Loopholes: Tales With A Sting In The Tail

By James Franklyn Jackson

 Loopholes have come a long way from their original definition as ‘a vertical slit in a castle wall for shooting through; a means of evading or escaping’. They abound in everyday life and are used extensively in an attempt to gain benefit, lawfully or otherwise. These stories recount instances of the many different types of loop

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Printing UK
• Release date: Feb 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781911113195

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LOOPHOLES

Loopholes

Copyright ©James Franklyn Jackson 2016 All Rights Reserved

The rights of James Franklyn Jackson to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. No Part may be reproduced, adapted, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978-1-011113-18-8

All characters in this publication, other than those clearly within the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Spiderwize

Remus House

Coltsfoot Drive

Woodston

Peterborough

PE2 9BF

www.spiderwize.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THE 'TEAM'

When I announced my candidature to stand against London Mayor, Boris Johnson in the 2015 Parliamentary General Election in Uxbridge and South Ruislip, I was asked by the press if any of Boris's team had made contact with mine. So, I start with a photo of 'My Team':-

Left - Right:- Hannah, Anita, Riyad, Linda, Patricia

This was taken at the only impromptu meeting we held in London when I mentioned that I was thinking of standing and they all said 'go for it'.

I am grateful to them for helping me to write my first book, Bound by Chains and Sashes, then throughout my campaign and finally in producing this book.

I am also indebted to readers who purchased my first work, either in book form or as an e-book through Amazon/Kindle, or at book signings. Thank you for your comments and encouraging reviews.

Every effort has been made to contact copyright holders of material reproduced in this book and due acknowledgement has been given. Similarly, when quoting from newspaper articles in the public domain, appropriate references have been provided. Where there is criticism, for balance purposes, there was an opportunity for a response. Where received, they have been printed.

If any errors or omissions are found, I accept responsibility.

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

THE NEWSPAPER ARTICLE

DISENFRANCHISED

(Diary of a Parliamentary candidate)

MOROCCAN ADVENTURE

MONEY FOR OLD ROPE

THY WILL BE DONE

THE HEADMASTER

FALKLAND ISLANDS GOLF ARTICLE

FALKLAND ISLANDS GOLF PHOTO

A QUESTION OF IDENTITY

THE BLACKLIST

THE TOFF AND THE TOOTHBRUSH

PSYCHIC SID

BETTING ON BILL

TOO HARD TO HANDLE

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

A GAME OF CHARADES

D. I. Y.

Example of a Castle with Loopholes

INTRODUCTION

LOOPHOLES

Loophole:- a narrow vertical slit in a castle wall for shooting or looking through or to admit light or air; outlet, means of evading a rule without breaking it.

Everyone enjoys the opportunity to find a way of gaining an advantage, lawfully or otherwise - from the multi-national corporation to the unassuming individual. You will know the sort of people who like to beat the system in one form or another. I suspect, if you were truthful, that you are one of them. Haven't you tried to seek ways around things, asked or paid someone to find an advantageous loophole for you? And having succeeded, profited in some way from it? Ways around procedures are regularly sought, found, taken advantage of or shamelessly exploited. Looking for a loophole is a full-time, well-paid job for an army of people. Trying to close them also occupies the time of others but it is usually a case of closing the stable door well after the horse has bolted.

The wealthy in their tax havens, conglomerates with headquarters relocated to tax-advantageous countries. MPs who pledge to help their constituents but usually help themselves. Dubious methods employed by organizations designed to fill their coffers. Banks who 'arrange' rates, then tell you that your money is not yours, but theirs. Telephone companies who give you a customer services number that you can never contact. Huge car park 'fines' levied by private parking operators for a slight infraction, massive charges made by some aircraft operators just because you have been unable to print a boarding card. And you must have been asked at an airport newsagent or pharmacy for your boarding card for a £1 purchase so that they can avoid paying VAT applied to sale of goods for travellers going outside the UK. And of course, the age-old defence - our records show that everything is above board but unfortunately, the file has gone missing! All very sharp practices, but legal until, hopefully, changed.

