I’m starting to think that maybe I was quite an evil child. I mean, I didn’t physically bully other children, but I would often reduce people to blubbering wrecks with concepts and ideas.
Once, at a new years party I think it was, as the whole family was there, my brother dozed off. He woke up in the early hours of the morning and asked how long he’d been asleep. I told him he still was – he was dreaming and none of us were actually real. He doubted this of course, but I insisted that the house, the party, and every one of us there were all just figments of his imagination and he hadn’t woken up. He might never wake up. Eventually he started believing me and burst into tears.
Twenty eight years old he was.