An event that occurs every ten years makes it special in itself, falling somewhere between the Olympics and the appearance of Hayley’s Comet in its rarity. This is when a nation unites behind its love (or hatred) of statistics. This is when we all sit down, pen in hand, to complete the Census.
At least this time round, the scurrilous rumour that achieving a certain percentage of responses to a question will give it official recognition has been quashed. 390,127 was the actual number of buffoons that claimed their religion as Jedi in 2001, a number confirmed by the Office for National Statistics in a press release entitled ‘390,000 Jedis There Are’. Contrary to popular belief, statisticians not only have a census, but also a sense of humour.
The Census starts off with an imposing looking comment about a response being required by law. Non-completion may leave you £1,000 out of pocket. The 8BC census during the reign of Caesar Augustus Census may have had more serious penalties but famously required everyone to go home to be counted. On 27th March, 2011 in the UK we have it easy. All we need to do is complete a few simple questions and this time round, don’t even have to leave the house in search of a post-box. We can do it online.
Yet the Census always raises a lot of fuss. People are a lot more critical and suspicious than in the past, wary that their oh-so-important personal details are not misused by government, or perhaps more worryingly, mislaid, perhaps left on a train. I wonder if these are the same people that have public Facebook profiles, or perhaps freely publish their location on Twitter through applications such as Foursquare, thus alerting potential burglars to the fact they are somewhere other than home?
The highlight of this year’s census is question 17. It is genius! Hidden away on page 8 among all these questions is a non-question, a statement. ‘This question is intentionally left blank’, it states, ‘Go to question 18’. It is the intermission, the breathing point, the reward for getting half-way through the form, before raising a smile and carrying on. It is like a DVD Easter egg, lying in wait for an alert reader to discover.
Unfortunately, the real reason is much less exciting. Were you to rub away at question 17 to reveal the truth, you would find hidden underneath the invisible question ‘Do you speak Welsh?’. This is quite useful to know for Welsh inhabitants, but for someone wanting consistency in the numbering between the two forms issued in different countries, you can see how a blank question might have come about.
So if you want to have fun with this year’s Census, rather than be a Yoda-wannabe, just answer the question behind the question of question 17 as honestly as you can, with the simple words, ‘I do not speak Welsh’.
