In days gone by, Nat would have been chained into one of his secret chambers. Instead, he himself chooses to linger in those sickly cubby-holes unbeknown to parents and siblings. The end result is much the same. Nat’s twin penchants for weird vegan food and long hours spent over a drawing board remain unimpinged. Were this not so I fear I might be forced to section the boy; not for his sake, but for mine.

SUN DEC 4

I confess that I have been leaving Nat to his own devices of late, due to a combination of overfamiliarisation with the facts of his case, and the continual return to a state of impasse. None the less, this didn’t prevent me from enjoying his company today.

We took coffee in my study. He looked almost lively after his rare airing, and I recommended more regular imbibings of atmospheres other than the charnel house variety. He muttered some allusion to expanding one’s lungs with carbon monoxide; we were both amused.

Nat has long since ceased to take “doctor’s orders” seriously. Perhaps I should issue a contrariwise diagnosis in order to set him on the right path. I fear that this would also fail. Nat would be only too pleased were I to fall under the same imp of the perverse as he.

Certainly one could never imagine Nat seeking a second opinion. I am sure he comes to see me as a person and not as a psychologist. Maybe he would be less immune to my charms if I were to wear a white coat and insist on seeing him only at the surgery.

I asked him if he had been anywhere, done anything, seen anyone?

He went quiet and looked very thoughtful before saying he had seen Simeon.

When?

Four months ago. His life is taking on a timescale normally only associated with the eighties and over. I suggested he was not ready for his pipe and slippers just yet.

FRI JAN 6

I was sad not to receive my usual festive gift of a box of biscuits from the Snoxells this year.

SUN FEB 26

It’s now about four years since I first met Nat. He leads the most sequestered existence of anyone I have ever known. I am now so familiar with his personality that I believe he leads such a life half out of a genuine proclivity, and half out of fear of what is unfamiliar to him. I still like to think he will venture into the outside world when he is ready. I urge him to do so but I cannot force him.

He tells me that the accumulated royalties from his records are running out. Not before time either. Even he cannot stretch the pennies that far.