Yes, I really am one of 32 great great grandsons of the great man. And it was not just one guinea pig. All my Guinea Pigs have been stifled by science’s obsessive adherence to stuff they call “evidence”. You can’t float a guinea pig without evidence to stop it sinking. Conversation with a scientist is impossible without some reference to evidence. It’s about truth. Science says that truth – or “facts” as they like to call it – can only be found in the evidence. Nowhere else.

So, what is this evidence? Where can it be found? By having an hypothesis, designing an experiment to test it and measuring the results. But that’s not how I know things, especially not in any measuring. I don’t hypothesise, experiment and measure; in common with everybody else, I just know things. From my experience. But that’s subjective, they say, and therefore of no possible use and most definitely not true. We need facts, they say.

This matters – to me – when psychology, psychiatry, sociology and other soft sciences attempt, largely through measurement, to tell me they know things about the human condition – and therefore about me – that just don’t fit with my knowledge of myself. They somehow reduce me to a guinea pig in their laboratory, an unconscious creature who has no say in what he does.

But it gets more confounding. Because I agree that any free will I might have is severely limited. One of their dastardly but hugely fascinating experiments was with people undergoing brain surgery. They only get a local anaesthetic – and the brain itself, interestingly, has no feeling. So, while the surgery was going on through a hole cut in the skull, they wired up that part of the brain known to be concerned with moving bits of the body. They asked the person with the hole in their head to say when they were going to do something like lift a finger, measuring the activity in the brain all the time. Significant nano-seconds before the person says and therefore knows they are going to lift their finger, the finger-lifting energy starts. In other words their free will, if they have any, is unconscious.

So you wouldn’t have thought I’d mind being a guinea pig in a psychologist’s lab, what with my will being largely non-existent. But I do, I mind that the truths they think they arrive at are deemed more important than the truths I arrive at, just by living, by attempting to know myself. Take happiness. Because seratonin levels in the brain are higher when people report feeling happy, direct links are made and neurochemicals devised that increase and stabilise the amount of seratonin in the brain. But it’s the wrong happiness, the fleeting, reactive happiness, they are trying to measure and control. And to do it by messing with neurochemicals is obviously (well, to some of us anyway) going to lead to dependency and addiction.

This all stems from a recent incident. I was invited to talk to a group of mostly mature students. The man in charge of the course, and the man who had invited me, sat to one side of the room. Every now and then he would interrupt my fairly inoccuous ramble through my own experience as I drew conclusions left right and centre based only on my own experience. He would interrupt saying, “That is absolute rubbish. Where is your evidence? The facts are quite different.” and other words of orthodoxy. I was shocked, but for the first few such dislocations, I adopted a jocular bantering escape route and carried on. He kept it up. And up I was wound. Till I lost my temper and stormed out, saying to the students, “I am sorry for you, having to put up with this.”

I know, I know, where would we be without the rigour and endeavour of science? We wouldn’t have computers or atom bombs, cars or bio-fuels, leucotomies or hip-replacements. But it’s the arrogance, the assumptions and the ignorance of science that make many scientists such bores. I took my guinea pig for a walk in front of those students and he stifled it. But it’ survived. It’s here crawling through this blog.