Form-Filling-In

Anyone who has known me for even the shortest length of time is probably aware of the fact that I'm not very good at filling in forms. There's something about the whole process, about being asked to tick boxes and write my opinion in a confined amount of paper-space, that makes me want to misbehave.


Example 1: Cambridge, First Term, English Lecture Hall: Our first lecture series was sadly over, finishing a couple of weeks earlier than the others. Mo and I had particularly enjoyed the lectures because they were given by someone we thought was rather dishy. At the end of the final lecture, we were given a feedback form to fill in. Under 'other comments', I wrote "Dr X rocks! I would really, really like to bake him some shortbread". I handed in the form, and thought nothing more of it. Well, nothing more until we went to a different lecture of Dr X's. As we marched in and took our seats, he sat there with a bemused grin on his face. Before the lecture started he told the entire hall what had been written on the form. "Some lecturers - younger lecturers", he lamented, "get given phone numbers. I get the offer of shortbread. But, whoever wrote it, I just wanted to let them know that I love shortbread and it can be left any time in my pigeon hole at college any time." I went scarlet. But biscuits then became a major theme in my lecture feedback forms: I rewarded a young lecturer who had done some good medieval translation classes with Foxes' Classics, declared that my favourite lecturer of all should be given chocolate Hobnobs and derided my least favourite with an offering of stale custard creams.



Fast-forward to last week. The worst of all form-filling-ins- my visa application form! Ouchies! I put it off and put it off until J finally sat me down, handed me the form and the pen and sat with me until I had finished it. Then I left it with him to post. Luckily, for both of us, he checked it before he sent it because under the section about our marriage I had confidently ticked a box to say we were legally separated! Thankfully, I ticked the no box when asked if domestic violence had occurred (even though it has - he constantly pokes me and insists on kissing me when he's just had tinned mackerel on toast). I had also put my Mum's passport details under my dad's date of birth. Well, it's so easy to get confused with these things, isn't it?


So, basically, the entrance clearance officer was very close to receiving a visa application from a dyslexic mentalist who had already separated from the husband she was supposed to be accompanying. BUT as part of the application process, they have asked for evidence of how we support each other, and I think this is a case in point. He covered up my mistakes, laughed at my lapse of sanity and was still proud of me for finally filling the form in. I couldn't really ask for a more supportive husband, could I? And I support him by making him feel needed, by making him feel cleverer than me and giving him something to laugh at. Maybe I should have written that on the form!