Why settle for anything but the best in life? That’s my philosophy, anyway. Hamish insists that it’s not a philosophy, per-se, but what does he know about it? He’s always got his face in a book. I actually think he’s afraid to really live, so he has to make do with his buddies in Ancient Greece, not mention 19th century Germany.

As for me, I’m manifesting perfected reality right here in the material realm. Take my real estate portfolio, for instance. It’s bursting at the seams with lucrative properties, while Hamish is sitting around trying to discharge the mortgage on his investment without assistance. No one is an island, Hamish! That’s another thing I’m always telling him, and apparently that’s not a philosophy either, but who cares? For crying out loud, man – just hire a conveyancer. Melbourne has no shortage of them, and Hamish has no shortage of money to throw at such things. He’s just obsessed with self-sufficiency, but it plays out more as self-denial. 

He just needs to loosen up a bit, that’s all, and maybe spend a bit less time reading literature he should have left back in his doctorate. He’s a fine lecturer, and I’m sure he finds it fulfilling on some level, but I’m not sure it’s altogether healthy for the guy. And I’m not especially keen on him ringing me at 3am to pontificate on the ramifications of Section 32 statements for property vendors. I mean, really? 

To be clear, I like the guy, and I actually find him quite inspiring in some ways. What I don’t like is him getting all critical of my life-affirming ways while destructively sabotaging his own affairs, and then roping me into helping him deal with that. In actual fact, the best help he could get from me is precisely that which he’s constantly rejecting and belittling: my zest for life.