At least Nat’s personal hygiene has improved, but his hair is growing disturbingly fast. I am at a dead end with him. I have spoken with his parents and they have agreed to come to a meeting, to talk with Nat and myself. This ought to embarrass him into some kind of confession. I’ve gone from feeling like a witch-doctor last week to feeling like a witch-hunter this week.

THU JAN 10

Today I had my first session with Nat and his parents.

I thanked them for the big box of biscuits which they had sent me over the festive season. They must have found out my favourites from the surgery receptionist. They went over Nat’s entire life: how he was as a child—the family favourite—to loss of interest in school and the present development of nocturnal habits. Virtually everything they mentioned was known to me.

Nat squirmed in his chair: it was “like having the family album of photographs shown to your worst enemy” he later hissed in a dry aside.

Nat’s parents cannot understand why their son does not simply “pull himself together”. They are sick of seeing him in pyjamas, dressing-gown and slippers, slouching around the house during the day and getting up to mysterious practices at night.

They complained that Nat refuses to let them kiss or hug him.

“What eighteen-year-old does not reject paternal affection?” I asked. They took the point, but not whole-heartedly, unable to see this as a healthy attribute.

They were pleased he still smiles often. Yes, I agreed, but also admitted to not quite having worked out the reason for the smile. Both parents are intelligent but have settled for jobs below their capabilities. They are somewhat disillusioned, even though they share a lively sense of humour. Despite all the quirks or because of them, I think they function extremely well together. Quite singular family dynamics.

Nat’s parents were intrigued by the hypnotism he had undergone. His mother felt it must be okay and recalls people surviving “going under” in the 1930s, prior to having a tooth pulled. I agreed with her on the strength of hypnosis and informed her that its noble history stretches back many thousands of years further than its dental application in the early twentieth century.

The session shed light on some facets of Nat’s life which I had previously overlooked. It had not sunk in just how weird his existence has become. In retrospect, his hair has seemed longer by the day. I vaguely recollect him expounding a theory that we should all allow our hair to grow as long as possible, so as to render clothing and shelter redundant, and preserve resources: a “hair home” he called it. Very strange. Being still unable to fully verbalise the torment within him, his body is doing it for him instead. Eloquently.