Budget 2013: The £10k personal allowance won’t reverse the impact of welfare cuts

The small benefits the lowest earners will see from today's tax allowance rise does little to compensate for the enormous hit they will take from cuts to benefits.

One of the key measures in today’s budget was an increase in the personal tax allowance, which will rise from £9,440 in to £10,000 in 2014/15. It was always an ambition of the Coalition to reach 10k before the next election, but they have revealed today that they will get there a year earlier. Taking people out of the tax system has an intuitive appeal if, like the Chancellor, you want to ‘set free the aspirations of the nation’. But what is the actual impact on household incomes?

The red bars in the chart below shows what the distributional impact of the change. While personal allowance rises are often presented as a measure benefitting those on the lowest incomes, in actual fact it is middle and higher earning households that gain the most. Indeed, the lowest earners will only gain 0.05 per cent of weekly incomes from the change. The biggest winners are those earning more than median earnings, who will see their weekly income rise by over than 0.2 per cent. The reason for this is simple – the lowest earning households are less likely to have incomes above the personal allowance anyway, so an increase has little or no effect on them. The highest earners, on the other hand, will often have two earners earning above the personal allowance, so they get the full benefit.

When compared to the impact of the 1% benefit up-rating cap announced in the Autumn Statement, the regressive nature of the coalition's tax and benefit policies is even starker. The red bars in the chart show the distributional change in household incomes as a result of the reforms announced last December. It is clear the small benefit the lowest earners will see as a result of today’s tax allowance rise does little to compensate for the enormous hit they will take because of real-terms cuts in child benefit, tax credits and a host of other working-age benefits.

The Chancellor wants to do something to help hard-working families, but some of the hardest-working families on low-incomes will see little benefit from today’s announcement on income tax, while at the same time bearing the brunt of the coalition’s cuts to welfare. Looking to the future, with the prospect of even more cuts to come, we have to ask whether it is fair for the poorest to shoulder so much of the burden.

A demonstrator wears a mask depicting George Osborne during a gathering by the Public and Commercial Services Union. Photograph: Getty Images.

Spencer Thompson is economic analyst at IPPR

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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