Our Man On The Radio Doesn't Want To Talk

Any regular reader of my column will know that I suffer from a number of mental ailments that fall under the category of ‘Issues my father and men of his generation don’t believe in’.

One of these seems to have manifested itself once I reached my thirties: a dawning realisation that socialising and talking to people in most situations was not only best avoided but also an absolute pain in the backside. There are the obvious, frequent pitfalls: 

01. Forgetting someone’s name the very moment it’s said to me. 

02. Having a ‘first time we’ve met’ conversation with someone who then points out we’ve met before. 

03. Drifting away with imaginary elevator music swirling around my head as they talk about facts I’ll later be required to remember.