‘Do you know Mr Tumble?’, ‘Why are you single?’ and other questions I hate being asked at weddings

I’m a CBeebies presenter – if we ever meet, please avoid asking me these questions

Benjamin Franklin said that there were only two certainties in life: death and taxes (though perhaps he would have reconsidered the latter had he been aware of certain modern politicians and their honest mistakes).

Unfortunately for me (a CBeebies presenter) and my namesake, the 200-year gap between his death and my birth means that we never attended a wedding or social event together. It’s a crying shame, because I’m utterly convinced (with my tongue firmly in my cheek) that he’d have added a third classical truth.

It would read something along the lines of – a person Ben has never met before will ask a combination of these three highbrow questions: Where are you really from? Do you know Mr Tumble? Why are you single?

There’s been a lot of chat about the former over the last few months, given that Ngozi Fulani – a Black British charity founder – was repeatedly asked the same question by Lady Susan Hussey, the late Queen’s lady-in-waiting. Consequently, I think I’ll leave the reasons for me being asked that absolute gem to your wildest imaginations…

Let’s focus on the latter. Why are you single? Smack. Right out the gate. Usually within a few minutes of meeting an absolute stranger, often at weddings or gatherings where there’s an expectation that you’re in attendance with a significant other.

I’m not sure why it still comes as a surprise, and by now I probably should have prepared a riposte of some kind of oratorical wizardry. Let’s roll Socrates, Aristotle and Confucius into one for some deep philosophical existentialism, and then throw in Big Will Shakespeare, just to really add some Bard-like literary punch…

Clears throat.

Well, I’m glad that you’ve asked as it’s an astute question that deserves a considered response. It’s probably a combination of factors and circumstances, not least that I was born into an age of what oftentimes feels like limitless choice in terms of career, travel and the amount of different people and life experiences I could have.

I’m also pretty lucky to have the best woman I’ve ever known as my mum; and that her love and kindness have hopefully shaped me into someone who would never want to hurt anyone, and values truth and integrity above all else. She’s also got a solid relationship with my dad, having met at 16 and going steady to strong over 40 years later. Those are some big boots to fill.

When I was growing up in the 1990s there was a ridiculous ideological Disney construct that true love lives and will undoubtedly conquer all; and while sometimes love is beautiful and ethereal, it can’t always sustain, or heal, or flourish – even when that love remains after the fact. That’s painful.

I’m a dichotomy; I want to live forever and I want to die tomorrow; I want to have stability and I want to be free; I want to be at home and I want to travel the world.

Sure, it would be really great to have the instant infatuation of a thunderbolt, like when I saw Kelly Kapowski chilling out in a diner in Saved by the Bell back in the Nineties. I also remember very clearly how it felt when I actually fell in love for the first time (with a real person, and not a fictional television character); but what if nothing ever feels like that again?

To top it all off with a nice juicy cherry on top: over the last few years I’ve seen friends – seemingly in idealistic and perfect marriages – throw it all in and decide it’s not for them. So I apologise profusely if I’m not in any great rush to shack up, settle down and introduce you to my spouse, just so you can ask me when we’re going to have kids.

Back in the real world, I stumble over my words, struggle to proceed with a coherent sentence and allow an “erm” to fall out of my mouth with a gap you could drive a bus through.

The follow-up question is usually one of the following:

Are you gay? – or – What’s wrong with you?

Yeah, because they’re the only two logical explanations for me soloing freestyle through my mid-30s.

I’m not too sure why there’s so much pity attached to being single. You’ll often hear the old classic, “I’ve got a single friend, she’d be perfect for you.” Nine times out of 10 it’s then followed by (and I only exaggerate slightly), “I should probably warn you that she lives in Outer Mongolia, looks like an ogre and has a temper like a bear that’s stepped on a beehive.”

Cool. I’ll meet her for a coffee post-haste.

Oh, and Mr Tumble? Yeah, I know Mr Tumble.