We’re serviceless, stateless – and still off grid

You need a personal public service number to get married in Ireland, but in order to get one, you need to be married. It’s one of the most intractable double binds on offer here and it’s very frustrating when you’re trying to beat the Grim Reaper by getting hitched.

I got a PPS number when I bought the house in West Cork. My solicitor arranged it. A different but equally bedevilling Catch-22 applied to that.

So I thought, all right, I will. I better get married, make a will and prepare for the end

In order to buy a house in Ireland I needed a PPS number. But to get a PPS number I needed to have an address in Ireland.

I went round and round this conundrum as it snarled up the conveyancing, until eventually my solicitor got his secretary to get me a PPS number by presenting my potential new address as my actual address, enabling me to then buy that address.

The builder boyfriend did not get a PPS number because the transaction was in my name. And that didn’t matter until we decided that so many people we know have fallen ill and died these past few years, we ought to get married so we can be each other’s next of kin, ready for when we inevitably start keeling over, as everybody seems to be, entirely normally, according to the authorities.

One in two will get cancer. One in three has high blood pressure. Heart attacks are ten a penny. If you go for a walk you might have a seizure out of nowhere and fall off a cliff. Untimely death is the norm. Get used to it. So I thought, all right, I will. I better get married, make a will and prepare for the end.