Vettriano sleaze

I'm hesitant to put this down to autism, because that kind of feels like I'll be making excuses for my own behaviour. Like announcing that I'm not fully responsible, because I have "a condition". So I thought about writing it up in one of my other blogs, rather than the autism one.  But in the end, I figured that there were enough elements of this experience that had elements of autism about them.  Not entirely in my actions, but probably in my responses - the feelings of disquiet and self-reproach I've been experiencing all day, today.

And I'm hoping that writing about the events will help me come to some conclusions.  It can definitely be argued that that's an autistic approach.  In fact, at various times throughout the afternoon, I've found myself mentally dictating some parts of the posting.

So... this weekend, I invited two CouchSurfers (I'm going to call them S and L - their initials - until they give me permission to use their actual names) to stay with me.  They were in town and were looking for a last-minute place to stay and they sounded pretty cool.  In fact they were pretty cool and I liked them straight away.  And they had no hang-ups about nudity at all, so I was able to completely relax without fear of offending either of them.

We had some vague plans of going to Cramond Island.  A week ago, I tried to create a photographic project that involved putting up a tent on a nude beach.  As in... I was naked and I set the camera up on a timer to take a picture every thirty seconds.  The resulting project would have been a time-lapse kind of thing and if it hadn't been windy, I think it would have gone pretty well.  But it was windy and the tent very quickly was doing a creditable impression of the world's greatest kite.  I persevered for a good while, but eventually had to give up.  Anyone interested in seeing the results of that disaster can view the video here.

So the plan was to return to the project and try again on Cramond Island.  Except the weather yesterday was terrible.  Very heavy rain.  Thunder, lightning, the whole lot.  I was still tempted for a while to go there, anyway - just without the tent.  I've wanted to get some nudes in the rain for a long time, now.  But in the end, I gave up on it.

Ultimately I went one way and the girls went another way.  I ended up in town with another guest - a third girl - and we took some video together, as well.  I used an app on the iPhone to create an 8mm camera feel, and took a lot of video of the rain.

It was late at night, before the two girls returned to the flat and we reunited.  And they were leaving just a couple of hours later, so I was a bit disappointed that I didn't have more of a chance to hang out with them, but we at least had time for a couple of beers before they left.  The lack of sleep was catching up with S and she started dozing.  That was cool, though, because I was really starting to find some common ground with L.  We spoke about artists we like and about taboos and the common perception of sexual obscenity.  I don't like the way that erections and masturbation are automatically considered to be obscene and not artistic.  That's a popular impression that I like to challenge, because I find it to be damaging.

She told me about an artist called Igon Schiele and she showed me some of his pictures.  I had pointed out that since I started keeping a video diary, I'd noticed that I had some slightly strange quirks in my body language - a distinct tendency to be very angular with my limbs.  I'd become slightly self-conscious of this as a result, but found it to be more amusing than worrying.  With the angular gestures and the conversation about masturbation and art, I had made her think about Igon Schiele and she pulled up some of his pictures to show me.

I wasn't an immediate fan of his work, but it was definitely dramatic - and one picture really did stand out.  It's got a really cool look going on and I can't help being drawn to it.  I'm going to read about him some more, and I suspect his artistic style will grow on me, after a while.

She also showed me an article about Elke Khrystufek - a more contemporary artist - who uses masturbation in her own work.  I find it very encouraging to know that there are already people who are doing things like this.  I like knowing that there are people - male or female - who will actively and aggressively challenge that taboo.

I showed her some of Jack Vettriano's pictures and told her that what I liked about them was the element of emotional disconnection and alienation that featured throughout them.  This, combined with the sexuality involved, makes them feel slightly sleazy at times.  I should stress that this is my interpretation of these pictures and probably - I don't know - not representative of anyone else's interpretation.

The conversation moved back and forth and touched a few times on my own pictures.  I showed her some of my work and we discussed whether they were artistic or erotic or pornographic and came to no real conclusions.  Not that I'm really interested in getting a definitive answer about that sort of thing; it's more interesting when there are people who will disagree.

And then we started posing for jokey pictures with each other.  This was fun.  I posed with S, while L took a picture and then posed with L.  When she looked at the picture, she said "Aww" and I misinterpreted the noise, thinking she was disappointed that it hadn't come out well.  This turned into a challenging kind of debate about whether the absence of a penis (her knee was raised and it obscured me) in the picture had somehow spoiled it.  I had thought she sounded disappointed and she thought my response to this meant that I was disappointed.  And so we moved on to take "a selfie with some cock in it".  It was all a bit of a lark, so was still a lot of fun at this point.

