Until 1994 I had not given much thought to trying to convey to the general public the fascination
Until 1994, I had not given much thought to trying to convey to the general public the fascination and excitement of brain research. But when, in that year, I gave the Royal Institution Christmas Lectures, I was forced to take a far wider view than my specialist research interests had ever required. An escape from our embarrassment, an escape into a world where somehow the writ of truth still runs; where, on the beach, by the water- slide, over a glass of grappa (we "hate" grappa) to the sound of bouzouki music (which seems to potentiate the awfulness of grappa) we will somehow rediscover the truth. That's not what we peer at brochures for, trying to spy, through the glossy promises of a consumer idyll, the cracked tiles, the snot-green opacity of the fungal swimming pool, the condemned paella full of radiation victims, little eyes peering up at you and pink shelly catastrophes with too many heads.We're seeing beyond all of that, to a real escape. It's not the office or the traffic, the shopping, the non-fast coloureds or the trouser nonsense.
It's not the lawn-mowing or Asda or them next door with their big mouths, or the taxman or the mortgage bastards or the yapping telly morons telling us we were born to buy. Where do you think you are, the Old Vic? It's for your own good Well you've nobody to blame but yourself No, Graeme, I'm exhausted Some of us have to work in the morning Suit yourself, then.It's not the rain. It's raining here, now, outside my window; the ITN building is lit up, glowing like a bone against a sky the colour of old Elastoplast It's not the rain. We've evolved this whole vocabulary of love and haven't a clue what to do with it. Most of the time we cannot even articulate, except at the most oblique and furthest remove Go and do your homework For God's sake Graeme It's your favourite: burgers No, "I'll" do that Are you coming, or what? I'll get the car out You go on in; I'll bring the shopping You can't go out like that Hark at him.
But let fate bare its rotting teeth, let the abyss gape, disaster threaten, life do what life does, and they'll galvanise, suddenly, on the second, without a thought: "Is there anything I can do?"Of course there is, and it's always the same thing "Tell me you care about me Tell me I belong Tell me I've made a difference Tell me I'm safe." We're not good at it. Tucked away behind the Kingston By-Pass, poor sweet pretty Aunt Jessamyn (for whom things never quite worked out) potters in her room, sorting through the boxes of presents she accumulates all year round, thinking of the children who aren't quite her own, while Cousin Robbie, snug in mock-Tudor Bushey, doesn't give a fig. He's just raised the money for a brand-new aeroplane, better than his current one; tomorrow he's taking a pretty little thing to La Rochelle; a bit of a fright on the way and she'll shape up nicely.On they go, disconnected, revolving in their predictable lubricated orreries And yet they would die for each other Family. These unjoined souls, ploughing their furrows, are linked by grudging happenstance, and most of the time utterly unaware of each others' existence. Round the back doubles to Probert's Seaview Cafe, where Uncle Dai lies beached against Auntie Megan's white whale back, yearning for slim golden girls like fishes, presenting their eager behinds for the firm manly slap of his big cafe-owner's hands.
