Second opinion

BRITISH parents hate their children, and they are quite right to do so. Needless to say, their hatred is thoroughly reciprocated, with equal justification. One glance at British parents and their offspring should be sufficient to persuade anyone of the truth of these statements.

Of course, other countries are catching up fast. I knew a man in America who, at parties, used to introduce himself thus: 'Hello, I'm John, I hate my parents, don't you?' Everyone, without exception, replied, 'Well, as a matter of fact, I do.' A happy childhood these days is a badge of shame, indicative of defective sensitivity to the miseries of life.

Yesterday, in the bed next to the crack-taking, heroin-addicted prostitute with a severe human bite on her cheek — inflicted in the course of a quarrel with a colleague in the local sex-industry (the only one that seems to be expanding) — was a woman who had tried to end her life and then thought better of it by calling an ambulance.

'Why did you want to die?' I asked, 'Because me boyfriend took all mine and the babby's money and done one.' The one in question was, of course, what is colloquially known as 'a runner'. 'And was he the baby's father? I inquired further.

'Oh no,' she replied. 'He effed off as soon as I caught pregnant. But I really thought my boyfriend loved me.'

I thought of Richard Lovelace's lines, slightly adapted to modern conditions:

I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not money more.

My next patient complained of headaches and unhappiness. `I'm in a battered relationship,' she said.

It was not her first such, of course. She had three children by three different men, all of whom had abandoned her, but not before strangling her a little, blacking her eye a few times and knocking her unconscious.

'And how are the children?' I asked.

They were fine, she said, except that the eldest had begun to steal cars, which is the modern equivalent of measles, except that it is unlikely a vaccine will be found against it.

'Does your current boyfriend live with you?' I asked.

`No, he's in prison,' she replied.

'What for?'

'Kidnap.'

'Of whom?' 'A man.'

'Why?'

'He owed him some money.'

'He's been in prison before?'

'Yes, lots of times.'

'And he's violent to you?'

'Yes. You see, he's very jealous. He doesn't like me to talk to no one. That's how the rows start.'

'Has he had his hands round your throat?'

'Yes, a few times. But he's never squeezed hard.'

'And what else?'

'Well, he's given me a broken rib, and he's slashed me across the back with a smashed glass. But don't get me wrong, doctor, he's not a bad person. He's bril liant with the kids.'

'And of course you visit him in jail?'

'Yes, otherwise there'd be a row between us.'

'He sounds as if one day he might kill you.'

'It's funny you should say that. I've often thought he's the one of all of them who'll kill me,' 'But he's not a bad person?'

`No, not really.'

Each man kills the thing he loves, but each woman is killed by the thing she loves.

Theodore Dalrymple