I Dislike Filling up Forms Of all things in the world, I most dislike filling up forms in fact, I have a positive horror of it. Applying for a driving license, (51) for an evening course, booking a holiday abroad—everything nowadays seems to involve (52) information about one’s personal life and habits that has little or nothing to do with the matter (53) hand. When I apply for a job, it may be of some obscure interest to a (54) employer to learn that I collect stamps or had measles as a child, but why (55) he conceivably wants to know that my father was a tobacconist who died in 1988? The authorities who (56) one to fill up forms, frequently demand answers to questions that one would hesitate to put (57) one’s intimate friends. The worst of it is that, when confronted with such questions, I find my mind goes blank. Have I ever suffered from a serious illness? My mother always (58) me I was “delicate”. Do I suffer from any personal defects? Well, I wear (59) lenses and my upper teeth are not my own, but perhaps the word “defects” (60) to my character. Am I supposed to (61) that I like gambling, and find it difficult to get up in the morning? Both of them are true. Of all, I think job applications are the (62) . “Education”—previous experience—post held—give (63) … Terrified by the awful warning about giving false (64) which appears at the bottom of the form, I struggle to remember what exams I passed and how long I worked for what firms. (65) hard I try, there always seems to be a year or two for which I cannot satisfactorily account and which I am certain, if left blank, will give the impression that I was in prison or engaged in some occupation too dubious to mention. (51)