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LANGUAGE - The intuitive capacity in most humans is limited by language. This also applies, perhaps paradoxically, to our ability to communicate. Quite simply, our vocabulary is inadequate to our needs. How can we possibly know someone, or make ourselves known, which such a paucity of words at our disposal. Is it really surprising when an individual, frustrated by the inability to articulate himself, resorts to jumping off a bridge or punching someone in the head? His loquacious colleague, meanwhile, blessed with a larger vocabulary but zero comprehension, flummoxes his audience and himself. His words are a meaningless babble contrived to get what he thinks he needs. Unfortunately, as he no longer has the capacity to know what he needs, his efforts are in vain.
Can we understand another person or communicate with them without resorting to language?
“Oh, God, Hamilton's doing that staring thing again,” complains Spencer when I attempt to establish a non-verbal bond in a roomful of chatter. This is the sort of scepticism that negates any possibility of progress. As he smirks triumphantly, he's oblivious to the fact that, without overtly demonstrating the fact, at least seven people in the room are laughing at him.
LENNON, JOHN (1940 – 1980) – Currently revered as an iconoclast, I suspect that within fifty years, Lennon will be chiefly remembered as a hypocrite and negligent parent. A vicious and unstable individual, his main legacy is a revolutionary reassessment of the status of celebrities. Formerly content with their roles as servile attention grabbers, they now expect to be consulted by world leaders on matters of global import.
LESTER, DR PHILIP (1959 - ) So-Called ‘Life Coach' - Some people are doomed to failure from the outset. They can't help themselves. It's not a question of bad posture or incorrect breathing. There are no night classes for such people. They can trawl the self-development sections of bookshops for solutions to whatever impediment they imagine is holding them back. They can visit psychotherapists and hypnotists, allow themselves to be fleeced by cults and peddlers of whatever transcendental nuttiness is currently in vogue. They can pay good money to be thrashed, pierced or smothered in blankets. They can buy semi-precious stones and tape them to the appropriate parts of their anatomies while chanting secret words purchased from bald-headed men with stalls at music festivals. It makes no difference. No-one will ever refer to such a person in terms other than those of disparagement or condescension. Nor will anyone ever gaze into their eyes with mad abandon or think of their sad, silly faces as they sit alone listening to the same song over and over, heartsick and pleading for God or whomever to miraculously transport that particular sad, silly face into the immediate vicinity. “Do you think of me at all?” they might ask plaintively, a demand that elicits a bland reassurance. “Well of course I think of you! I'm always thinking of you!” The people they most want to yearn for them, in fact, are guaranteed to be yearning for someone else. Someone so appalling it causes actual pain just to think of them. Some shallow, self-confident dolt with nothing to recommend him other than the conviction that he will prevail. Not only are they thinking of them. They're meeting up, eating out, going to nightclubs and then going home together. Our heroes, meanwhile, sit at home, opening their second or third bottle of wine, listening to their special records, muttering their mantras of self-affirmation: “I am a valuable person! I am a loving person! I deserve to valued and loved!”
In the latter part of the 20 th century, an industry evolved through which unscrupulous individuals preyed on the guilt ridden, underachieving and gullible. The ‘Life Coach' is this phenomenon's most recent evolution. I leave it to the reader to decide who is more culpable, the man presumptuous enough as to offer advice for profit or the man who seeks it.
LEWIS, MARK (1967 - ) I always enjoyed a cordial relationship with Mark's mother Constance. Our friendship was cemented when my investigation revealed irregularities in the Lewis household that resulted in the dismissal of a gardener and Mark's departure for boarding school. Discretion prevents me from elaborating, but details are contained in the Hamilton Coe archive, scheduled for release in May 2020, a definite black letter day for Mark! I was of further use to Mrs Lewis on various further occasions, once locating a missing cat and later exposing the roguish intentions of a salesman introduced to the household by her son. At other times, I would simply enjoy Mrs Lewis's company, occasionally dropping in for a cup of tea and a chat. When Mark was present, he did nothing to conceal the fact that he didn't welcome my presence: a natural hostility from one whose wiles had more than once been thwarted by my intervention. Later, immediately prior to Mark's marriage to Barbara, relations between us deteriorated when my investigation revealed not only her grandfather's war-time association with Mosley's black-shirts, but his subsequent rapid departure from a series of teaching positions. As the old man was scheduled to play a prominent role in the wedding, providing a bible reading, I thought it only fair that Mrs Lewis be aware of his calibre. My own presence at the wedding, in the guise of ‘Sammy the Sweep', a caution against further shenanigans on the part of the bride's family, caused further problems when Barbara's grandfather, startled by my sudden appearance in his wardrobe collapsed and, unfortunately, suffered a stroke.
When Mrs Lewis died in 2002, I was more surprised than anyone by the revelation that she had rewritten her will in my favour. Mark, I regret to say, took the news without grace, alleging that I'd taken advantage of his mother's dotage, insinuating myself into her affections and encouraging her to alter her legacy. This is as unsubstantiated as it is offensive. If I visited Mrs Lewis it was out of concern. I've never had any interest in financial gain, as many grateful recipients of my assistance will attest. Mark's claims reflect on his own perspective far more than they do mine. When my mother died I'd have been unperturbed to learn that she'd left everything to the paperboy (though, admittedly, I would have been concerned had Spencer been given the opportunity to squander an undeserved inheritance.) Despite the fact that he is, by any standards, a wealthy individual, Mark was still pre-occupied by his mother's will at the funeral and caused a disgraceful scene when he spotted me in the front row. His demands that I be removed, I'm happy to relate, were ignored, but he's subsequently made a nuisance of himself, objecting to various Hamilton Coe Foundation initiatives on the grounds that they're funded by the ‘contested' inheritance. The inheritance has not, in fact, been contested by anyone other than Mark and he'd be advised to swallow his sour grapes lest they choke him.
