A.I. to Zulu

We're the least dynamic family in the world. At least that's the opinion of my current lodger and brother. And mostly, he's welcome to it. Plus I can suggest a few places where he can place this opinion. And all of them are anatomical.

It began with criticisms of me and my life. I am dull and boring, according to Colin. I have become introverted and misanthropic. I am a non-gregarious hermit who needs to get out more. I need to find a nice lady who would like to do interesting things to my genitalia. And who would do all the cooking, cleaning and ironing for me and the lads.

Well, maybe he has a point. And then again maybe he hasn't as I rather like being me, in a number of different ways. Okay, so I'm not one hundred percent satisfied with the way my life has evolved, as I have hinted on many previous occasions, but that doesn't make me any different from the overwhelming percentage of people on the planet?

I tried to point out to Colin that running a household of four males (and currently five - although so far Colin cannot be criticised for not pulling his weight around the place) of various ages is rather time-consuming, leaving me but scant moments in which to pursue any social opportunities. But Colin would not accept this as an excuse. He said when coming here he thoroughly expected the place to be a pigsty; and by some measure he was rather hoping it might be. You try living in Germany, he said, if you set the table and the placemats are not exactly parallel to the edge of the table and the knives and forks are not accurately perpendicular and the plates are not exactly centred upon the mats you bring shame upon your family that will last for generations. I was looking forwards to chaos and mess and all boys mucking in together and above all, a bit of a laugh.

But - he continued - your place is so anal I feel you going to give me a right b*llocking if I don't put the breakfast cereals back in alphabetical order. I mean, it took me ages to fathom out your DVD collection. I thought for once you've done what normal people do and just lob them on your shelf as they come and not worry about it. But then I noticed A Clockwork Orange, 2001 A Space Odyssey and The Shining were all together, then later down the line you had Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Schindler's List. So I worked it out - your DVDs are grouped by director, in alphabetical order by the director's surname, then in release order within the group. Good God, Bryn, do you realise how anal that is?

I protested, saying it was just a way of knowing where a DVD was when I wanted to watch it. Colin admitted perhaps he was being a little harsh, as he'd noticed I'd gotten Pulp Fiction *before* Reservoir Dogs in the Tarantino section. I was in the lounge and checking that this was *not* the case before realising I'd be gullibly duped. I returned sheepishly to the kitchen, trying to remain oblivious to Colin's triumphant expression.

Look, I began, it's just the way we like things around here. We like order and knowing where things are and not having to worry about all the inconsequential stuff. If you look after all the little things, then you've more time to concentrate on the bigger things in life.

Which are? Said Colin.

Well, for Andrew it's his education, for Gabriel it's Lian and for Lukas it's his basketball.

No, corrected Colin. For Andrew it's the pride of being the bastian of everything that is squeaky clean, holy and pure and righteous. For Gabriel it's chasing some quarter-interested piece of Burmese skirt just because half of his brain and most of his loins are suddenly over-flowing with testosterone. And for Lukas it's sitting on his skinny ass all day shooting computer sprites whilst dodging pixelated bullets.

I left a heavy pause swelling between us, giving my brother a bit of a menacing look. Continue, I said, eventually.

He said what do you mean?

I said well I am sure there is one further member of this household who's going to benefit from your observational wisdom.

Colin said okay, the cat's schizophrenic. But I told him to stop pi$$ing about.

So he said: I don't know what to make of you Bryn. There doesn't seem to be anyone there. You get up, go to work, come home, cook dinner, do some housework, watch TV, have a drink, then go to bed. What else is there? That's not living.

That's not living in *your* opinion, I protested, stickin up for myself (well, no one else was going to, at that present time).

Yeah, said Colin, it's just *my* opinion. I've got lots of opinions about you, most of them gathered quite recently. I'm sorry Bryn, but we hadn't seen each other for years then I suddenly announce I'm coming over with my girls to potentially wreck your Christmas and you just fall down and let us all walk all over you. Where's your backbone? What sort of person allows that to happen?

A nice person? I venture.

Colin started to speak, then thought better of it. Then he said: Look Bryn, I'm not having a go (you could have fooled me) at you, I just think you need a bit more of a spark to your life. You need to stop worrying about how fresh the towels in the bathroom are and start worrying about how far past their sell-by date the condoms in your bedside cupboard are.

Okay, I said. I'll think about it as long as we can stop talking about it, okay?

Colin nodded. He said - smiling - I've got an idea for the weekend.

But I didn't like the smile. I also didn't like what he said next, which was I ought to keep a count of how many condoms I've got, as I might find a couple missing. I made the obvious sum and told Colin to go and buy his own but he said being vasectomised made it none of his concern, and that I ought instead to be asking Lukas.

LUKAS?!?!?!