Knowing Olly's natural predisposition to melancholia, I was surprised to find him upbeat, appropriately attired and no longer in the throes of unrequited passion for a family member. He seemed relieved to have been given the boot from his position in ad sales and saw his newly acquired freedom as an opportunity to take some time out to 'discover his place in the universe'.
I'm fond of Olly. Truly, I am. But ever since I've known him, he's been trying to discover his place in the universe. At 22, he suffered a pre mid-life crisis and bought himself a vintage Jag; a beautiful set of wheels that never made it past the driveway of his parents' charming country pile.
This time however, it would seem he's determined to figure out where his destiny lies. Over the past five months he's been studying the Alexander Technique, taking his girlfriend's whippet to puppy class and consulting a psycho analyst four times a week. I'm sure prospective employers will be thrilled with his new skillset: good posture, self-reflection and dog dressing.
Still, it must be said the journey of self-discovery holds a certain appeal. Had I the time and means, I'd happily attempt to find myself. First on the list would be to hire a personal trainer to come to my flat at 5 am each morning with a loudspeaker and an egg white omelette. Everyone knows enlightenment starts with a firm set of buttocks.
As for therapy, I'm at a loss to comprehend how parting with 50 quid an hour to talk about yourself, aids the self-understanding process. FIFTY pounds! To babble incessantly to a stranger with no constructive feedback on your neuroses? I talk about myself to myself all the time. For free.
Olly says therapy is therapeutic, funnily enough. Helps him to work through some of his issues. I can tell you right now what his issues are. An excessive trust fund and too much time to think about how to spend it. Lose the therapist. Get a job. Ever considered ad sales?
Ooh, I'm good at this. That'll be 50 quid please.
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