Wednesday, 9 March 2011


So, I've received my Census form.

I've done a little bit of digging into my family background and seen some transcripts of the old 19th century census forms - they generally just want to know who lives at each address, what their relationships are to each other, what their jobs are and which diseases they have (cos let's face it everyone had at least several ailments in those days, ah, the days when bacteria and viruses could happily flit from body to body without fear of antibiotics or vaccinations, happy days - microbiologically speaking)

This bugger is 32 pages long. They want to know everything. Your favourite type of trousers, did you pick your nose yesterday, what size are your genitals etc etc.

The thing is, my form is already invalid - on page 4 it tells me that Robert Smith lives in my house. I'm bloody certain I would have noticed a pigeon-toed lipsticked sulky goth creeping about the place, singing songs about caterpillars... Maybe he lives in the airing cupboard? In the garage, hiding behind the lawnmower? I'll play some ELO, that'll flush the bastard out.

Anyway, I'm off to measure me dick...

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