My stupid bastard brother in law has gone back to his life today. I am not sad he has left.
The carpet will no longer be decorated with tiny threads of tobacco from his rollies. Downstairs will no longer stink of cigarettes. My assistant will stop barking hysterically every time he moves and growling the rest of the time just in case he is thinking about moving. My old man dogs will no longer be in fear of their lives.
But I am sad because I think he is a sad man. He is a salutary lesson in how I do not want to be. Some of it is through no fault of his own and some is definitely of his own making. In this week of thanksgiving in the States I spent my weekend giving thanks to the gods and the Fates that my life is not his.
I note as I wrote this it turned out to be less of a rant. And also there was only one swear word. In fact it has gone from a planned debrief about the craziness that is my bastard b-i-l's life and him inflicting it on my house to a recognition of my own good fortune and how I spent the weekend relishing that good fortune. (That and my "joie de vivre" ;-) But by Sunday I was ready to punch him if mentioned one more time how badly fally-down my old man dog had been last Christmas while I was away and how cold it was then and how he had run out of coal for the fire but hadn't asked any of the neighbours where he might buy more! Stupid Bastard.