My son, the Jedi?!

Mrs B, being blessed with much more legible handwriting and infinitely more patience than myself, spent most of last night filling out the mammoth Census form that dropped through our letterbox earlier in the week.

Charitably penning the answers for herself, and for me, it soon became evident that she would also have to fill in the same set of questions for Baby B, our four-month old, non-working, non-English speaking co-habitee. Indeed, as the questions progressed, it was clear that BB was seriously letting the side down for us, contributing nothing to the household income and even less to wider society.

'How well do you speak English?' asked the Census.

'Bluhhhhhh, screeeeech, dribble,' retorted Baby B, showing very little interest in this important legal document, before expelling a particularly vocal burp.

As for our infant's previous addresses, it seemed a bit flipant to put 'ovary' in the answer field, so Mrs B left it subtly blank.

It was at this point, as the Census approached the question of religion, that I was glad my wife was in the driving seat. I seem to recall a student-led campaign at the time of the last Census to ensure that Jedi became a recognised religion in the UK. I did, I must admit, list myself as a master of 'the force' in support of this particular religious movement.

Surely, therefore, Baby B is destined to follow in his father's footsteps,  in the same way as Luke inherited his Jedi skills from, um, Darth Vader...which would make me fundamentally evil and destined for a lifetime dressed in black and speaking like I smoke 50 a day! Hmmm.

Perhaps, in hindsight, the C of E will serve Baby B better.

Afterall, I haven't even got a lightsabre!