Weekend at Bernie’s Farm – Act Two
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Contents
In Act One, Bernie died, and the boys forged a tax plan from the crucible of panic (like all good plans). Sir David Attenborough explains the APR and BPR inheritance tax changes from a hot air balloon and with a chainsaw.
In Act Two, we met the sinister Agent Reeves – head of the Treasury’s secret Taxing (your) Wealth Acceleration Team (TWATs). A barn dance turned violent, culminating in a vegetable-based assassination attempt. Professor Brian Cox gave us his cosmic take on trusts and IHT (with the odd blackhole thrown in).
ACT THREE
…
// MARKET //
They’ve made it on the tractor to The Farmers’ Market
The market square is buzzing. Wax jackets, prams, dogs, artisan jam stacks, a brass band attempting “Land of Hope and Glory” slightly off-key.
Bernie is once again lashed upright behind a trestle table. Ray-Bans in place.
A pulley-string system is rigged by one of the lads. They use this masterful piece of engineering to make Bernie wave at passers-by. You’ve seen the film. You get it. [It strikes me that, if you have not seen the film, you won’t know what the f@ck is going on!]
He waves at two Hunter / Barbour (a popular combo) clad local ladies….
“He looks so well, doesn’t he” one says.
“Lovely skin. Do you think its Botox?” says the other.
At the chutney stall opposite, the local NFU rep is holding court.
Big voice.
Bigger opinions.
A clipboard in one hand and a bag of artisan pork scratchings in the other.
NFU Rep (loudly, for all to hear): “Mark my words… they say this will hit ‘only’ a handful of businesses. Rubbish. It’s going to hit most family farms…maybe even as many as half.”
A murmur runs through the crowd. One farmer spits his tea back into a polystyrene cup in shock.
NFU Rep (warming to the theme): “And nearly half of us… 49% I checked [tapping vigorously at his clipboard]… have already delayed investments or held off buying livestock.
This isn’t policy, it’s paralysis!”
At this precise moment, Bernie’s pulley-driven arm jerks, knocking over a jar of designer chutney. The splat punctuates the rep’s words like an exclamation mark.
One of the crowd (pointing at Bernie): “See, even Bernie’s appalled!”
The crowd nods, muttering darkly about “Reeves’s tractor tax” and “jobs for the knackers’ yard.”
The broken jar of preserves also attracts the attention of Rachel from Plant & Machinery cunningly disguised as a combined harvester mechanic.
She is amazed to see Bernie, again, seemingly back from the dead once more… She also sees that he is also becoming a beacon of resistance against her stingy tax policies.
It is now becoming an imperative that Bernie is bumped off for political reasons… her eyes narrow in determination.
Whilst the NFU rep is still in full-flow, Reeves creeps up behind him and BAM!… Hits him over the head with a large metal tool from her combined harvester toolkit. “I wanna be YOUR monkey wrench, Bernie” she smirks to herself… [She is evidently a bit of a Foo Fighters Fan]. She again flees the scene.
The focus returns back to the NFU rep.
NFU rep: “And, get this, they say that we can pay our tax in instalments… over ten years…
…[now, to camera] Here’s Claudia Winkelman in a Scottish castle to tell you why this is rubbish:”
CLAUDIA WINKLEMAN CUTAWAY: “THE TRAITOR IN THE CASTLE”
Scottish castle – the dead of night
Candles gutter. Lightning flickers across the stained-glass windows of the Traitors roundtable. A single bell tolls.
At the table sit Marina Purkiss, Martin Lewis OBE, and Sir Ashley Fox MP.
Claudia drifts between them, her voice low, conspiratorial.
CLAUDIA
(whispering to camera)
“Three players remain.
One insists farmers can simply pay it off their new Loch Ness Monster-sized tax bills in instalments.
The Rh Hon gentleman knows the numbers don’t add up.
And one definitely isn’t selling crypto investments on X.
But only two are faithful.
One… is the Traitor.”
Thunder rolls.
SIR ASHLEY FOX MP (rising, measured tone)
“Madam Winkleman, I must nominate Marina Purkiss.
She’s been sowing confusion across the realm.
She keeps repeating the Treasury’s comforting mantra -‘ten easy payments over ten years’ – as if interest rates, cash-flow, and agricultural yields are mere trifles”
PURKISS (arching an eyebrow)
“Oh come on, Sir Ashley.
I see how much a flat in Notting Hill rents for. And they don’t even have gardens. We’re talking about acres and acres of farmland here. There’s probably one of those nice Booths around the corner too.
We all know, so many farms are bought to avoid paying Inheritance Tax.
