It is not given to every psychological researcher to describe a new mental disorder, and it is with a great sense of medical history that I take up my pen to sacrifice my privacy in the interests of science.
For forty years and more I have endured the abuse of my nearest and dearest, and the sighs and machinations of those who know me less well, because of the following habit: when faced with an event with a set starting time, I arrive there at the latest possible moment consistent with an on-time start.
Now I would argue that this represents most people's attitude to work. A worker who sits down at the desk at a minute to nine may not be the early bird who catches the worm; but in general, he is not stealing time from the employer, and will not be regarded as disorganized or otherwise aberrant. When a reference is requested, the word "punctual" will not be withheld from it.
I do no more than to extend this principle to recreational activity. For example: in my career as a jazz pianist my goal is to slide onto the piano stool just before the curtains part. In golf, it is to walk to the tee just as the four scheduled for the previous tee time leave it. When I played weekend cricket, my entry coincided with the opening batsmen buckling their pads. In pennant tennis, I would arrive just as the lines were being swept for play to start. You get the idea.
Punctuality, however, mysteriously acquires another standard when applied to having fun, and this behavior presented serious difficulties to my fellow players, who resorted to various counter-measures. My cricket captain promoted me to opening the batting (see under "corpse with pads on"). The tennis club secretary phoned my wife to ask her assistance in getting me to the court early on finals day (to which my wife indignantly replied that she isn't my mother, which sadly is true). In general, these strategies imply that the problem is one of organization rather than the psychological disorder I contend it is.
My fellow jazz musicians, with some exceptions, accepted the situation once they got used to it. One of them came up with the inspired nickname, "Deathknock" , which I now unselfishly dedicate to the syndrome hereunder described.
The first symptom of Deathknock Syndrome (DS) is the inability (note) to arrive at any scheduled activity at more than a minimum interval before it starts. The true DS sufferer has no choice in the matter - he is clinically unable to enjoy (in extreme cases, even tolerate) the preliminaries that others look forward to. DS should not be confused with disorganization - its victims are only too well organized. The inability to arrive must be present for pleasurable as well as unpleasurable activities.
There is a second symptom which is less recognized (because its effects are less serious for the unaffected population). At the end of the day when the activity is over, the DS sufferer displays the inability (note) to depart until the last possible minute. Again, a caution. Just as arriving at work on time is normal behavior, so is staying at play. Not every reveller who stays in the clubhouse till stumps is a DS sufferer. The crunch diagnosis for DS on the "depart" side is the inability to depart even when the activity is unenjoyable. It would be normal behavior for a DS sufferer to remain at the workplace after hours in the absence of any apparent reason for doing so.
Why? For DS victims, life's activities must be neatly fitted edge to edge, to keep at bay the threat of boredom, to the avoidance of which life is devoted. The present activity, pleasurable or otherwise, must continue right up until it is time to go on to the next. DS sufferers are generally functional, but are sad characters, more to be pitied than vilified. There is, at the time of writing, no cure for the disease.
Is there a DS victim in your life? For suffering families I am pleased to announce the formation of a support group to be known as the Peak Organization Of Relatives of Sufferers Of Deathknock Syndrome (POORSODS). First meeting next Thursday, 8 p.m. (doors open 7.59).
