Low life
Tired and emotional
Jeffrey Bernard
Bob Geldof came out with a classic last week. He said, 'I am suffering from_ com- passion fatigue.' I am not surprised. It is a fairly common malaise among men but after a short holiday in Belfast Geldof should be back in the saddle again. There have been rare cases of women suffering from compassion fatigue but luckily for them they are few and far between. Female attacks of compassion fatigue are acute and can often result in unsuitable marriages, insanity and even suicide. I myself once married a carrier of this disease and I should have recognised the symptoms long before I did. The female carrier can be easily spotted. She has a tendency to smile frequently on first acquaintance and dis- plays a very low competitive drive. This is followed by an almost compulsive willing- ness to take part in what we psychiatrists call the 'lunchtime leg-over syndrome'. As the disease escalates and the compassion virus becomes more and more established the male will be peppered with gifts such as appalling neck ties, poetry paperbacks and Chinese takeaways. At the height of the fever you may put a stethoscope to the female's heart and you will hear Mendels- sohn's Wedding March. It is only after that that compassion fatigue will gradually sub- side. The World Health Organisation is agreed that the sign of a total cure is established by the patient either addressing her mate with the words 'Piss off' or 'You make me sick'. There have been cases of women with chronic compassion fatigue and they are known by we doctors as `scrubbers'. The symptoms in cases of scrubbers are more easily spotted than the aforementioned cases. Most of them have a sense of humour, smudged make-up, a bun in the oven and completely chaotic handbags containing no more than £2, an empty packet of cigarettes, a 30-year-old Dutch cap, a tear-stained address book, a powderless powder compact with a broken mirror, a spare pair of knickers for away fixtures and a summons from British Telecom.
But I need funds to research emotionally transmitted disease and I'm not earning much lying in bed. It is now ten days since I was struck down and only massive doses of insulin and beef consommé stand between me and the Reichenbach Falls. I just stare at the ceiling and ponder such matters as compassion fatigue. An enormous bottle of blue label Smirnoff sits in the kitchen and I can hear it sobbing quietly from time to time. Sometimes my niece calls in with fresh supplies of tea bags but otherwise I have had fewer visitors than I had when I was in a military nick in 1951.
I am worried. The bringer of tea bags had to go to Newmarket last Saturday by herself to see the Champion Stakes. She was well looked after, of course, by Charles St George and his wife but when she arrived at the course she was, you may say, thrown in at the deep end. Who should she be• introduced to there — and this is a world exclusive — but Germaine Greer, the Medusa of Melbourne. Like Sherlock Holmes I can work from a prone position but I have to admit that the presence of Professor Greer, the most dangerous woman in Europe, on a race- course is something that baffles me. At first I assumed that the Professor had gone to Newmarket — it is adjacent to her new mansion — to collect her daily dose of injustice, but no. My niece told me that the Professor got 5-1 about the winner, Peb- bles. It reminds me of the time I met Ivy Compton Burnett at Walthamstow dog stadium and my father had a similar bizarre experience when he found himself sitting next to Virginia Woolf at the 1929 Wemb- ley Cup Final. And what with Alice Tho- mas Ellis playing dirty word Scrabble who knows where it could end. Even worse is the fact that the niece, Katie, wants to be a journalist and not even the handicap of the surname Bernard is going to hold her back. It is all very worrying and she is beginning to show early symptoms of compassion fatigue. She is becoming friendly with people at Private Eye and I promised her father I'd look after her when she left home and came to London. Of course, I happen to like Professor Greer tremend- dously, but think about it. Would you introduce a nephew to Richard Ingrams?
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