Grey and I were reading the Guardian Online over breakfast (his, not mine as I am not allowed one) this morning and the conversation turned to tax havens which are in the human news at the moment. I asked what a tax haven was. Apparently most are highly desirable tropical islands where the sun shines all day, there is loads of money paid to people to do no more than sign bits of paper and keep their mouths shut, and all the food in the world. And they pay no taxes.
Sounds like paradise to me so I am a bit confused as to why so many people want to spoil the fun of the rich and devious, and stop them parking their dough into areas like the London property market via some idyllic island in the Caribbean. What better home for ones money laundered from crime or playing football than a nice three up, two down in Mayfair. Buy two or three more, and they could be knocked down and turned into a red hotel.
Which is, oddly, the opposite of what is happening here in Les Gets. Grey took me for a walk down to the town this afternoon so that I could lose another tennis ball in the river, and he wanted to check whether there were any signs of human life now that the season is ended. In fact, there was not a shop open except for three estate agencies. The only human life seemed to be one or two middle-aged males who had parked their Audis and were walking around with property brochures in their hands. The object of their interest was a few sites where hotels have been knocked down and big cranes and piling machines are building huge blocks of what are laughingly called “lifestyle apartments” complete with spas, saunas, agas and all the other nonsense that the non-doms seek in a ski resort. Then it dawned on me that possibly these people wandering around were potential tax dodgers potentially investing in property which is over priced and never likely to be fully occupied.
Could it be that even charming Les Gets could have become a square on the Tax Haven version of the Monopoly board. Grey seems to think so. He points out that all the shops are closed as there are no people in the ten thousand or more living units already built in Les Gets. At least one butcher, baker and supermarket used to stay open all year, but no longer. Even the betting shop and news agent was closed. Grey is not sure whether to cash in and sell his kennel for a huge profit (and then hide the proceeds in a network of offshore bank accounts) or wait a while until the value doubles again.
He was still muttering about this when we got home and I had a devil of a job to remind him that I was due for my chunks at 5pm. Finally they arrived and they gave me the strength to write this article. So what, you may ask, have tax havens got to do with dogs. Ah, that would be telling but I can reveal I found some treasure in the river which was pretty muddy and I am seeing Mossack-Fonseca in the morning to arrange a bit of laundering.
Woof woof. Trebles all round.