Look at Jeremy Clarkson”
She leans back with a smug look on her face.
MARTIN LEWIS (cutting in, already scribbling)
[Rattling it off in his usual field gun style]
“Well, let’s crunch the numbers.
Five-million-pound farm.
APR relief now capped at one million. Let’s, be kind and say it’s a married couple running the farm so they can use two lots of relief – so two million.
That leaves three million taxable at forty per cent — that’s a £1.2 million IHT bill.”
He glances up, and then back down at the notepad and recommences scribbling.
“You can pay that over ten years. Ten so-called ‘easy’ instalments of £120k each.
But remember HMRC charges interest on whatever’s still outstanding – and at 8.25 %… that’s much higher than any balance transfer credit cards I’d ever recommend to my MoneySavingExperts”.
He flips the parchment around.
“Year one: you owe £120k plus about £99k in interest.
By the end, you’ll have paid roughly £545k in interest on top – total bill about £1.75 million.”
He taps the page with the quill.
“So, the Average annual outflow is roughly £175k.
Now, most farms make what – two per cent return on capital?
That’s about a hundred grand a year, before weather, the latest hare-brained Government policy announcement, and whichever energy supplier collapses next.
Even at three per cent, they’re still short.”
He leans back.
“So, even with a fair wind, and, let me tell you, you don’t get many of those in the UK, you’re still £75k short every year.
They certainly won’t be shopping in Booths anymore, Marina.”
PURKISS (gurning at Martin)
I didn’t come all the way to Scotland to listen to the highland games of mansplaining, thank you. Look, we all know you can prove ANYTHING with facts.
CLAUDIA (invisibly rolling her eyes under her fringe)
“It’s time to vote.”
Suspenseful music plays
They reveal their cards one by one – Martin & Sir Ashley have written ‘’MARINA’.
Marina has, profoundly, written “TAX THE RICH”.
CLAUDIA (leaning forward)
“Marina… are you the Traitor?”
PURKISS (rising slowly, light catching her fringe)
“No, Claudia. The traitor’s not me – it’s the front pages that keep telling us the house is on fire whilst handing out free firelighters to the arsonist.
CLAUDIA (whisper)
“Marina… get out”.
Thunder crashes. Candle’s gutter some more. An owl ‘oots.
FADE OUT.
// RALLY //
Scene: We skip forward to 2029.
Outside of Number 10 Downing Street.
New Prime Minister, Nigel Farage, with pint of mild in one hand, and a Lambert & Butler in in the other, stands at a lectern in the middle of the street.
“Well, when I said we would win a majority at the next election back in 2024, they all laughed. They’re not laughing now!”
Everyone in the massed (and rather wellied) throng laugh politely (though suspect they’d heard that line somewhere before).
“And I’d like to introduce you to a great friend of mine. A man who has had such an impact, not through empty words… like most establishment politicians… but through his quiet deeds. Let me introduce you to, local farming activist, patriot, TV star, Bernie! My new Chancellor of the Exchequer!”
The lads wheel Bernie on a mobility scooter, propped up in a Barbour jacket, copious amounts of gaffer tape, and with a Reform rosette pinned to his lapel.
It has to be said, that, despite being dead for over three years, they’ve managed to preserve him quite well. Indeed, after his barnstorming appearances on Question Time and the Laura Kuenssberg Show, he has also managed to secure a cabinet position in the new government.
Just then, Bernie’s scooter lurches forward, knocking over the lectern and microphone, producing a deep “booooom” that reverberates through Downing Street.
The audience mishears it as a battle cry.
Crowd (chanting): “Bernie! Bernie! Bernie!”
At the back, Agent Reeves is now in her final disguise as Rachel from Current Affairs with her trademark cunning name badge and press pass. Her plan has slowly unravelled. She is now here simply for revenge.
She lunges for the scooter, trips over a string of Union Flag bunting (at that precise moment being hoisted into the air by the revellers) and is swept down Downing Street by the roaring crowd.
She can he heard manically complaining that ‘he won’t die, why won’t he die?!?’ as she is carried down Whitehall.
The camera pans out: fireworks explode across the famous London skyline.
We see a newspaper with the headline “Exclusive: Bernie Announces Retrospective Scrapping of Farm Tax!”
Minutes later, Reeves can be seen further down Whitehall. She is wearing a straitjacket and is being gently led into the back of an ambulance by a doctor. She is inaudibly mumbling to herself.
The boys, for the first time in years, relax.
Their inheritance is restored.
Now, they just need to get rid of Bernie…
Fade to black.