These stories recount instances of the many different types of loopholes employed by people I have come across and are presented in decade order, from the most recent in the 2010s back to the 1960s.

I start with abuse of the state loopholes, such as foreign citizens obtaining European Health Insurance Cards from doctors despite never having lived or paid any tax in Britain and billing the National Health Service for medical treatment. 'The Newspaper Article' is a typical exploitation of this type of abuse of the State. Then, there are technical loopholes - areas not covered by law that enable actions to be taken that would normally not be considered possible. Such a loophole enabled me to stand as a Parliamentary candidate against Mayor of London Boris Johnson in the 2015 General Election to raise awareness of the fact that despite paying UK income tax, the fact that I have lived in France for more than 15 years deprives me of the right to vote. A personal account of my candidature is recounted in 'Disenfranchised - the diary of a Parliamentary candidate'.

Status and influence are powerful factors in the ability to avoid the long arm of the law, as exemplified in 'Moroccan Adventure' that recalls a holidaymaker's visit to Marrakech and his encounter with a wealthy businessman.

If you have ever received a letter from a large organization informing you 'that to improve our service to customers, we are closing 200 local branches including yours', you will appreciate 'Money for Old Rope', a classic case of the self-imposed loophole, whereby procedures are introduced in an attempt to cover inadequacies, save money, increase profits and avoid liability.

Unintended outcomes are a common feature due to a lack of legal documentation. Always make your intentions clear, otherwise things can be exploited by undeserving recipients as described in 'Thy Will Be Done'.

Lack of controls and unwritten, misunderstood transactions can lead to temptations too difficult to resist for the overworked, as in the case of 'The Headmaster'.

A brief introduction to life and sporting activity in the Falkland Islands precedes two stories with Falklands connections.

'A Question of Identity' focuses upon a loophole decided on the spur of the moment by a surly, hard-pressed but honest Chilean official to 'diffuse a difficult situation'.

In 'The Blacklist', a hard-working but irresponsible young man spends much of his time trying to find a way out of a control designed to help him.

Regulations concerning 'insider trading' trap an unsuspecting, talented man of means. In 'The Toff and the Toothbrush', he has to salvage what he can of his reputation and is faced with the choice of payment or 'porridge'. In the end, it is to little avail.

There are many examples of exploitation of sporting loopholes considered 'not in the true spirit of the game'. One famous example occurred in the 1981 World Series cricket game between Australia and New Zealand when, with New Zealand requiring six runs to win, the final bowl was delivered underarm and rolled along the ground. Legal yes, but very sharp practice. 'Psychic Sid' is just such a story.

What happens when you owe someone money but it has not been claimed and you don't know who the person is? Can you benefit by any loophole? 'Betting on Bill' is a case in point.

'Interpretation' loopholes are a source of conflict, often only resolved by a costly challenge or, in the case of 'Too Hard To Handle', a tragic event.

'Exploitation of systems and abuse of power', no matter how small, can, if done on a regular basis, reap rewards. A fine example of this practice features in 'The One That Got Away'. Wily schemers, sometimes the ones you would least suspect, will always be one step ahead.

A story from the late 1960s recalls how a seemingly small but annoying crime, can turn into a worrying nightmare when defendants in 'A Game of Charades' employ delaying tactics in a bid to cash in on a loophole.

Finally, D.I.Y. is a timeless tale of the classic 'cash in hand' loophole, a situation you will be familiar with and have probably exploited one way or another.

First hole - Joe tees off

2010s

THE NEWSPAPER ARTICLE

Joe was an uncompromising character who, at match play golf, never conceded a putt no matter how short. When you looked across at him, his unsympathetic expression was 'I think I'll see that in'. He got his comeuppance when an investigative reporter made the most of Joe's predicament and inadvertently uncovered a 'nice little earner'.

