A Change to the DBLW Depreciation Policy

There’s a saying in Appleton Marsh: if you run over something in your car, it’s either a cat or a Chaff. The history of the Chaffs in Appleton Marsh can be traced back to William the Conqueror and the Domesday Book, as Margaret insists on reminding the whole world, all the time. And if you don’t believe me, take a wander down Hall Rise. See if you can spot the only house with a heraldic shield above the door. Don’t ask me what the family motto, “Libretto et Cantata”, means.  I wouldn’t mind but Margaret married into the name.

Anyway, I digress. Having explained the stranglehold that the Chaff dynasty has on Appleton Marsh, it probably won’t surprise you to hear that my bookkeeper is none other than Wynona Chaff, Margaret’s niece. Wynona isn’t a qualified accountant but she knows what she’s doing and she has got letters after her name (S.R.H.).  She’s done my accounts ever since Lionel Chaff, her granddad, fell head over heels for a retired podiatrist from out of the county and followed her like a lovesick puppy, leaving us high and dry without a bye or leave.

It seems I can’t go two sentences without digressing, or rambling to use senior citizen parlance.

This morning Wynona popped by to begin preparing the DBLW annual accounts. I’d already decided that the remainder of the lincoln green tabards should be written off to bad goods which would mean a hit to the profit & loss account. The question in my mind was whether it needed to be treated as an operational charge, hitting my operating profit, or whether it could be treated as an exceptional cost and go ‘below the line.’ I was pondering this when Wynona dropped the bombshell.

“Doris, that new table in the staff room.”

“What about it?” I said.

“You’re not going to be able to depreciate it over ten years.”

“But it’s fixtures and fittings. I’ve always depreciated fixtures and fittings over ten years. That’s the DBLW accounting standard.”

“I’m sorry Doris. You can only depreciate assets over their useful life.”

“But a table has a useful life of more than ten years. The last one lasted forty years, until Flo fell onto it.”

“The point is, Doris, and how can I put this…?”

I saw where this going and saved her the bother.

“That I might not be around in ten years time,” I said dismissively. “Is that what you mean?”

She looked bashful.

“Well no one lasts forever, Doris.”

“Well how long do think I’m going to last?” I snapped. “What should the new DBLW depreciation policy be? Five years? Three years? Three months? Twelve hours?!”

“Don’t be like that,” she said.

“I have a business to run,” I said. “And that business won’t withstand a hit to the profit and loss account from expensing a table, not after the write down of the tabards.”

“I recommend a two year amortisation plan,” ventured Wynona.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I snorted. “I didn’t realise that I looked so near to death’s door.”

“You’re seventy eight,” she said, bold as brass.

“Thank you, I know how old I am. I don’t need to be reminded.”

While all this was going on, Flo wisely kept her head down.

“All I’m saying is, it’s not inconceivable that you’ll retire.”

“And it’s not inconceivable that I’ll get myself a new bookkeeper,” I snapped.

“Okay,” she raised her hands in submission. “Three years. Any more and I’ll be crossing the corporate governance Rubicon. Don’t ask me to go there Doris.”

I could tell she meant it.

“Have you been into B&Q in Exeter lately?” I asked her. “Half the staff there are over eighty.”

She was unmoved.

“Three years then,” I agreed reluctantly. “But we’re going to have to re-consider what we do with those tabards.”