The Census

Picture this, Sicily 1960... um... er... you know where I'd rather be... Fitzroy, 2006... last Tuesday. (Have you ever looked down a Sicilian boys pants? Evil laugh.) I'm lying on the couch, drifting off, maybe I can just see the first dim of the hard edge of the day, as twin Italian brothers come into my dreams.

The door bells rings. I shake my head. I go to the front door, at the last few feet I decide to tip-toe and peak through the eye-hole. You know, once you've committed to the big open, as your eyes come to focus on a Jehovah Witness, in a twin-set complete with idiot grin, or some over-enthusiastic university girl selling time share for all her 5 d's last term are worth, it's too late, no auto rewind at that stage, buddy. (sorry Earl) And bugger me, if it wasn't the census woman @ 16.30 in the afternoon @ 16.30 in Fitzroy, who the hell did she think she was going to find home? I ask you?

I decided not to open the door on principal. Get with the program! Are you collecting this wretched census for our own convenience or for ours, luv?

She sneakily left an envelope in which I am now supposed to post it.

It's not going to happen. I want a little specialised service for all of my most intimate details to be revealed.

No officer, I never saw anyone from the department again.

No. I was never left an envelope.

No, never!

I head back to the couch in search of Alex and Nick.

Well, she has just dropped by, giving it her last shot @ collecting it, so, of course, I handed it over.

"I just couldn't catch you at night to collect it," she said.

Funny about that, I thought. If you came @ some time after... er... um 16.30, you may have had more luck, I wanted to say, but, of course, I didn't. I just smiled sweetly, instead.

So there, I've done my bit. There you go Little Johnny! The evil Prime ministerial munchkin can do his worst with the stats, as I'm sure he will. It will be the basis for a whole new set of lies with which to keep power... no doubt.