More from Hanif K

 

Remember, success is fleeting, while failure is perennial; our enduring, constant companion.

Yesterday, Isabella and I went down to Hammersmith to give notice of our forthcoming marriage, a legal requirement, where we were separated and asked a series of questions to ensure that we actually knew each other and had, indeed, met before.

Seated in a tiny, airless room, confronted by an earnest bureaucrat behind a glass partition, I was asked an easy question to kick things off: “What is your prospective wife’s date of birth?” I had no idea and replied, “I have three children, and I don’t know their dates of birth either.”

Next, they asked, “What is her phone number?” Again, I shook my head in despair. Her email? Not a clue. They asked for her full name. I sighed, “I never asked.”

Finally, they handed me a sheet of paper and a pen and asked me to sign the document. My head sank. “I’m paraplegic; I can’t use my hands.”

The following day, recounting this tribulation to Carlo, it occurred to us that we should write a self-help book. But instead of the usual instruction about achievement and success, its topic would be failure: the often unrecognised pleasure of letting yourself and others down, and what fun it is to fuck things up.