Last Orders

Well, another bloody year, eh? How exciting. If you were eagle-eyed, you may have spotted a note of cynicism in my first couple of sentences there. Even if you weren't eagle-eyed, or had the eyes of some other beast with good seeing ability, you'd now be aware that I was being a bit cynical, thanks to my having mentioned it. So it's no great secret.

If you recall correctly, in my last column of 2005 I mentioned that I'd exchanged my superior security installation services for something other than a customer’s cash, and it's nothing like what you're thinking, you revolting pervert. The gentleman concerned was short of liquid funds, so we entered into an agreement whereby I would avail myself of his psychic insights, in exchange for a bottom-of-the-range (or ‘cost-effective’) intruder alarm.

He provided me with a list of numbers which I was led to believe would be that weekend's winning figures in the national lottery. I subsequently played those self-same numbers, and eagerly awaited my millions that Saturday evening. After sitting through the interminable "entertainment" that for some reason has to be included as part of this relatively simple exercise – I mean, really, wouldn't it be possible to just draw the balls out of a barrel and call it a night? Please? – I watched the balls of destiny drawn from the barrel-thing of fate.

Is anyone reading this at all surprised to discover that precisely NONE of the numbers I received from my client made an appearance that evening? No, you're not surprised, because you realised long before I did that I suffer from a terrible malaise – an affliction so awful that I have denied its existence simply to protect myself. The simple fact of the matter is, the world is against me.

Long time coming

The more I think about it, the more I realise that it has been a very long time in coming, this epiphany, this yawning realisation that the world, and everyone in it, is not only out to get me, but is also indifferent to my suffering. Even the "esteemed" editor of this very magazine occasionally changes my copy – the very words I write! – for petty reasons, such as crude language, sexual imagery, or the threat of legal action.

I remember my first experience with ‘security’. I was a child, and our house was burgled. I was alone at home at the time; my father was away on business, as indeed he still appears to be – and my mother was out drinking or fighting, I can't really recall which.

I was busy in the bathroom, but when I heard a strange noise downstairs, I decided to put on a dressing gown and take my ten year old self down to investigate. I stumbled across the burglar calmly carrying our hi-fi out of the living room. "Evening, fella," he said. "Good evening," I replied, reflexively. He then casually strolled out the front door and put the hi-fi in the back of his van. He gave me a wave, as I stood slack-jawed, staring at him. But as he was about to get into the front seat, he turned and paused."Come here for a moment, fella," he said. "And close the door behind you, there's a good lad." It felt like I was sleepwalking as I made my way to the van. I stood in front of him. "My kid could do with a dressing gown like that," he said. "Hand it over, would ya?" Stupidly, I did. He thanked me, then drove off. I was left standing naked on our street, the jeers of passing schoolgirls and their mothers piercing my very core. I'd left the keys inside. Perhaps fate led me along the wirey way to security installation just get back at that evil man.

Further evidence

Other examples of my persecution by the universe include the fact that people are always bumping into me, and sometimes even taking my place in queues when I am distracted by a pigeon or something.

I have been abused in the most heinous verbal fashion simply for nudging another vehicle lightly with my van, even though I didn't really mean to. I am regularly asked not to breathe in peoples' faces, even though they are breathing as well, and everyone needs to breathe to live, unless I'm sorely mistaken. I notice this especially when I have been on 24 hour call-out.

At other times the staff in restaurants, fast food outlets or pubs deliberately get my order wrong simply because they do not like me, and occasionally they refuse to serve me simply because I have felt nauseous and done what has been required to relieve that nausea. As you know, sometimes there is not enough time to avoid the kitchen area.

This persecution is becoming very difficult to take. I now feel I can understand the emotions that Nelson Mandela went through when he was ridiculed and oppressed. Perhaps he is the only ally I have left in this cruel world.

Going forward

This realisation that the ire of the world is focused solely on me – for no good reason whatsoever – has made me determined to discover whether this curse is unique to me, or whether it is a genetic issue, passed down through the generations by my forbears.

In coming months I will be able to offer you some of the fruits of my research, if I am not dead before then, or horribly maimed. Happy New Year, everyone. I know you won’t be wishing the same for me. But I‘m used to it.