The next development was my setting up my own camera on a timer, so that it would take a bunch of pictures of the two of us on the couch together - both of us lying back, and facing each other from opposite ends with our legs entwined.  And this is the point where I started getting a lot more tactile - or "touchy-feely", if I want to be less forgiving with my terminology.

I had already noted that I'd started relaxing into being pretty tactile with her.  A couple of times, while we'd been looking at things on the Mac, I'd rested my hand on her knee, which isn't something I usually do.  In fact, back when I was working at the clinic in Glasgow, I used to joke that I was "least tactile massage therapist I knew".

(This was before any of us knew I had autism, though.  And after the diagnosis, when I started to learn more about the condition, I realised that I had never completely understood the rules of physical contact, so had cut myself off from it.  Rather than cause inadvertently offence by touching people inappropriately, I simply didn't touch at all.  Being a massage therapist was the perfect career option, because there were very clear rules and I completely understood them.)

So... I was definitely starting to touch L.  A lot.  And I realised that I was resting my hand on her knee in a way that probably wasn't merely casual.  In fact, it seemed like the kind of relaxed physical contact that I would have with a girlfriend.  And not just that, but I was leaning into her more, and I was probably being a bit invasive.  Maybe even proprietorial.  When I realised what I was doing, I apologised and moved back a bit.  But then, when we started taking pictures together, the physical contact had to become an element once more.

After that, my enthusiasm for the pictures overwhelmed my reservations and I almost immediately had my hands on her all over again.  We got a couple of great pictures at this point - where we're both drinking from bottles of Cobra and laughing at each other, but there's more than a few awkward looking ones, as well.  

The camera was on a timer, taking up to thirty pictures a time, and I didn't want all the pictures to be virtually identical, so I took her wrist and linked our fingers together.  Again, there's awkwardness and confusion at first, because I wasn't communicating myself very well at this point.  I was getting too caught up in imagining the next picture and the next look and the next pose, so was getting carried away.  And when we looked at those pictures, the first thing I noticed was how deeply I'd failed.  I'd tried to create something that looked intimate, but had instead created a sequence of images where I looked possessive and proprietorial.  I was holding her wrist in my hand and linking our fingers together.  I was trying to force a look that hadn't come about naturally.

Fair enough - we were posing for a camera, and so were largely pretending.  It's all pretty forgivable at this point.

We were rapidly running out of time, now.  The girls were going to be leaving in about fifteen minutes so they could be on time for their bus.  And I told them both that they were welcome to come back to my place and stay with me at any time.  I also told L that next time - with more time to relax into it - I'd love to take some nudes of her.  Specifically of her arm underneath her breasts.  I had been fascinated by the tattoos on her arm, so really wanted to feature them.

I hadn't intended that we might take such pictures straight away, but she went for it.  She stripped off her t-shirt and bra and lay back on the couch and I snapped off a few pictures.  I was loving it, by then, and I was really hoping these pictures would be good ones.  I really wanted to do them justice.  This was when we got my absolute favourite picture of the entire project - with her glaring at the camera and covering herself up with one arm.  The expression on her face is hard to read, and I find it easy to imagine that there's contempt and loathing in there.  But with a slight change of perspective, I can also imagine something soft and vulnerable.  I can even imagine it to be a seductive expression, but I'm probably grasping a bit for that interpretation.

And then I took it further.  I asked S to take the camera and take some pictures of L and I posing together.  I cuddled up with her on the couch, and S snapped off a few images.  Then I got L to move her arms out the way and I put my own arm across her breasts instead.  Then I went to kiss the side of her neck and that's when I really crossed the line.

She said "No kissing!" and moved away.  I apologised and said "OK, no kissing."  S got another couple of pictures and then L got up, got dressed again and the two girls finished getting ready to leave.  I looked over the pictures we'd taken and started seeing subtleties in L's facial expressions and body language that I hadn't really noticed - or had ignored - leading up to that point.  There's a sneaking fear that I might have pushed her a long way past her comfort levels even before I went to kiss her neck.  That might have just been the final straw.

