25th December 2000 - 7:58 p.m.

A hand raised. A flash of silver. All eyes now directed towards the action, eager to take in my fate, enjoying this moment. I reach up and grapple.

The parcel now in my hands, the terror passes as quickly as it arrived. It’s ok, it’s ok.. just an address book and a cheque. Not clothing. Socks, yes, but they're exempted from such harsh judgement so long as they don’t take it upon themselves to play a festive tune whenever anyone kicks at your ankles. As I recall, the last item to find me cringing with every snip of the sellotape was a t-shirt with the UN Declaration of Human Rights imprinted on the reverse. A size too big, an unfortunately elasticated neckline, and Yes, I‘m grateful, but I can’t help thinking that if I have to spend whole days trawling the stores and stalls of provinces and entire London boroughs before I come across anything with which I’m wholly satisfied, mightn’t it be inviting trouble a little too eagerly, to presume that any item picked at random from a catalogue will have me proudly parading around in the new garment until my knees give way? This said, I do still wear the aforementioned t-shirt, but only by donning a sturdy jumper on top and closing all the curtains.

Cash alternatives bring their own problems, of course.

“Dear Gran, thankyou very much for the money, which I spent on cigarettes, wine, and the wonderful Comet Gain lp…”

“Dear Uncle R & Auntie C, thankyou very much for the Boots voucher, which I spent on Rimmel’s new matt foundation…”

I don’t want to be the Grandson Gone Astray. But… perhaps I am. And, if I keep my distance from these near-strangers, if I steadfastly refuse to divulge much more information than is really required, it’s only because I feel that I have Limited Appeal. I’m a novelty. A die-hard novelty single, in fact. I work quite well from afar - “Nick’s doing what? Oh, well done..”. But in the flesh, I’m the simpleton; I’m the one struggling for words, for appropriate comments. I’m the Fey Nephew In The Attic, of whom the Brothers Grimm warned us so. And, no matter that I am what I am because I don’t have the slightest inclination to indulge myself in these half-hearted commonplaces, no matter that I glimpsed the glassy expressions of obligation whilst I was still some way off, and took barely-worn detours in order to avoid stumbling across so many ready-made Acquaintances, I find myself being the Let-Down.

There are some worlds to which, try as one might, one just cannot adapt. In which one simply can’t function as anything other than an Oddity. Ludicrous worlds in which having the best hair, or the sharpest aphorisms – ‘The chic shall inherit the earth!’ – are criteria which don’t even matter. And perhaps it’s because the world of in-laws is just such a world, that I devote myself so readily to the world of Outlaws…