UK tax laws repel top athletes

But this might be about to change.

Hydration, shoes, sponsorship, training, diet… tax rules? The last item in that list will not have been weighing heavily on the minds of many runners in the London marathon last weekend.

They are, however rather more of a consideration for international athletes competing in UK pro-sports events. Thanks to current Treasury policy, entry could easily leave them seriously out of pocket.

The HMRC Foreign Entertainers Unit levies tax on foreign sportsmen and women not simply by reference to earnings made from the events they enter the UK to take part in, but also by looking at global sponsorship income.

At the highest levels of sport, the majority of annual earnings are in the form of such sponsorship arrangements. Sellers of training equipment, drinks, perfumes, watches — even broadband (thank you, Mr Branson) — want a sprinkling of top quality athletic shimmer to help shift their wares. The remuneration for many such favoured athletes makes some of their event winnings look positively mean by comparison.

The UK and US revenues are alone in plundering this branding income of international guests at their championships, matches, games, and competitions — with the result that participation in UK events can appear on stars’ books as a loss-making endeavour.

This policy has in recent years found many top athletes deciding against entering UK events. There is a difficult call to be made as to whether the reputational capital they accrue from appearing in UK events is worth the tax payable. The value a major sponsor may put on their man’s profile in the UK is often quite intangible; the prospect of a bill from HMRC running to tens, or even hundreds of thousands of pounds, is not.

This difficult decision has been averted, however, for two upcoming athletics meetings as after years of lobbying by the sports industry, the Treasury has at last issued a concession to their policy. Buried in the 629 pages of Finance Bill 2013 (only slightly down from last year’s record-breaking 686) lie two clauses that grant exemptions from income tax to accredited competitors at the 2013 Olympic Anniversary Games and 2014 Commonwealth Games. News that Usain Bolt will make his first non-Olympic UK appearance in four years indicates the concession is timely.

This year’s concession is stand-alone, but could augur wider change. The case has long been made that UK plc loses out from its current approach to international sport. The Treasury may see the arrival to our shores of itinerant stars as a cash cow to be milked, but the taxes raised are coming at the expense of more significant opportunities (including the 2010 Champions League final which went to Madrid instead).

The economic rally of Q3 last year demonstrated the value to the UK of hosting international sport. Stand-alone tax breaks encourage competitors to help make such events the international displays of expertise they should be. However, the fiscal atmosphere surrounding them remains tense and the UK could benefit hugely from a permanent softening of its policy.

Edward Keene is from private client law firm Maurice Turnor Gardner LLP. This story first appeared on Spear's magazine

Usain Bolt. Photograph: Getty Images

This is a story from the team at Spears magazine.

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Bertie Carvel's diary: What would the French think about infidelity to Doctor Foster?

The joy of debuting a new series, Rupert Murdoch's squeamishness and a sting in the tail.

According to the adage, the first thing an actor does when he gets a job is to go on holiday. And so, having finished our sold-out run of James Graham’s Ink at the Almeida and with the show (in which I play a young Rupert Murdoch) about to transfer into the West End, I’m packing my bags.

But before I can skip town, I’ve one more professional engagement: the press launch of series two of the BBC drama Doctor Foster, which we finished filming at Christmas. I’ve now seen the final cut of all five episodes, and I’m excited to share it with an audience. There’s no substitute for seeing other people’s reactions at first hand, especially with a show that got people talking so much first time around, and it’s electric to sit in a cinema full of expectant journalists and commentators and feel the room respond. Nothing beats this: to put so much into making a thing and then experience an audience’s unmediated, reflexive reaction. When it goes well, you feel that you’ve shared something, that you’ve all recognised something together about how things are. It’s a unifying feeling. A sort of bond.

Cheating spouses

Handling the interviews has been tricky, when there’s so little one can say without giving the plot away. (The first series began with Suranne Jones’s character Gemma, a GP, suspecting her husband Simon of having an affair.) What’s more, lots of the questions invite moral judgements that I’ve tried my best to avoid; I always think it’s really important not to judge the characters I play from outside, but simply to work out how they feel about themselves, to zero in on their point of view. There’s a sort of moral bloodlust around this show: it’s extraordinary. People seem to want to hear that I’ve been pilloried in the street, or expect me to put distance between myself and my character, to hang him out to dry as a pariah.

While I’m not in the business of defending Simon Foster any more than I’m in the business of attacking him, I am intrigued by this queer mixture of sensationalism and prurience that seems to surface again and again.

Shock horror

Oddly enough, it’s something that comes up in Ink: many people have been surprised to find that, in a story about the re-launch of the Sun newspaper in 1969 as a buccaneering tabloid, it’s the proprietor who considers dropping anchor when the spirit of free enterprise threatens to set his moral compass spinning.

I’ve never given it much thought before, but I suppose that sensationalism relies on a fairly rigid worldview for its oxygen – the SHOCKERS! that scream at us in tabloid headlines are deviations from a conventional idea of the norm. But what’s behind the appetite for this sort of story? Do we tell tales of transgression to reinforce our collective boundaries or to challenge them?

For me there’s a close kinship between good journalism and good drama. I’m reminded of the words of John Galsworthy, who wrote Strife, the play I directed last summer, and who felt that the writer should aim “to set before the public no cut-and-dried codes, but the phenomena of life and character, selected and combined, but not distorted, by the dramatist’s outlook, set down without fear, favour, or prejudice, leaving the public to draw such poor moral as nature may afford”.

So when it comes to promoting the thing we’ve made, I’m faced with a real conundrum: on the one hand I want it to reach a wide audience, and I’m flattered that there’s an appetite to hear about my contribution to the process of making it; but on the other hand I think the really interesting thing about the work is contained in the work itself. I’m always struck, in art galleries, by how much more time people spend reading the notes next to the paintings than looking at the paintings themselves. I’m sure that’s the wrong way around.

Insouciant remake

En route to the airport the next morning I read that Doctor Foster is to be adapted into a new French version. It’s a cliché verging on racism, but I can’t help wondering whether the French will have a different attitude to a story about marital infidelity, and whether the tone of the press coverage will differ. I wonder, too, whether, in the home of Roland Barthes, there is as much space given to artists to talk about what they’ve made – in his 1967 essay, “The Death of the Author”, Barthes wrote that “a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination”.

No stone unturned

Touring the villages of Gigondas, Sablet and Séguret later that evening, I’m struck by the provision of espaces culturels in seemingly every commune, however small. The French certainly give space to the work itself. But I also notice a sign warning of a chat lunatique, so decide to beat a hasty retreat. Arriving at the house where I’m staying, I’ve been told that the key will be under a flowerpot. Lifting each tub in turn, and finally a large flat stone by the door, I find a small scorpion, but no key. I’m writing this at a table less than a yard away so let’s hope there won’t be a sting in this tale.

Ink opens at the Duke of York Theatre, London, on 9 September. More details: almeida.co.uk

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear