belief exemplified by Clement Atlee:

If a rich man wants to help the poor, he should pay his taxes gladly, not dole out money at a whim.

On the other hand is the belief that by donating to charity, one has fulfilled their responsibility to pay a "fair share".

In the real world the argument hasn't touched upon this morality much, if at all. Instead, the matter is presented in far starker terms; either a focus on "total tax rate" to the exclusion of the reasons why that rate might be low, or a focus on the total income of charities, to the exclusion of the source of that money.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war