Some things bring you more pleasure than they ought to, pro-rata, by size (stop sniggering at the back) or value. I am holding such a thing now (Blenkinsop, wait outside until you have ceased being amused).
It is only the size of a postcard and thinner. It is worth £65.50. It brings me deep and unstoppable joy.
You see it is from HM Assistant Paymaster General and issued by HM Revenue and Customs and it is a cheque for a National Insurance Contribution refund. Get that lovely word. Refund.
I shouldn't get so excited. When I lend you a tenner and you give it me back I only feel a sense of balance and would probably have let you keep it if you really needed it. They are only giving me back my money and they have had it for six to nine months and aren't paying interest.
But as I desperately search for another simile for the rain which beats down on the conservatory roof like a wet thing I can't think of (Blenkinsop - another ten minutes in the corridor please), and the tiredness of the last few days fogs my brain, I have pleasure. I look at the cheque. I smile. Hooray.
Why do we hate taxes so? They are fair by and large. Pray for a tax collector today. It's one of Jesus' mini priorities.