I used to love Halloween, or Samhain as we Celts called it.

Fireworks, ghouls and monsters. But for the hard-working self-employed a worse monster has chosen 31 October to rear its ugly head . . . the taxman . . .

and it's not even him I resent the most.

I hate paying tax to the government.

If I thought every penny of my tax was really going towards improving things I'd be happy to hand over the crippling lump of cash. But in the hands of our political gombeen suburbanites my money is wasted within seconds on underestimated, unplanned projects that will only buy votes from women who drive SUVs and their 'builder' husbands. (I use quotes on the word builder as nothing has been 'built' in this country since the 1930s. . . Poured, maybe. ) And being self-employed means I don't get one break in return. "Oh give us a break'" say all you PAYE heads, "you get to write off expenses and generally pay less tax than we who are taxed at source."

This is true, you unfortunate swine, but as you lounge there in your office watching YouTube on the boss's computer, using his electricity and toilet facilities, we self-employed are locked into a 24-hour financial balancing act where everything is our responsibility.

Like poor Atlas trying to balance the globe on his shoulders, the selfemployed get to bear the burden for the rest of the economy.

Poor people don't pay tax (although even the dole is taxed as far as I can remember. I mean, so a friend told me).

Those who choose the PAYE route never get their tax money anyway so, what they never had, they don't miss.

Companies and corporations are given huge tax breaks and the rich don't pay tax at all. Oh to be rich. Or poor.

Yet with all this tax not being paid, governments still rise and fall on the promise of tax cuts . . . meaningless to the self-employed person because by 31 October he has to trawl through his receipts, discard half his expenses so he can look half-solvent to the banks, and pay the accountant a grand to say "so how are things?" after revealing the mind-numbing figure that has you reaching for the duty-unfree Jameson.

Incidentally, I can't figure out if my accountancy firm is working for me or the Revenue, so wonderfully scrupulous are they at finding more for me to owe. "It's for your benefit'" they keep saying. Yeah. So is praying or exercise but that won't save me any money. It's a lose/lose situation, made even more sick by the fact that the Revenue set the date of Halloween for the great fleecing.

And why Halloween? Traditionally, this was when the spirits of the dead reconnect with the land of the living and, like those phantom bidders that tried to gazump me on my property, these evil dead 'Revenue ghouls' come and spirit away my income.

But that's not the worst of it. In ancient Ireland Samhain was officially New Year's eve, with Bealtaine on 1 May representing the start of the summer. I like that system. It makes sense for me to pay tax at the 'end' of the year. But then the saint I'm named after came over and introduced Christianity, a religion that reminds me of the kid that picks up the ball and takes it home because he doesn't want to play any more.

"We don't think Samhain should be the end of the year so we've decided Jesus was born in December and Christmas is now the new end of the year. So there."

Gee, thanks guys. Now my selfemployed self has to fork out a year's savings on tax seven weeks before the rest of it is fleeced by "the Christmas".

And by the way, bah humbug to you too.

I like to think of myself as an atheist but, if I have to choose between Christianity and paganism, I lean towards the latter 'cos it's more rock 'n' roll.

But are the Revenue pagans? Did they try to assassinate George Harrison? Do they pray around a severed goat's head like the Knights Templar?

No. One simple phone call to the Revenue revealed the truth behind the conspiracy to destroy the selfemployed entrepreneur. A satanic voice whinnied down the line: "When the tax year was April to April, we wanted the tax on 1 January. But the government changed the tax year to start in January so now the deadline is 31 October."

"Oh, " I said, unhappy that my satanic majesty's request had been brushed aside so easily. "But isn't that awful, you know, coming so close to Christmas?"

"I don't make the rules'" growled the Lord of Taxness.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time, evil one'" I cried.

I realised then that there was nothing for it but to go over completely to the dark side. And get a bank loan.

Damnation!