Saturday 19 February 2011

When Quirinius Was Governor of Syria...

I get very excited about the census.  I know there is no reason, of any kind, to view this as the Highlight of the Year, but I may well do (I'm keeping an open mind, obviously, but just saying that on present form, I can't see me eating my words come December).  For our Foreign Readers, the UKCensus takes place every 10 years, and the next one will be on 27th March 2011 - you can see a handy countdown timer here, and if I could only figure out how, I'd have it permanently on the blog.  Well, for the next 1 month, 1 week, 0 days,  hours and 41 minutes.

Apparently the forms come out in March; you can answer online from 4th March, but I won't do that, because it takes your answers and uses them to weed out the questions you don't have to answer, and then you don't get to see those questions, read them, and choose to ignore them.

Here are the things I like about the Census:

1. The epic scale.  I like the thought that, at a specific moment, the nation are all doing the same thing: filling in a form.  Now, I know they're not really, but I like to think that everyone does the thing properly and completes it at midnight on the day in question, as I shall.

2. The people who whine about Invasion of Privacy.  I find it very endearing that they think anyone really cares whether they cycle to work or get the bus.  I think this is because I'm the exact opposite: the Census is roughly the most interested anyone is in me, ever.  It's like someone cares enough to ask.  I love it.

3. The campaigns.  There's always some kind of campaign to try to get people to put something or other on the Census.  Last time, it was trying to get people to declare themselves as Jedis, so that it would have to be included on the form this time around.  I believe they succeeded.  One can only imagine the embarrassment in 100 years' time, when this goes online and people look it up to discover that their great-grandparents ticked the 'Jedi' box.  It'll be the 22nd Century equivalent of your dad trying to be cool.
This year it's The Atheists, who want to get all atheists to tick that they have no religion.  Since this involves reading the question which says 'What is your religion?' and then ticking 'none', I have a feeling they may be reasonably successful, and atheists everywhere can glow a little more brightly.

You may well hear more of this.

Monday 14 February 2011

more About Valentine's Day

I may have found my soul mate:

The WhyNotSmile Guide to Valentine's Day, Part 2

Having failed, yet again, to find any reason whatever to celebrate Valentine's Day this year, I have decided to fall back on the next best thing: spoiling it for everyone else.  My logic is thus: I need to take care of myself and do things I like, and misery loves company.

I have figured out how best to ensure that I set up Valentine's Day in such a way that I cannot lose, and instead make everyone else feel bad.

For those who display their cards, chocolates, flowers etc all over Facebook, I can be cross with them for rubbing my nose in it and kicking me when I'm down.  They are insensitive and lack compassion.

For those who do not make a Big Thing out of Valentine's Day, but instead keep it low key, for fear of offending their single friends, they are patronising and childish.  Imagine assuming I'm so fragile that I cannot cope with seeing their insipid displays of what-they-call affection!  Ha!  Do they not know I'm bigger than that?

I'm pleased with myself for managing to achieve the Moral High Ground in all situations.  Now, if anyone needs me, I'll be sitting in a pile of self-pity, sobbing and eating chocolate.

Saturday 5 February 2011

On Explosions In Small Corners

Small Corner is in France, and whilea recent video production seems to suggest that she hasn't yet understood that French is a separate language and not just English spoken in an accent while wearing a beret, she has written splendidly on the Gospel and whether it is meant to be dynamite, and so on.  You should go and read it NOW, unless you are not interested in That Sort Of Thing, in which case, you do not have to.