French President Hollande's "supertax" policy falls by court ruling
  • 75%tax rate on France’s rich ruled unconstitutional. The so-called “supertax,” which would have only affected individual earnings exceeding $1.23 million per year, was deemed unfair by the French Constitutional Court and was thrown out, a blow to socialist President Francois Hollande’s fiscal agenda – the tax would have impacted a mere 1,500 people or so, raising less than $661 million. source
a moment of weakness (or two)

for jily week 2, day one (games). [ffnet]

In the living room of a small cottage, a couple lie on the floor, engaged in battle. The woman’s look is smug as she looks at the man, complete with a little smile. His mouth is wide open.

“Are you serious? There’s no way I’m giving you fifty quid!” He exclaims, and she giggles, admiring the way his jaw twitches in his outrage.

“You are, actually, because you’ve landed on Liverpool Street Station and that’s mine as well as King’s Cross,” says Lily, leaning back and smirking at James in triumph.

He groans. “This is so unfair.” Then, after a moment, he passes her a purple slip of paper. With a cheeky smile, Lily tucks it neatly into her pile and rolls the dice.

She lands on Community Chest – “Collect Supertax of £100 from all other players” – and James continues to whine.

“You’ve rigged it,” he moans, “When I was putting Harry to bed, you must have jinxed it.”

“I did not,” says Lily, affronted, “I was changing into my pyjamas.”

And very nice pyjamas they are, thinks James, because they cling to her in all the right places…

He blinks. “Fine, here’s your money,” and he gives it to her and rolls.

It seems that luck is finally on James’ side. “Yes!” he shouts a second later, “Mayfair, come to me baby.”

Lily grins teasingly, “But Park Lane’s still mine.”

He sticks his tongue out at her, “Want to trade? I’ll give you Old Kent Road and Whitechapel if you give me Park Lane.”

“You’re joking, right? Those two are crap, and I paid three-fifty for Park Lane!” She raises her eyebrows incredulously at him.

He concedes, shrugging. “Alright, alright, I’ll get Harry in the morning as well.”

She gives him an unimpressed look. “You do that anyway, because I always sleep through.”

“Ugh. I give up, Evans. What more can I offer?” He pouts, giving her the puppy eyes – or stag eyes, as Sirius would call them – and he knows he has caught her weakness.

She crawls round the board on the floor to him and places her head in his lap, blinking up at him innocently. “Oh, I can think of a few things.” She pauses. He always falls for her next line: “And that’s Potter to you.”

He gives her a wolfish grin and leans down to kiss her.

Needless to say, it doesn’t really matter that she never gave him Park Lane, seeing as he didn’t even buy Mayfair after that. (It’s probably for the best, because James was about to go bankrupt anyway.)