LIVINGSTONE, CALUM (1968 - ) Secretary of Callander and West Perthshire Rotary Club. The charitable purposes of many organisations are, unfortunately, negated by the presence of scoundrels in their midst. Well-intentioned groups are frequently undermined by strong-willed individuals who exert a malign influence on their less worldly fellows. WILLIAM URE, encouraged to join the Rotary Club by his then fiancée, now wife, KAREN BALSILLIE, subsequently fell under the spell of her cousin to the extent of inviting him to be his best man. How an associate of less than two years standing could be expected to fulfil this solemn obligation is, frankly, beyond my comprehension. Billy sheepishly attempted to justify ‘his' choice by citing Livingstone's talent as a raconteur and after dinner speaker, a meaningless argument when my own experience of delivering lectures and encyclopaedic knowledge of jokes is taken into account. My invitation having been withdrawn through Ms Balsillie's machinations, I eventually attended the reception in the guise of ‘Federico the sommelier'. Livingstone's unsuitability for the role of best man was confirmed by his speech: a succession of smutty one-liners culled from the internet.
LOGUE, COLIN (1970 - ) Modern Studies Teacher, Agitator. I've often argued that the modern secondary school provides an unsuitable environment for children, particularly those with talents that might arouse the envy of their peers. This situation has been exacerbated by the relatively recent phenomenon of the 'manchild'. Put simply, most of the teachers charged with instilling good sense and order have, in every significant aspect, failed to make the transition from adolescence to adulthood. Desperate to be liked, they pander to their charges, eagerly resonding to the sort of nicknames that, in the course of their own schooldays would have elicited thrashings. Muriel's modern studies teacher, Colin Logue, for example, actively encourages students to refer to him as The Rogue, a nickname which, in its modern connotation, indicating a likeable scallywag, is appropriate only in that it rhymes with his name. Until recent times, of course, it would be assumed that a man walking around with the word 'Rogue' pressed onto the back of his jacket had been condemned to carry a terrible warning. One would have expected the brand to be accompanied by physical mutilations, severed thumbs, perhaps, or slit nostrils. Logue, however, wears his customised outfits with every appearance of self-satisfaction.
LOMBROSO, CESARE (1836 – 1909) Criminologist. Is villainy indicated by a person's physiognomy? According to Lombroso certain character traits are immediately apparent to the trained eye by a simple analysis of an individual's most prominent features. While modern criminologists tend to pooh-pooh Lombroso's theories, my own investigations have established several links between physical features and personality traits. While excessively red lips, for example, are no proof of cruelty or carnality in themselves, they would certain cause me to look for further evidence of either of these characteristics. Over developed calves and broad fingers, meanwhile, often indicate a violent nature while oversized or hairy tongues accompanied by pale gums and tapered fingers indicate perversion. My observations about facial hair can be read elsewhere. See also EARS, SPENCER'S.
LOVE - Even the most dim-witted observer must be able to discern the obvious link between criminal transgression and misplaced affection. A cursory inspection of the annals of crime reveals dozens of individuals rendered misanthropic by rejection. Inadequate personalities are unable to cope with the overwhelming emotional upheaval caused by what they imagine is love. This, more commonly, in fact, is desire, want or need, but we needn't quibble on that score. If someone wants to kill his fiancee with a bat, he can attribute his motive to love until he's blue in the face. The facts speak for themselves. Let's not behave like psychopaths and then claim to have been unbalanced by higher feeling.
The confusion is exacerbated, of course, by the self-appointed spokesmen of higher emotions, singers, poets and artists who treat the pursuit of love with the insight and maturity a child might the pursuit of chocolate. To covet is not to love. Need this even be discussed by intelligent people? It seems obvious that a relationship in which the participants are smothered and repressed has nothing whatsoever to do with love. Let's not behave like psychopaths and then claim to have been discombobulated by higher feeling. This is to resort not only to humbug but also reckless misuse of language. I wouldn't labour the point, but the most celebrated relationships of our age are united by the hallmarks of dysfunction and abuse. The ideals of romance have been debased by those whose yearning for attachment is based entirely on self-interest.
Spencer, predictably, argues that I know nothing of romance. “Why would I be interested in a virgin's theories on relationships” he sneers. Occasionally, if others are present, he regurgitates a fantasy in which I'm twisted by self-abuse. This is an ironic insult coming from someone whose own solitary indiscretions precipitated the resignation of a housekeeper who inadvertently surprised him in an act of semi-public sordidness. It should also be remembered that this is someone whose own marriage culminated in his being hospitalised with stab wounds.
It's always easy, of course, to spot the beast in others, less straightforward to recognise its traits in ourselves. Most criminologists are so preoccupied by the activities of child abductors or serial killers that they ignore the million small acts of self-affirmation that contribute more to human misery than any mafia. They want consultancy roles on television shows and, as nobody is interested in making a series based on, say, Mrs C's deliberate poisoning of visitors with spoiled milk this petty but interesting piece of aggression is overlooked. Any idiot can trace the sequence of events that lead to a succession of mother substitutes being throttled with skipping ropes.
Love... or mere lustful yearning?
LOVECRAFT, HOWARD PHILLIPS (1890 - 1937) Author. Until his early twenties, Lovecraft was known as an affable if slightly zany young man. After briefly joining the Rotary Club, however, and inadvertently stumbling over one of their rituals, he became a recluse, writing stories inspired by Rotarian mythology. His mysterious death in 1937, I suspect, was a direct consequence of his indiscretion.
H.P. Lovecraft
LUCIFER SECT – Cult. See SONS OF THE MORNING
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