Filling in the form should have been a piece of cake. But domestic, cultural and political quandaries sent me into a tailspin
Completing the census should have been simple – all you have to do is say who and where you are. In the grand scheme of history, it’s not like journeying to Bethlehem with nowhere to stay. But still – it was an ordeal.
Separated parents who share custody equally are expected to list the kids at the house they are in on the night of 21 March. I would happily have done that if my kids were due to be with me today, but they are not. So, when the question came up, I merrily texted my former spouse: “Sod it. I’m putting them down anyway.” “You can’t put them down anyway,” he said, with some dignity and patience. “It’s a census.” “You know what, King Herod? Screw you!” I replied with gusto.
