2005-01-28 - 3:34 p.m.

There are only two certainties in life � death, and someone completely ballsing up your taxes. It doesn�t help that if on the day that your tax return is subjected to every snafu possible, you feel like death, and have to race across London looking like something scientists have created out of snot and tissues in an disreputable lab on the out skirts of town. Remind me again, I AM paying these people to do this for me, right? Instead, I have to make the unlikeliest leap into action since Lazarus and negotiate some intricate financial noodlings myself.

OK, it may have been a teeny, tiny, weeny bit my fault for giving them the wrong address, but I�m the sick one here, lets not forget that.

I sneeze in your general direction, tax men.

"Tax doesn't HAVE to be taxing" - next time I see that advert on the TV I'm going to hunt down the actor and file my return somewhere biological.