But the really interesting element is just how cool those pictures look.  There's a very strong emotional element coming off them that reminds me of the interpretation I have of those Jack Vettriano pictures.  Emotional disconnection and alienation, combining to create an element of sleaze.  These are - essentially - pictures of a naked middle-aged man and a half-naked girl nearly twenty years younger.  I definitely look predatory and sleazy, and she definitely looks angry and contemptuous.  There's an edgy sort of punk vibe going on, too - and that personality comes entirely from her.  There's no denying that these are great pictures.  They've got the same kind of personality that I perceive every time I look at a Jack Vettriano picture.

I have a couple of undoubted favourites.  The one where I'm about to kiss her neck and then the one where she's pulling away from me and I'm looking both confused and guilty.  And earlier in the shoot there's one with an entirely different personality, where it looks like we're both laughing at the same joke - or probably just at the absurdity of the situation.

As cool as the pictures are, though, they've definitely left me with a feeling of disquiet.  The combination of that punk vibe and that middle-aged sleaze definitely don't put me in a particularly positive light and that's left me quietly questioning my actions throughout the day.  The difference between seeing sleaze in these photographs - as opposed to a Vettriano picture - is the fact that it's me who's responsible for the creepiness.

Ultimately we all parted on good terms, so I'm hopeful that she's still cool with everything and happy for me to use the pictures.  And I definitely hope she comes back, at some point and we work on some more.  Because, despite all my concerns, I'm still very hopeful that it was just a misstep.  If we work together again, with more time and more communication, we might find that we relax into the project more successfully and create some really cool pictures.  The potential is definitely there.  I just have to show some restraint and not let the momentum and my own enthusiasm ruin everything.



Update:

The day after I wrote this posting, I got a really nice email from L.  She told me she was completely happy for me to use the pictures we had taken and she said I didn't make her uncomfortable at all.  I had been hoping that my own paranoia and self-doubts had been colouring my perceptions the following day, and her email confirmed that for me.

What seems likely, in hindsight, is that we had both created some great pictures with a very strong and very dysfunctional chemistry.  Strong enough that when I looked at them again later, I was convinced and worried by the personalities we had created.

I've posted some of the pictures on my RedBubble profile, if anyone wants to take a look.  Or maybe even buy some of them.

Afterword:

There's a scene in The tunnel, where Clemence Poesy's character (Elise Wassermann) says something very insensitive just as Stephen Dillane's character (Karl Roebuck) is about to answer his mobile phone.  He pauses, then gives her a look of complete disbelief and disapproval.  It's a hilarious moment... I genuinely laughed out loud at it.  And I'm not always a laugh out loud kind of person, so I treasure these moments.  But what's even better is the moment where she looks at him and recognises her own faux pas.  Perhaps she doesn't know what it is she's done, but she does recognise that she's done something.

The tunnel is a remake of Bron/Broen - a Danish/Swedish drama about the police departments of two countries having to work together to solve a conspiracy.  In each version, the female cop is autistic.  She's a great cop, but is strongly lacking in any real social skills.

The thing that I loved about that scene is primarily Karl's reaction to Elise's statement, but - secondarily - it's that moment where she recognises that she's made a mistake, too late to do anything about it.  It's probably the worst thing about being autistic and still having comparatively good social skills.  We don't always know when we're about to screw up, but we definitely know it just seconds afterward when we spot the responses of those about us.  And then we replay those last few moments in our heads and something just curls up and dies.

Perhaps one, perhaps many

I originally wrote this a few weeks ago, while the situation was still ongoing.  At the time, I appeared to find a positive resolution to it, so my conclusion was fairly positive.  But it got worse, until I finally found myself in a position where I had to ask a guest to leave my flat.  Looking back on it, I can see that I got a lot more stressed by the situation than I was actually aware of at the time.  So much so, that it's only now that I'm able to update the posting.

I'm a member of a site called Couchsurfing and I get a lot out of that.  It keeps me from spending too much time on my own, because it helps me to socialise.  People from different cultures come to visit, I show them round the city and welcome them into my home.

The concept of Couchsurfing is simple.  People travel the world and they crash on other peoples' couches when they arrive.  You can host travellers, or just meet them for a coffee and show them around.  The idea is a combination of cheap travel, combined with a sort of cultural exchange.  It's a great thing, and I've had some amazing guests.  Really cool people that I would welcome back in a heartbeat.  And some that have returned for repeated visits.

