MOTOR MUSE

MMM’s wandering hippy ponders the national census

Census shenanigans

Earlier this year I had to complete the census. So, on 20 March, I sat down in front of my cast-iron, steam-driven computer to give it my undivided attention. The census, that is. Uppermost in my parsimonious frontal lobes was the threat that ‘failure to do so’ can result in a £1,000 fine. Or so the powers-that-be threaten. As a reconstituted hippy and instinctive disruptive, as long as it is legally allowable to do so, I try to ignore everything any government wishes to impose upon my personal freedom.

But, as the census is sold on the basis that it provides vital information to enable informed advanced planning of society’s needs and welfare, how can you not? Indeed, by the time you’ve read the twaddle, you (almost) feel it is an honour and a personal responsibility to partake.

All went well for a while, and I managed to get through the first few questions without any allergic antiauthoritarian disruptive reaction kicking in. Then came two questions about our whereabouts. As in our residence.

I say ‘our’ because, obviously, I was completing on behalf of the ‘household’, and conscientiously predicting the answers my good lady would’ve given if she had the chance.

The intention being to inform her later (about 10 years) of any controversial decisions I’d taken on her behalf.

The two questions about our whereabouts were as follows: “Do you stay at another address for more than 30 days a year?” and “One year ago, what was your usual address?” This is where it all went pear-shaped, and I began to think I might be facing that threatened £1,000 fine. Either for lying, or for not filling in the census form.

Do we stay at another address for more than 30 days a year? Well, yes, of course we do – we are itinerant motorhomers and, until this last year, we have been roaming around in our adventure wagon for over 100 nights a year.

So, I inserted the word ‘campervan’ then provided the registration number. You shouldn’t really have to divulge information like this to Big Brother but, as I mentioned, I don’t want to waste £1,000 of ours, which would be more usefully spent on booze and fags for us than endless multi-million-pound refurbishments in Downing Street. Or on banquets for the high and mighty, and on those who consider ‘one’s self ’ to be so inbred that they can’t get a proper job. After all, I may one day find myself a bit short or, God forbid, sober. God comes later on the census form so keep reading if religion gets y’r hackles up.

Sorry about that little rant, but anyway the machine wouldn’t accept my truthful well-intentioned response. By this time, my good lady had joined the fray as she had heard all the cursing and swearing at the fact that the bureaucrats plainly have no grasp of the concept of living in a camperhome.

“You will just have to lie,” she tells me. I do not lie, ever, I say. Next question: “Where were we a year ago and what was our address?” Answer, veracity to the fore once more, I banged in the address of a campsite in Spain where we were residing on 21.3.20.

I didn’t mention that we were there for half the year for fear of being locked up for being EU sympathisers.

But where does the truth get you? Nowhere, and the government didn’t believe that answer, either. So, again, I had to lie or face the fine.

“Which of the following best describes your sexual orientation?” The option of “Old and Occasionally” didn’t appear, and neither did “North by northwest”, so I had to tell fibs again, and got playfully (?) punched by my wife of 40 years for the option chosen.

Moving along swiftly: “On 21.3.2021 what was your marital status?” This was 20 March remember and, if things carried on like this, I was beginning to have doubts as to whether I could answer this one accurately, too. After all, solicitors are a 24-hour facility nowadays.

“How would you describe your national identity?” Well, “as many places as I can get to (in the campervan that doesn’t officially exist) in the quantity of life left available” is what I was looking for but, no, we were only allowed the usual anachronistic nationality options. I was looking for “Citizen of the planet – like everyone else” but, strangely, it didn’t appear either. The funniest question, though, was “What is your religion?” I scanned the list over and over again for what I sought, but no, “To boldly go where no man has gone before (in Wales)” did not feature.

My good lady (who hasn’t been inside a church for years except as a rubber-necker) shouted “C of E”. Sorry, not even that is available.

We will probably be dead and gone by 2031, but if we aren’t then we will definitely be away, somewhere in the camperhome, and will thus be invisible to the state inquisition. With a penalty notice awaiting us on the doormat.

“Do we stay at another address for more than 30 days a year? Well, yes, of course we do – motorhomers” we are itinerant