Has anybody got eleven quid to spare ? I’ve just been computerized. I filled in the coupon in the Sunday magazine supplement, and up it came.
My perfect partner is “Jacky” — and “she will be happy to meet me.” The computer has picked her out of 60,000 people, although whether they were all women it didn’t say. She is my “ideal mate”, it says. She is 5’ 2½ inches tall, divorced, has brown hair, is very attractive (she says) and broad-minded, enthusiastic, and has a “rewarding occupation” (I think it means “works”) in a shop.
She likes folk-music, dancing, parties, television, car-driving, literature, the cinema, classical music, good food and travel. So there’s only one stumbling block to this blissful consummation. That eleven quid! Yes, you see, the outfit with the computer need this amount to run the machine.
But wait a minute! If I pay the eleven quid I get six more “even better” really compatible people like “Jacky”. How the other six can be better when “Jacky” is already my “perfect partner”, they don’t say. While for 18 quid I can keep on collecting perfect partners, six at a time, indefinitely. As they say in the North of England, “Bloody ’ell!”
But to get the additional six “even better” perfect partners, I’ve got to give even more information about myself. Apart from height, weight, I have to give social background (sounds more like foreground to me) : am I working class, lower middle class, middle class, upper middle class or upper class ?
Am I “unattractive”, divorced, separated or single, what colour are my politics, left wing, centre or right wing ? Do I drink (meaning intoxicants) ? Am I a professional or manual worker ? Do I smoke ? What is my educational background? (What! No GCE’s?) And lastly my interests.
Do I like the social sciences, painting, bridge, sailing, television, jazz, science, acting, good food, riding, swimming, tennis, political activity, sports or travel ? Together with my own personality profile I must indicate those points 1 fancy in my “ideal”.
I might list, say, six feet tall, upper class, unattractive, brown hair, pale skin, atheist, left wing, professional degree, acting, political activity — and probably get Vanessa Redgrave. Or height 5’ 8”, working class, unattractive, red hair, atheist, left wing, professional, political activity, and get landed with Joan Lestor — or (Christ!) Barbara Castle.
My trouble is I don’t want somebody who likes “television and good food” or “dancing and driving”. What I need is somebody with phenomenal shorthand and typing speeds, a first-class editor skilled at turning my mediocre efforts into brilliant masterpieces. Above all, somebody with a nice warm shoulder to cry on when the editors of the Socialist Standard cruelly reject my inspired contributions.
As the Brochure says, “Today we are in the space age. The old ‘school — work — early marriage’ syndrome is disappearing. A whole new generation of mobile young people is at large in the world.” (That seems a fairly safe assertion.) “At the press of a computer button your life goes into a higher gear.” (I thought it was high enough already.)
“Say good-bye to the boring problems of ‘What shall I do this week-end?’ Cut down on lonely visits to the library” (but I love the library, I said so in my answers) “and the launderette” (I wish it was lonely: it’s always packed when I go).
“Start to lead a fuller life with ‘sympatico’ people.” What a smashing idea! “Most of our members,” it says, “are busy, successful, intelligent people with varied interests. Already one thousand marriages can be attributed to our computer.”
So who needs Socialism ? All I need is the eleven quid ! Perhaps some lefties in the Labour Party could get this computer dating nationalized! Then it would be free! Everybody would have a “perfect partner” from the Social Security. Women’s Lib would evaporate. Perhaps we could extend the computer idea!
Are you poor ? Do you work hard ? Are you satisfied ? Is your job monotonous ? Have you had enough of reforms ? Do you like capitalism ? Would you like it abolished ?
If enough people answered these questions, we wouldn’t need computers — only ballot boxes.
Horatio.
That reminds me: I must catch up on some 1970s Carry On films.
ReplyDelete'Horatio' (Harry Young) would have been a sprightly 73/74 year old when he penned this article.