Joe Duggan was becoming irritated and impatient. It was late Wednesday afternoon and he had been waiting in the checkout queue at Telman's Supermarket for what seemed an eternity. Having spent the afternoon playing golf, he had slipped into the nearest store on his way home to buy a few grocery items his wife had asked him to purchase.

Joe had followed the same routine for the last ten years, shortly after being suddenly made redundant and paid off from a building firm. Each weekday, he had kissed his wife goodbye at 10 am before driving the forty miles to Brockholes Beach Golf Club. There, he would park the car, eat his sandwiches then join a group of about a dozen regular players. Following a four hour round, he would shake hands with his playing partners, settle any small wagers, return to his car and drive home by 6 pm.

Joe was now fifty years of age and a man of few words. He kept himself very much to himself and never mentioned details of his former career or current life. He possessed a modern, powerful car, had all the latest gadgets - laptop, i-pad and smart phone, dressed in expensive casual styles of the day, regularly changed his clubs for the latest sets and gave the impression of a man of substance.

Members wondered why he did not choose to join one of the many golf clubs near to his home. He had said that the seaside course, with the sole exception of the first hole, was flat, easy to walk upon and suited his game. Also, living so far from the course, he was entitled to the half-price membership rate. Joe also appreciated the modern, relaxed atmosphere of the club, where old-fashioned rules regarding the wearing of shirts with collars and knee-length socks with shorts, had long been dispensed with.

A prematurely balding figure, he walked quickly but surely and liked to carry his clubs. The weight of them had made him round-shouldered but, being lithe and as strong as an ox, he never even considered the need for a golf buggy. Invariably, he hit his drives long distances straight down the middle of the fairway. Such length and accuracy gave him time to search the bordering sand dunes, gorse bushes and streams for other players' lost balls. It was common knowledge that the best wood in his bag was his fishing rod for retrieving balls at depths of up to six feet. He was disappointed if he did not find at least half a dozen per round and was in the habit of selling the better ones, often to the very players who had just lost them. Nevertheless, he was an excellent low-handicapper whom others were pleased to partner, as his presence increased their chances of winning.

On this Wednesday afternoon, Telman's Supermarket was busy but only half the cash tills were in operation. There were three customers ahead of Joe when he had joined what seemed to him to be the shortest queue but each of them presented the cashier with a wad of special offer discount tickets. It was a long process to input them and the queue behind Joe had grown to half a dozen other impatient shoppers. As usual thought Joe, it was a case of ten minutes shopping and half an hour queuing.

Finally, the surly-faced cashier got round to tilling Joe's items. That will be £8.53. Do you have a store discount card? she demanded.

No, replied Joe wondering why the supermarket didn't just lower their prices and get on with the transaction instead of inconveniencing shoppers and creating irksome paperwork.

Cash or card? she continued disinterestedly, looking straight ahead as though he wasn't there.

Joe proffered a £20 note. The cashier looked at it suspiciously before placing it into what looked like a small photocopy machine. A few seconds later, she turned to Joe. Can't accept this. It's a forgery.

It's the only money I've got, said an increasingly irritated Joe.

Then stand aside and wait in front of my till with your purchases. I'll have to call security and you can sort it out with them. Other customers are waiting you know.

She pressed a button below her till desk and shortly, a uniformed store security officer arrived.

This man, said the cashier, pointing directly at Joe, gave me this £20 note. It didn't look or feel right, so I tested it and the machine indicated that it's a forgery.

The security officer took the note, told Joe to stay where he was and disappeared into an adjacent administrative office. The line of customers, alerted to his problem, had already begun to stare at Joe as he scowled and walked to and fro impatiently. He had to drive forty miles home and knew his wife would be anxious if he was later than usual.

Five long minutes went by before the security officer returned. It's a forgery all right, he said addressing Joe. Where did you get it?

How the bloody hell should I know? retorted Joe. You get notes all the time from banks, petrol stations and supermarkets such as this one. Look, I've been here for over half an hour and I'm in a hurry, he continued, raising his voice.

