As one who’s always been keen on putting their hand up and admitting to their faults (a perverse form of boasting, I suspect) I was always suspicious of the medicalisation of character flaws which apparently render us helpless in the clammy hands of Fortuna. It was bad enough when friends who’d generally always seemed highly capable jumped on the ADHD bus in later life, suddenly flinching at loud noises when they’d spent a good deal of their lives dancing to ear-splitting techno. But it was another sort of annoying when ex-friends who were merely awful people started blaming all their past ghastliness first on ADHD and then – still not feeling special enough – on autism, a serious condition which affects a tiny amount of people.
But if you want to create ‘conditions’ where previously there were simply personalities, fill your boots; everyone benefits from having a hobby. Where I draw the line is when they attempt to drag me on to the bus with them. No, I am not a ‘narcissist’ who is ‘on the spectrum’ – I’m simply a self-adoring show-off with a tendency to fidget. ‘We’ll relax and take our time!’ I invariably tell my restaurant companion, and if they know me well, they smile sceptically. I’m already catching the waiter’s eye and planning the next watering hole. But I don’t have Attention Deficit Syndrome – I’m just greedy for the next thing.
