There's no accounting for tastes ... James Blunt on his way to the top tax bracket
They all dream, but in every pop star's life there comes the moment they know they've made it. It's not the first number one, the first gold disc or the first time an urchin spots them on the street. Oh no. Even the most bovine of them - and a big hello to Emma Bunton at this point - understand it's when their accountant visits and says those golden words: "You need to take a year out of the country for tax purposes."
They've all done it (except, for obvious reasons, New Model Army and Babylon Zoo). Some, such as Def Leppard's Joe Elliott, live in Ireland (from his house you can see Chris De Burgh's); others, such as George Michael, disguise it by going on a world tour.
Not James Blunt, though. Start the wailing and gnashing of the teeth now, because he has gone for good and moved to Switzerland, home of David Bowie, Phil Collins (before his most recent wife fled) and the secret bank account of every dictator worth his secret police. The obvious question is: has the greedy fool ever been to Switzerland, in particular the chocolate box village of Verbier where he is to live? The surprising answer is yes. Often. Since childhood.
The natural response is a cheery v-sign and a national chorus of "good riddance". But behaving like a tax advisor rather than a pop star is wrong. We must try to stop him from leaving us. Not because I want to hear You're Beautiful again or that song about the three wise men (or was that James Morrison? It's hard to tell), or because I wish to see another of his interminably dreary concerts. No, I want him to stay with us because it's not fair that he goes.
He has made us suffer with his records, his tales of single-handedly bringing down the Yugoslav military machine and his half-smirk which means he knows he was lucky to arrive at the very moment the British public demanded a winsome pubic schoolboy.
Now, by rights, it should be his turn to suffer at the hands of the Inland Revenue. I don't just want new hospitals and that pothole outside my house to be fixed: I want James Blunt to pay for them. That's what progressive taxation is all about, Jimbob. We make you rich; you refurbish a state-run hospice.
In fact, I'd like to see all popstars barred from leaving the country, or pilloried for personal hypocrisy, unless James Blunt has written a song called Can't Help Falling For A Tax Loophole. Sadly, they're almost all as two-faced as each other and it's not just about where they live. The blessed Joe Strummer sent his kids to public school, The Beatles loved Liverpool so much they left it the moment fame beckoned, and Bono's bid for sainthood (lead by example pixie boy; give your money away) hasn't stop him allowing U2's operations to be moved to the more tax-efficient Netherlands. And, as we stand at the quayside, tearfully waving off James Blunt, imagine what we don't know about...
