I did my bit for the Chartered Institute of Taxation last night by drinking all its boo… er… by positing future presidential themes.

Deputy pres Anne Fairpo and VP Chris Jones were subjected to my tax-untechnical suggestions – which I’d thought up earlier that day in anticipation of the CIOT’s annual summer soiree and its free alch… um… opportunities for professional networking.

“Urging members to take better care of their mental health” was greeted with polite interest. Encouraged, I pressed on.

“Or some sort of focus on youth training”: an eyebrow or two twitched. (Isn’t it funny how such a tiny signal of support looks so much like a stiffled yawn?)

“Opening membership to bankers?”

My audience’s forehead furniture began to sag.

“How about a rebranding; making the institute more ‘urban’?”

Anne made a funny little noise. Chris looked suddenly very tired.

“Synergy!” I blurted, now lightheaded from too much white wi… ah… from the majesty of our venue, the Palace of Westminister. “Mindshare!”

Chris was eyeing the cold, dark Thames with longing. Anne had begun the construction of a rudimentary bicycle from discarded cocktail sticks (frame) and leftover blinis (wheels).

“Would you like to see a picture of my cat?” The phone was already in my fist, its screen ablaze with black and white fur, in a last-ditch move of self-preservation that has never failed...

Just don’t blame me when the presidential theme of next year or the year after is “cutie-pie pussy-wussies”.

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