Thursday, 4 December 2008

Family, eh?

My darling younger brother just spent an hour being belligerent and trying his utmost to use the chip he keeps on his shoulder to ignite my petrol-laden bonfire.

What did he have a go at me for? Oh yes, firstly, not pulling myself together. Ok... next.

What else? He wanted to know if I still hated his girlfriend - I replied that I couldn't be bothered to hate her.

Then he asked me why manic-depression still exists - he thought that surely we should all have died out by now. (Actually, he didn't 'ask', he more-or-less demanded to know why we hadn't, the charming wee eugenicist...) I explained the basic theories: firstly, the one about first degree relatives of schizophrenics having a general advantage over the baseline, ditto with sickle-cell (which he wanted to know after I threw that in for a comparison if it was a synonym for manic-depression); secondly the one that I made up, i.e. that manic-depression makes you extremely fit in the fittest sense of the survival sense (you take risks (you're an idiot), you're fast (you can kill lots of meat), inventive (after all, it must have been a manic-depressive who invented the wheel, and fire, and etc), you can be utterly charming (or not), and you can find yourself wanting to make love to everyone (and everything) on the planet when things get really rough)... quod erat demonstrandum - lots of bipolar babies (and occasional disasters). (I was thinking prehistoric times, here... ahem). Oh... I forgot the knack for having visions that explain EVERYTHING. (Double ahem).

Then he was asking about side-effects for quetiapine. So I sent him a link:;jsessionid=1F568E16EABF0F2F630C23471BBFBBC5?dname=quetiapine&sid=13766&view=e He started to go down the whole list, telling me that everyone has that, everyone has this, etc. I described the concepts of single-blind and double-blind experiments, but he still wouldn't have it.

He asked about my driving licence. I told him about the DVLA medical. Knowing he's been a heavy drinker in the past, I told him what I'd found out about the current state of play with doctors informing on patients to the DVLA (hard not to come across this sort of stuff when googling DVLA medicals). I said, "for example, if you drank a bottle of wine a night, you would be at risk of having your licence taken away if a blood-test showed it up." He told me that he worked for a living, paid his rent, and couldn't afford a bottle of wine a night, unlike people on benefits... hmmm... (Actually, he did apologise for that remark, begrudgingly, after I pointed out the last time he'd talked about this he was drinking two bottles a night, plus spirits galore.)

Then he informed me he was going to buy a house. I laughed, and said if I was him, I'd wait a year or two. He told me that since I "wouldn't be in any position to buy a house for ten years or so," he would disregard my opinion. I told him that my current financial situation had no bearing on whether I laughed at him or not.

In the end I put the phone down, because to be honest, I'd had enough. I'd kept polite, friendly, and done my damned best to be informative and educational. But he was out for a fight. I wish we'd been in the same room. I doubt he'd have dared. I told him: "You've been belligerent, aggressive and utterly obnoxious for the last hour. I'm not going to listen to any more. Now fuck off. Bye."

I was going to title this post: Worm-Apologist for the Drunk Slug, but thought better of it. And indeed, I shall probably think better of the whole post in the morning but as for now, ladies and gentlemen, I am ripping, as the phrase has it.


I have to put this down, just to stop me doing it. In the garden, entombed in the drystone wall is a rabbit's head. (We had rabbit for supper a couple of weeks ago). I cured the skin, and am going to make a cap for one of the boys. The head, come next spring, should be a perfect rabbit's skull, to be packed in a box with cotton wool (eldest boy wants to be David Attenborough) and wants 'specimens'. Anyway, I just had the urge to post it to my brother. That's not very nice. But I suppose it proves, neither am I, sometimes.

While I'm slagging (oooh I'm going to have to prune this post tomorrow at the root) the first thing he said when he phoned me after I'd been taken into the tender hands of the 'services', was: "Do you think I've got it? I'm really worried. I really need to talk to you - in private." Clueless wee fuck.

I will drastically edit this in the morning (maybe). But I'm pissed-off enough to leave it til then. Night all, god bless our families, by hell we can't choose them.

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