The Charge of the Blight‑Tax Brigade

17th July 2026

Forward, the taxpayers marched,
Into the fiscal fog —
Where rules are written elsewhere
By folk who’ve never slogged.
Through A9 closures,
Heating oil invoices,
And winter bills that rise
Like bureaucratic voices.
Still Caithness trudged on,
The Blight‑Tax Brigade.

II
Income Tax to left of them,
National Insurance to right of them,
PAYE deductions
Cheerfully smiting them.
Council Tax entrenched ahead,
Business Rates in ambush stance,
And VAT — the eternal cannon —
Firing at every chance.
Yet onward they stumbled,
The Blight‑Tax Brigade.

III
VAT on every purchase:
On scones in Thurso cafés,
On Wick’s hardware essentials,
On crofters’ winter hay.
On heating oil deliveries,
On tools for fixing roofs,
On every Highland necessity
That London calls “proof
Of strong consumer demand.”
Still rode the Brigade.

IV
Fuel Duty sniped from distance,
Vehicle Excise stalked the lanes,
Air Passenger Duty mocked
The Wick‑to‑Aberdeen planes.
Stamp Duty blocked the housing,
Capital Gains ambushed the brave,
Inheritance Tax waited
By every family grave.
Still Caithness pressed onward,
Its budgets thinly made.

V
Corporation Tax for traders,
Dividend Tax for the few,
Insurance Premiums rising
Like storms off Dunnet Head.
Climate Levy shadows crofts,
Landfill Tax haunts every shed,
Plastic Packaging charges
Marching overhead.
Still Caithness paid the bill,
Though nothing else was paid.

VI
O what a charge they made —
Through stealth‑freeze traps and fiscal raids,
Through rules that fit the cities
But never fit the glens.
Honour the taxpayers,
The Blight‑Tax Brigade —
Who fund the distant realm
While local costs cascade.
O Caithness, stubborn still —
The bravest ever flayed.