James Barnes
October 3rd, 2013, 08:33
Chinese Whispers
There is a popular parlour game where each player passes a whispered message down the line to see how it is hilariously corrupted by the time it reaches the last person; called тАШChinese WhispersтАЩ in the UK and тАШTelephoneтАЩ in the US. When I attended school, my headmaster, a sterling chap, used this as a warning to discourage cheap gossip and rumour mongering. He cited a possibly apocryphal example, during the First World War when a front line Major sent a message to HQ: тАШSend reinforcements, weтАЩre going to advance.тАЩ By the time it was delivered to the General, it had been transformed into: тАШSend three and fourpence, weтАЩre going to a dance.тАЩ
Primo Levi, the Italian Jewish chemist and writer said, тАШAnyone who has obeyed nature by transmitting a piece of gossip, experiences the explosive relief that accompanies the satisfying of a primary need,' but George Harrison put it better when he said that, тАШgossip is the DevilтАЩs radio.тАЩ As a writer, I am frequently given gossip but as an Englishman there is something inherent in my respect for privacy. The struggle to be personally open, truthful in what I write, especially when it comes to my own experience and use my own voice has been fought and mostly, won but every now and then I am dealt a lesson that knocks me back.
Years ago, I consulted a Thai pharmacist who prescribed a course of treatment for a malady. I was foolish. I should have gone to a doctor. I should have at least checked out the medication on the internet. I did neither. Like I said, I was foolish and became addicted to these pills and although unwell, maintained them along with my practise as a bon vivant. When the crisis eventually and inevitably peaked, I learnt that the way out required a complete lifestyle overhaul and a gradual tapering of the offending medication to zero over eighteen months. Ever the idiot, I decided to do this in just six months.
When I was тАШcleanтАЩ, the withdrawal was horrendous. Insomnia, hallucinations, seizures and stomach cramps which lasted two years were a testament to the checks and balances of the western medical system that I had forsaken. I also suffered some severe liver damage which kept me off the booze for two years. The hepatic reparation is incomplete but my doctor tells me that I am now allowed to drink a little. Most days, I do not drink at all. Occasionally, I go out and drink too much and with a lowered tolerance I get great value for money and a loosened tongue which recently had me admitting my medical condition.
It does not matter who decided to pass on this intelligence. In fact I was unaware that it had been passed on at all until I was invited out to dinner by a friend last week. Eventually he plucked up the courage to ask me about my liver cancer. Thank goodness I was able to put an end to his worry and hopefully, now, the worries of all the others who have heard this rumour that has apparently being doing the rounds. I do have a self-induced liver problem. I am not dying of liver cancer. I have a sufficiently thick skin to endure the ill effects of Chinese Whispers but some dear friends have been genuinely upset, so next time you get tuned in to the DevilтАЩs radio, please think twice before you start broadcasting yourself.
There is a popular parlour game where each player passes a whispered message down the line to see how it is hilariously corrupted by the time it reaches the last person; called тАШChinese WhispersтАЩ in the UK and тАШTelephoneтАЩ in the US. When I attended school, my headmaster, a sterling chap, used this as a warning to discourage cheap gossip and rumour mongering. He cited a possibly apocryphal example, during the First World War when a front line Major sent a message to HQ: тАШSend reinforcements, weтАЩre going to advance.тАЩ By the time it was delivered to the General, it had been transformed into: тАШSend three and fourpence, weтАЩre going to a dance.тАЩ
Primo Levi, the Italian Jewish chemist and writer said, тАШAnyone who has obeyed nature by transmitting a piece of gossip, experiences the explosive relief that accompanies the satisfying of a primary need,' but George Harrison put it better when he said that, тАШgossip is the DevilтАЩs radio.тАЩ As a writer, I am frequently given gossip but as an Englishman there is something inherent in my respect for privacy. The struggle to be personally open, truthful in what I write, especially when it comes to my own experience and use my own voice has been fought and mostly, won but every now and then I am dealt a lesson that knocks me back.
Years ago, I consulted a Thai pharmacist who prescribed a course of treatment for a malady. I was foolish. I should have gone to a doctor. I should have at least checked out the medication on the internet. I did neither. Like I said, I was foolish and became addicted to these pills and although unwell, maintained them along with my practise as a bon vivant. When the crisis eventually and inevitably peaked, I learnt that the way out required a complete lifestyle overhaul and a gradual tapering of the offending medication to zero over eighteen months. Ever the idiot, I decided to do this in just six months.
When I was тАШcleanтАЩ, the withdrawal was horrendous. Insomnia, hallucinations, seizures and stomach cramps which lasted two years were a testament to the checks and balances of the western medical system that I had forsaken. I also suffered some severe liver damage which kept me off the booze for two years. The hepatic reparation is incomplete but my doctor tells me that I am now allowed to drink a little. Most days, I do not drink at all. Occasionally, I go out and drink too much and with a lowered tolerance I get great value for money and a loosened tongue which recently had me admitting my medical condition.
It does not matter who decided to pass on this intelligence. In fact I was unaware that it had been passed on at all until I was invited out to dinner by a friend last week. Eventually he plucked up the courage to ask me about my liver cancer. Thank goodness I was able to put an end to his worry and hopefully, now, the worries of all the others who have heard this rumour that has apparently being doing the rounds. I do have a self-induced liver problem. I am not dying of liver cancer. I have a sufficiently thick skin to endure the ill effects of Chinese Whispers but some dear friends have been genuinely upset, so next time you get tuned in to the DevilтАЩs radio, please think twice before you start broadcasting yourself.