About 1997....

.... my Son Dan was diagnosed with Psychosis; Schizophrenia,
and for the next ten years He and I and his Mother and his Sister
and his Brother and his Best Friend and his Aunties and Cousins
and Nurses and Psychiatrists and Doctors and Social Workers
and Carers and the huge pile of other folk that always seemed to
be in his flat, discussed and argued and theorized (especially Dan,
who loved a theory, an investigation) about exactly what might
be a true description of his condition (apart from the general, if
not complete, agreement that he was incredibly loveable).

Meanwhile he was often, sometimes constantly, beset by Monsters;
Devils and Demons plaguing his mind. So he had a vast appreciation
of very ordinary, and extraordinary, things whenever they came
along and he could reach them. He was very uncritical of these things,
determined to only see the good in them.

He and I drove thousands of miles together.

Once we were coming down the A9 from the North and we picked up
two Dutch hitchhikers.

One of them said, "Scotland is very beautiful but it is spoilt by
all those horrible electric pylons."

"What electric pylons?" said Dan.