CITY AND SUBURBAN
The company rural barouche goes down with a terminal puncture
CHRISTOPHER FILDES
IWAS enjoying the refined calm of Paddington station, praised by Lord Ick- enham in Uncle Fred in the Springtime, when a merchant banker got off his train and climbed into a shoe-box on wheels. His driver, cap on head, knees round ears, occupied most of it, the banker poured himself into such space as remained, and together they bowled off towards the City. When I next saw him, I teased him business, I said, must be terrible, judged by the size of his company car. He rounded on me: 'You don't understand, do you, Christopher? That is not my company car, that is my company's car. My company car is in the country, and it is enormous.' That vast rural barouche is now caught in a double whammy. My friend must pay more tax for its use — and, for the first time, his bank must pay more, too. The car is treated as a benefit in kind, on which, as on a benefit in cash, employers are made liable for National Insurance contribu- tions. That simple change will yield £610 million a year. At a bank like my friend's it will cost, I am told, the thick end of half a million pounds. I think it will puncture the company car.
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