Osborne tries to blame the EU for "taxes" - it doesn't charge any

Is the Chancellor hoping the public will forget he's responsible for raising taxes?

Over the next few years, we can expect the Conservatives and the right-wing press to take every opportunity to spread myths about the EU in order to win public support for David Cameron's madcap renegotiation strategy. A useful example of this tactic was offered by George Osborne during his interview with the BBC this morning. The Chancellor remarked that "a lot of big British businesses and small businesses came out last week and said actually one of Britain's problems are the taxes and regulations from Europe". 

There are many things that one can blame on the EU but "taxes" are not one of them, for the simple reason that it doesn't levy any. At no point in the history of European integration have national governments ever surrendered control of taxation to Brussels. As the EU's website helpfully explains:

This [taxation] is decided by your national government, not the EU.

Governments set tax rates on company profits, personal income, savings and capital gains (profits made from selling an asset, such as a house). The EU merely keeps an eye on these decisions to see they are fair to the EU as a whole.

This means ensuring national tax rules are consistent with the EU's goals of job creation and do not impede the free flow of goods, services and capital around the EU, or give businesses in one country an unfair advantage over competitors in another.

Moreover, national governments remain in control of raising taxes as EU law requires that no EU decisions on tax matters be taken unless all member countries are in unanimous agreement.

It's true that the introduction of VAT, which replaced the UK's existing consumption tax, the Purchase Tax, was a pre-condition of the UK joining the EEC in 1973, but since Osborne increased this tax from 17.5 per cent to an all-time high of 20 per cent in his 2010 "emergency Budget", that's presumably not what the Chancellor had in mind. 

With the UK in danger of an unprecedented triple-dip recession, it would be surprising if businesses weren't concerned about the tax burden. But unfortunately for Osborne, the only person to blame for that is him. 

Chancellor George Osborne takes part in a tour of the train wheel manufacturers Lucchini UK, at Trafford Park in Manchester earlier today. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Justin Sullivan/Getty
Show Hide image

Women aren’t supposed to blame their foulest moods on their hormones. It’s time we did

It’s our job to play down the, “I’m pissy and want chocolate because I’m getting my period” thing as much as possible.

“NEVER CALL ME AGAIN. EVER,” I bellow at some hapless cock dribble called Brian or Craig who is sitting in a call centre somewhere. It’s too bad we haven’t been able to slam down phones since 1997. No matter how hard I jab my index finger into the red “end call” icon on my iPhone, it doesn’t have the same expulsive effect.

I’d put hard earned cash on Brian/Craig’s next thought being this:

Someone’s time of the month, eh?”

And if so, he’s bang on the money. I’m about to period so hard, the shockwaves from my convulsing uterus will be felt in France. Maybe Brian/Craig shrugs too. Right now, it kills me to think of him shrugging. I need to have ruined his day. I need for my banshee shriek to have done, at the very least, some superficial damage to his eardrum. I need to have made this guy suffer. And I need a cake. A big cake. A child’s birthday cake shaped like Postman Pat. A child’s birthday cake that I’ve stolen, thereby turning his special day into something he’ll have to discuss with a therapist in years to come. I’d punch fist-shaped craters into Pat’s smug face, then eat him in handfuls. All the while screaming unintelligible incantations at the mere concept of Brian/Craig.

Brian/Craig works for one of those companies that call you up and try to convince you you’ve been in a car accident and are owed compensation. Brian/Craig is a personification of that smell when you open a packet of ham. I’ve told Brian/Craig and his colleagues to stop calling me at least twice a week for the past six months. Unfortunately for Brian/Craig, this time he’s caught me at my premenstrual worst.

There’s an unspoken rule that women aren’t supposed to blame their foulest moods on hormones. Premenstrual hysteria (literal hysteria, because wombs) is the butt of so many sexist jokes. It’s our job to play down the, “I’m pissy and want chocolate because I’m getting my period” thing as much as possible. It’s the patriarchy that’s making us cranky. It’s the gender pay gap. It’s mannequins shaped like famine victims silently tutting at out fat arses. And we’re not “cranky” anyway – babies are cranky – we’re angry. And of course I’m angry about those things. I’m a woman, after all. But, if truth be told, I’m cranky too. And, if even more truth be told, it is because of my hormones.

Premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) is PMS cubed. For years now, it’s been making me want to put my fist through a wall every time my period approaches. Take the sensation of watching a particularly jumpy horror film: that humming, clenched-jaw tension, in preparation for the next scary thing to happen. Now replace fear with rage and you’ll have some idea of what PMDD feels like. Oh and throw in insatiable hunger and, for some reason, horniness. For at least a day out of every month, I feel incapable of any activity that isn’t crisp eating, rage wanking or screaming into a pillow.

And if, like me, you also suffer from anxiety and depression, trying to detect where the mental health stuff stops and the hormone stuff starts becomes utterly Sisyphean. Then again, the extent to which the hormones themselves can fuck with your mental health tends to be underestimated quite woefully. It’s just a bit of PMS, right? Have a Galaxy and a bubble bath, and get a grip. Be like one of those advert women who come home from work all stressed, then eat some really nice yoghurt and close their eyes like, “Mmmm, this yoghurt is actual sex,” and suddenly everything’s fine.

For too long, hormone-related health issues (female ones in particular) have been belittled and ignored. There’s only so much baths and chocolate can do for me when I’m premenstrual. I wasn’t kidding about the Postman Pat cake, by the way. And, Brian/Craig, in the vastly unlikely event that you’re reading this – yeah, it was my time of the month when you called. And if I could’ve telepathically smacked you over the head with a phone book, believe me, I would’ve done.

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.