If Saint Theresa of the May really wants to do something for mental health, she might make a start by simplifying the way in which we pay our taxes.

I was driven demented last week – not a long journey these days I grant you – by the difficulties of trying to pay my tax bill online. Such hair as remains on my head is a whiter shade of pale.

Unlike the grasping fat cats of the City of London, I don’t mind paying tax. Up to a point of course. It’s not that much these days, but it makes me feel that I have a stake in society. It means I can tick the gift aid box when donating to charity.

But the complications I encountered last week – and remember I was trying to hand over money not extract it – made me think that tax avoidance is as much a way of saving your sanity as cash.

First you have to get into your online tax account, which means finding your Gateway number, on a small card that you thought you had tucked safely away but which has inexplicably gone awol.

You also have to find the complicated password which came to you by different communications channels, half by email, half by mobile phone. This has hidden itself away with the Gateway card.

After much searching I ran them down in the folds of an old National Trust leaflet.

Once safely into my account I had to click my way up numerous cybernetic dark alleys until I found the bit where it said “pay your tax bill”. Hooray. Nearly done!? Oh no, things are never that easy in the world of HMRC.

Now I had to become verified. They had to make sure I was who I said I was. Remember this is for paying in money. I don’t think there are many people, even in this crazy world, who are fraudulently handing over large wodges of dosh.

You are then presented with a list of accountancy companies, banks and other financial set-ups, who have been registered to “verify” you. There is no word about “verifying” them and some, it seemed to me, looked decidedly dodgy. I chose the Post Office.

You then have to answer a list of questions which just about stop short of your inside leg measurement.

The list culminates with them wanting your driving licence number and your credit and debit account numbers.

These are things we are told time and time again never to send out online, unless you are completely confident of absolute security. I bridled at this one. Why would I give these numbers away to dodgy organisations such as banks?

But by this stage you just want to get your life back so you throw caution to the winds.

Only to find, in my case, that the debit card, which you use on a regular basis with eBay and Amazon, has not been recognised. Sorting this out involves a phone call, which, after listening to irritating muzak, is answered by Samantha who asks: “Is it a ‘such and such’ account? Oh yes we’re always having trouble with them.”

With persistence, strong coffee and great fortitude, you eventually arrive at the sunlit uplands, above which hangs a sign that reads: “Pay Your Tax Bill”. This I did, with the very card that had been rejected several stages back.

I gloated over the new message that appeared on my screen which read: “Nothing to pay” and breathed a sigh of relief. Three days later I got a letter from HMRC with a form telling me how and when to pay my tax bill by post and kindly enclosing an envelope for my cheque.