All the customers nearby had overheard the conversation and were staring at Joe as they discussed in whispers his predicament. Joe was aware of their attention and feeling uncomfortable, began to shuffle his feet nervously. It seemed to him that he was being treated as a criminal and everyone in the supermarket thought he must have committed a crime.

Calm down Sir, said the security officer. We'll have to keep this note and if you can't pay, you'll have to leave your goods here. I want your name and address and I'll give you a receipt for the note.

You've got a damned cheek, shouted Joe, moving closer to the man.

It sounds to me that you are accusing me of fraud in front of all these people, he raged.

All I have done is try to buy a few goods and give you payment. I had no idea that the note was a forgery and I resent your attitude towards me. How dare you ask for my name and address? The note is mine and I want it back. You can keep your blasted goods. He lunged towards the security officer and snatched the £20 note from his grasp.

Just a minute Sir, shouted the surprised officer. But Joe quickly headed for the exit and walked as fast as possible to his car. Watching him go, the cashier was overheard to remark to on-looking customers, We often get people like him trying it on. If we didn't have our verification machine the supermarket could make a loss.

Joe drove out of the car park at speed, his anger getting the better of his judgement. He had to brake hard when the first set of traffic lights he encountered suddenly changed to red. Whilst waiting, he noticed the offices of 'South West Newspapers' just ahead and when the lights changed, he immediately turned right and entered their car park. Leaving his car, he strode purposefully through the main door of the building and confronted the receptionist. Without waiting for her to speak, he demanded, I want to see one of your reporters on a matter of great importance. Just say it's Mr Joe Duggan. The girl, convinced by his forthright manner, picked up the phone and dialled a number. I have a Mr Joe Duggan at reception who's asking to see you. He says it is very important.

Shortly, a young reporter arrived. He'd had a boring, wasteful day. Nothing of note had occurred and he was short of a feature for the following evening's edition.

What can I do for you? he asked casually, hoping this man was not going to waste even more of his time.

I've got a serious complaint to make and think it will interest you, said Joe earnestly.

The reporter took him to his small office and found him a chair amid untidy piles of folders, files, newspaper cuttings and a well-used ashtray.

Tell me about it, he demanded, leaning casually against his desk opposite the seated Joe and lighting yet another cigarette.

It's the attitude of your local supermarket, Telman's. I went in there about an hour ago to buy some goods and when I gave them a £20 note, they checked it and said it was a forgery. They virtually accused me of trying to fiddle them and worst of all made me stand in full view of everyone whilst they took the note and made further investigations. People were staring and talking about me as though I were a common criminal. Then, as I was still waiting and in earshot of everyone, they asked for my name and address. There was no privacy, no confidentiality, and no consideration. I was so angry that I just snatched back my £20 note and left the supermarket as fast as I could.

Can I see the £20 note? asked the young reporter, displaying a sudden interest. Joe produced it from his pocket.

The reporter held it up to the light. It looks genuine enough to me but I suppose you can never tell.

Returning it to Joe, he told him to take it in both hands and hold it across his chest. He bent down to pick up a small camera and before Joe had fully realised what had happened or could protest, the reporter had taken three or four photos.

Now, tell me about yourself and how you came to be in the supermarket, he continued.

Half an hour later, after Joe had telephoned to tell his wife that he would be late home due to urgent roadworks, he left the newspaper office feeling much better within himself. He had got the nasty incident off his chest and had calmed down sufficiently to quite enjoy the drive home. He had been treated disgracefully but with the help of the newspaper, hoped to ensure that the supermarket would not similarly humiliate others in future.

Next day, he drove to the golf club and as usual, played a competitive but friendly game with his group. When he turned up on Friday however, he was immediately aware of a certain coolness towards him. Nothing was said, but as the round progressed he did not feel at all comfortable or welcome and the attitude of one member bordered almost upon silent hostility. There was none of the usual 'have a good weekend' farewells.

