Margaret Hodge, anti-tax avoidance campaigner and Kendall backer. Photo: Getty Images
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Liz Kendall appoints Margaret Hodge to investigate Britain's £100bn tax relief bill

The Labour leadership has appointed the former head of the Public Affairs Committee and anti-tax avoidance campaigner Margaret Hodge to review the £100bn that Britain gives away in tax relief each year. 

Liz Kendall has announced a review into Britain's tax relief bill, potentially paving the way to massive reductions in the amount that the Treasury gives away in tax breaks.

The Labour leadership hopeful, who has described regaining the party's reputation for economic credibility as "the gateway to government", has appointed Margaret Hodge, the former chair of the Public Accounts Committee and a renowned tax avoidance campaigner, to look into the United Kingdom's £100bn annual tax relief. 

Although Kendall regards many of the tax breaks as vital to attracting investment to important sectors of the economy, including manufacturing and IT, she also believes that other reliefs are impossible to defend.

The Late Night Taxi Relief is a particularly egregious example: a tax break for people who work late hours and are given taxis home, paid for by their employers. Bankers and hedge fund traders regularly claim this tax break. But shift workers, night bus drivers, care workers and security guards are not entitled to claim the relief, as they are contracted to work unsocial hours. Between 80 to 90 per cent of the relief is claimed by city firms. 

The Kendall campaign also hope to highlight the rise in tax relief under the Conservative-led government, in contrast to the cuts to tax credits and the ongoing public sector pay freeze. Over the last five years, tax reliefs rose from 5.5 per cent of GDP to six per cent of GDP, while the cost of working age welfare fell from 5.7  per cent of GDP to 5.2 per cent. Even a reduction to 2010 levels would generation £10 billion for the Treasury, while the combined £100bn cost is greater than that paid to the NHS.)

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood