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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
113
His
system
of
prophylaxis
may
be
quickly
summarised,--
(1)
Hot
whisky
ad
lib.
and
off
to
bed.
(2)
A
woman.
These
two
sterling
preventives
he
has
often
urged
upon
me
at
the
same
time
tipping
out
a
quantity
of
anathemas
on
doctors
and
physic....
He
is
a
cynic.
He
scoffs
at
the
medical
profession,
the
Law,
the
Church,
the
Press.
Every
man
is
guilty
until
he
is
proved
innocent.
The
Premier
is
an
unscrupulous
character,
the
Bishop
a
salacious
humbug.
No
doctor
will
cure,
for
it
pays
him
to
keep
you
ill.
Every
clergyman
puts
the
Sunday-school
teacher
in
the
family
way.
His
mouth
is
permanently
distorted
by
cynicism.
He
is
vain
and
believes
all
women
are
in
love
with
him.
When
playing
the
Gallant,
he
turns
on
a
special
voice,
wears
white
spats,
and
looks
like
a
Newmarket
"Crook."
"I
lost
my
'bus,"
a
girl
says
to
him.
"Lost
your
bust,"
he
answers,
in
broad
Scotch.
"I
can't
see
that
you've
done
that."
...
His
sexual
career
has
been
a
remarkable
one,
he
claiming
to
have
brought
many
women
to
bed,
and
actually
to
have
lain
with
women
of
almost
all
European
nationalities,
for
he
has
been
a
great
traveller....
This
man
is
my
devoted
friend!...
And
truth
to
tell
I
get
on
with
him
better
than
I
do
with
most
people.
I
like
his
gamey
flavour,
his
utter
absence
of
self-consciousness,
and
his
doggy
loyalty
to
myself--his
weaker
brother.
He
may
be
depraved
in
his
habits,
coarse
in
his
language,
boorish
in
his
manners,
ludicrous
in
the
wrongness
of
all
his
views.
But
I
like
him
just
because
he
is
so
hopeless.
I
get
on
with
him
because
it
is
so
impossible
to
reclaim
him--my
missionary
spirit
is
not
intrigued.
If
he
only
dabbled
in
vice
(for
an
experiment),
if
he
had
pale,
watery
ideas
about
current
literature--if--to
use
his
own
favourite
epithet--he
were
genteel,
I
should
quarrel.
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