Budget 2013: Osborne does it best when he does nothing at all

“The last thing we need is more tinkering”.

Asked what he wanted from next week’s budget, one successful entrepreneur I spoke to this week replied “not much".

A couple of others in the same discussion agreed. None had a list of proposals at the ready. It wasn’t that they don’t care what Mr Osborne says (although all agreed their focus was more on their businesses), it’s more that they want him to do very little. It fits with the general theme I hear from business that the government’s role should be to create a positive growth environment and then get out of the way.

And with the national finances in a pickle, the entrepreneurs were unanimous that the boldest thing Mr Osborne could do was nothing.

“The last thing we need is more tinkering,” said one. Her point is one ICAEW made in its submission to George Osborne, in which it suggested that instability in tax policymaking undermines future confidence. Whatever the good intentions, the culture of constant change in the tax system ends up leading to complexity.

After last year’s omnishambles, Osborne might himself wish he could get away with doing nothing. But with forecasters pointing to a triple-dip recession, sitting on his hands isn’t a political option for Osborne any more than it’s an economic one.

Assuming he ignores calls (some from within the coalition) for a switch to a plan B, or a plan A+, and instead sticks rigidly to fiscal austerity, he will have very limited scope for manoeuvre. As a result, rather like the wizard in the Wizard of Oz, he’ll be using all the political trickery, smoke and mirrors he can to create the illusion of doing lots to help the country (and will be especially keen to be seen to help what he calls strivers and “the working poor”) without really being able to do a great deal.

The best outcome for business would be a Budget that really grasps the need to inject growth and confidence into the economy. As ICAEW explained in its Budget submission, this means putting in place the right mechanisms for getting finance to small businesses. This doesn’t mean another rebranding of the government’s lending scheme (which has already been re-launched on several occasions) but it does mean getting the proposed Business Bank up and running properly. It requires the funds already made available, whether through the Local Enterprise Partnerships or other mechanisms such as Funding for Lending to actually get to the frontline.

Accepting the limited scope for action open to the chancellor, combined with the need for a little political magic, (these occasions are often as much about pulling political rabbits out of the hat as they are sensible economics) there will doubtless be a whole raft of changes to various types of taxation.

Personal allowances will be raised, some commentators are expecting a tactical reduction in VAT (possibly for the hospitality sector), while others point to a continuing reduction in corporation tax (this one coming into force in 2014).

In the absence of much room for real action, it is fair to assume there will be a number of consultations announced into a whole host of potential schemes many of which will never amount to much, but which look good on the day.

There will be the usual media flurry listing winners and losers from the budget, all filtered through the current political lens of austerity and Labour’s constant jibe that the Tories are more concerned with helping the rich than the poor.

It’s hard to think that there would be more winners if Mr Osborne listened to the entrepreneurs and made next week’s the shortest Budget in history.

This article first appeared in economia.

Photograph: Getty Images

Richard Cree is the Editor of Economia.

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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