I believe there is a special wing of Mi5 which contacts the friends and relatives of single people and bullies them into trying to rectify the situation. These poor friends are then forced to try and set up the single person, to engineer a relationship, knowing that if they don’t they face deportation or imprisonment. This is the only real explanation for the consistent hassling single men and women face from their relationship-tied mates on an almost daily basis.
And it’s no wonder the government are worried. We aren’t having children, the population is therefore aging, and this is a big problem. We’re not having children because either we’re career obsessed, or the idea of sitting around in a bar or jetting off on budget airline is far, far preferable to changing nappies and being sensible. Most of my friends are about my age, around 30, and only one has a child. My parents were in their mid twenties when I came about, and that was – and I suppose should still be – perfectly normal. I can’t imagine having a five year old child now. I’d feel it was in some way illegal, or at the very least grossly irresponsible. I can’t even sort out home insurance, it seems far too mature, so how in God’s name could I father another human?
But it’s our one main job, or role. That’s really what we’re here to do and yet our generation, or rather our generation of middle class media idiots, are simply not interested. We’d rather sit around trying to create silly TV show ideas than a new life, and unless babies suddenly become terribly chic, will this ever really change? Will we ever again decide that our jobs and our funky T-shirts are not really as important as the future of humanity? I somehow doubt it. We’re all fools! And the government agree, so this unit has been set up to combat our bohemian, single and childless ways, and they’ve decided the best and most effective way of doing this through gentle but persistent peer pressure.
I have a rather simple and brutal explanation for my eternal bachelordom. I’d like to be in a relationship with somebody if I fall in love with them. If I’m not in love with someone, I won’t waste my time. Does this not make sense? The problem is I really never fall in love. Haven’t done since I was a teenager and that was probably just hormones. The self-obsessed find it difficult to divide their attentions.
Bu this doesn’t wash with my friends. “If you start going out with someone, you might eventually fall in love� they suggest. I can’t think of a good analogy here, but it’s a little like saying “Why not buy that car that doesn’t work, it may start to work better later.� No, that’s not the best analogy, but you see my point?
My friends, under pressure from the government, will also continually mention people in conversation that I should go on a date with. I can’t imagine anything worse. I’d be interested to see what they were like in a casual, group environment, but turning up on a date… Every aspect to that is negative. And so I never do it. Tonight it was Michelle’s turn to tell me of someone I should meet and marry. Having lived with me for a few months, Michelle has a new job and sharing a house out by Lark Lane. Apparently one of her house mates is my future wife and whilst that does sound intriguing, I don’t understand why I can’t just bump into her in the kitchen and form my own opinion, why the date thing? What’s the shortest amount of time you can spend on a date now, if it’s a clear non-starter, without looking rude? Two hours? If you meet someone in the kitchen you can be out of there in a minute.
What might happen is I do eventually meet this girl, I think she’s amazing, she’s mental and so thinks the same about me, and we do actually get married and then I can look back at this web page with her and say “Ha-Ha! Look at what a naïve fool I was, Darling! What a pessimist! What a stupid, self-obsessed, illogical pessimist. Just to think, if it wasn’t for that secret government agency, we’d never be here in this cottage, bringing up little Frederick and Sapphire. Ha! God bless M15, and God bless Michelle!�
Or what might happen is I meet her and think she’s amazing, definitely the love of my life, but she meets me and thinks I’m a round faced imbecile who the very thought of having a relationship with makes her sick to the pit of her stomach. Then I’ll be a tortured, heartbroken wreck and look back at this web page and cry “Why? If only I’d continued my arrogant refusal to meet girls my friends suggest I might like! Then none of this would have happened and I, at least, could have continued on my solitary path with an air of dignity and hope for the future. Now there is nothing! Nothing I say!�
Those are both quite extreme outcomes. What will more likely happen, what will DEFINJNATELY happen, is that I meet her, we pop out for a drink, I think she’s perfectly nice, I get drunk and therefore boring, she looks at her watch, we part company, and that’s the end of that. That’s how I operate. So I’ll contact Michelle about it and get that out the way sometime next week I suppose. The government will see I made the token effort and call off the snipers for a few months longer, I’ll be able to say to my friends that I tried, and I can continue to walk around my flat wearing a ragged pair of boxer shorts and one sock, eating cereal out of a glass. Everyone’s happy!
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