When he returned home, he didn't mention his golfing partners' unaccustomed reception. Maybe it was he that had misinterpreted their lack of communication. He was not a great conversationalist. Perhaps it was just that they too could not find anything in particular to say that day.

Over the weekend, he cleaned his clubs in readiness for his journey on Monday morning.

Just before ten o'clock, as he was preparing for the golfing day ahead, the front door bell rang. Joe's wife answered it and upon opening the door was confronted by two middle-aged men in smart suits, who introduced themselves as officers from the Department for Work and Pensions. They asked to speak to her husband. Telling them to wait, she made her way back to the kitchen and announced to Joe, There are two gentlemen at the door who wish to see you.

You'd better show them in, replied Joe unconcernedly, but as soon as he saw them he sensed something was wrong.

Best if we all sit down Mr Duggan, said the senior of the two officers.

We would like to ask a few questions about this article that appeared in Thursday evening's edition of the South West Evening News.

He handed Joe a cutting. Joe read, with growing understanding and alarm, of the purpose of the men's visit.

SCANDALOUS TREATMENT OF DISABLED SHOPPER

A disabled man, innocently shopping at Telman's Supermarket yesterday afternoon, was subjected to the humiliating experience of being questioned in front of waiting customers when he inadvertently tendered a £20 note, which proved to be a forgery.

I'd only called in to buy a few things my wife had asked me to get but the way they treated me was disgraceful, recounted Mr Joe Duggan. It was as though I was a criminal and on trial for everyone to see and hear.

A spokesman for the supermarket said that when the incident had occurred their interview room was being redecorated and the security staff had no option but to carry out their check whilst the customer remained at the till. It was not an ideal situation and the firm apologised unreservedly to Mr Duggan. They would like him to contact them to receive a store voucher as compensation.

Mr Duggan, a former building worker, had to cease work over ten years ago after receiving an industrial injury which caused him to suffer from a bad back. He has struggled to walk more than a hundred yards ever since and his pain has been so severe that he has been able to claim the higher rate of disability allowance.

Underneath the article was a large photo of Joe Duggan displaying his £20 note.

Now Mr Duggan, said one of the officers, our Benefits Hotline has received a call from a member of Brockholes Beach Golf Club to the effect that you are a playing member there and have done so each weekday for the past ten years. Bearing in mind the newspaper article, how do you account for this?

Three months later at a Magistrates Court hearing, Joe Duggan admitted fraudulently claiming £30,658 of incapacity benefits. He said that he hadn't fully understood the system and had relied upon advice from other people when filling out his benefit claim form. Although his health had markedly improved shortly after his enforced retirement, he put that down to his regular exercise on the golf course and the beneficial seaside fresh air of his outdoor sporting hobby. He confessed to not having notified his change of health circumstances to the authorities. He had also continued to claim full incapacity benefit by failing to declare substantial assets. After investigators discovered that Joe had accumulated savings of over £40,000, he was given a twelve months' suspended prison sentence and ordered to repay the incapacity benefit at the rate of £l00 a week.

You've been a fool Joe. If you hadn't contacted that newspaper they would never have had the opportunity to check up on you. You'd never have been found out and we would have continued to live in the style to which we've become accustomed. Now, your benefit has been stopped and we've your repayments to make. I'll also have you under my feet twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, moaned Mrs Duggan.

It's that sod of a reporter's fault, retorted Joe. You give them a genuine story but they always have to investigate, twist the facts and find some angle. There's no honesty in journalism any more. All they look for is sensationalism and integrity goes out of the window.

Joe never set foot on Brockholes Beach Golf Course again and rued the day in the supermarket when frustration got the better of him. If only he had not been so impetuous in asking the newspaper to report his anger against Telman's Supermarket.

Members of Joe's old golf club occasionally asked what had happened to him. One knowing member remarked, That benefits cheat won't be back I'm sure. Now we can look for and find our own lost balls without having to pay him to return them to us. Let's do the draw for partners, we're due to tee-off in ten minutes.

2010s

DISENFRANCHISED

THE DIARY OF A