Sometimes, though, it sort of goes a bit wrong.  Back in March, someone (I'll call him R) sent me a request and asked to stay.  He said he would arrive on the 12th and leave on the 15th.  He seemed pretty cool, and so I accepted his invitation.

On the 12th, I waited for him all day and he didn't turn up.  I checked his profile and realised he'd logged in since I sent him the email to accept him, so I got a bit irritated - I had waited for him, put myself out and he didn't even have the decency to acknowledge my acceptance.  I sent him a short email at around 8PM on the 12th.

I wrote this...

Since you didn't include an arrival time on your request, I didn't know when to expect you. So I've been at home all day, waiting for you and watching for an update about your schedule.

I assume you've changed your mind or made alternative arrangements?

I checked a couple of times on the 13th to find out whether he'd responded to that, but there was nothing.  He hadn't logged on though, so I couldn't figure out whether he was being rude or not.  Well, I already felt that not acknowledging my previous message the last time he'd logged on had been rude, but I wasn't sure about this.  I didn't know what kind of stuff was going on, and he might have a very reasonable explanation for not answering.  All this meant that he might turn up at any time on the 13th, so I felt obligated to wait at home for him on that day, too.

I had also accepted a small group of people.  The girl (I'll call her C) had told me she was travelling with some friends, so I was expecting three male guests and one female guest.  I told them that things would be a little cramped on the first night, but that they were all welcome to come along, regardless.  After all, it would only be the first night - and then R would be heading off for somewhere new.  Their original plans had been to arrive on the 14th and leave at some point before the 31st.  I said I could probably host them until the 27th, but that would be the absolute limit of their stay.  Later, C told me that one of the men had dropped out, but it was still going to be her, her husband and a friend of hers.

Then on the 13th, unexpectedly, I got a 'phone call from them late in the evening.  They had already arrived, they had just got into the city and they were wondering if I could host them from that night.  Now, I'm better than a lot of autistic people at coping with unexpected changes to plans, but I'm still not great at it.  Waiting at home all day for someone who doesn't turn up creates a sense of heightened anticipation and I don't handle it even remotely well when the wait turns out to be unnecessary.  So I was still coping with R's second day of absence.  At that point, I decided I'd had enough with him and I told them all - over the 'phone - that they were welcome to come along.  I found myself talking to a male who was communicating very hesitantly with broken English - which made for a slow, stumbling conversation.  At one point, I heard him ask C (in English) if she wanted to talk to me, but she said "no".

To complicate matters, they had lost the directions I had given them though, and it took a bit of co-ordinating and text messaging and a couple of 'phone conversations to let them know where I was staying, and I have to confess that tried my patience a lot.  In fact, by the third 'phone conversation, I know that it was pretty clear from my voice that I was getting irritated by the end and I felt bad about that.

Then, there was a further surprise.  I only had one guest - not three.  It was just one of the men staying with me.  The same man I'd been talking to and guiding on the 'phone.  The girl (I'll call her C) had gone elsewhere with her husband, so now it was just him and me.  She had apparently made alternative arrangements because I had been expecting R to be around.  This was the point where I really started to struggle with things.

The new guy (I'll call him D) was polite, but by then I was struggling a bit to be friendly.  I wasn't rude, exactly, but I was finding it to be a bit of an effort to socialise.  OK... yeah... maybe that's rude.  Anyway, I let him in, made some coffee, showed him where his room was, explained the situation about R, let him have a towel, let him use the shower - all that stuff.  But I was definitely a bit withdrawn.

Withdrawal is like a sort of automatic response to stressful situations, I think.  I sort of "hide" behind a prop.  When I was younger, if I couldn't physically retreat to a different room, it would have been a book or a magazine.  Anything that would discourage people from engaging me in conversation.  These days, it's a laptop or my Mac.  And that prop carries a bit more legitimacy, because I have to write business emails and respond to queries about hen nights, anyway.

Anyway, at one point, D proudly produced a loaf of bread.  I think it was sourdough bread, which I'm fond of anyway, but I can't remember.  He said we could use it to make sandwiches with.  I thought that was pretty cool, but I was still struggling a bit to be sociable.  Later, he went to bed and I stayed up late watching films on my laptop.  But first, I wrote a final message to R.  

Your request stated that you were arriving on the 12th and leaving on the 15th. It's now the 14th, and there has been no sign of you and no update to your request. I know you've been online since I accepted your request, so it seems reasonable for me to expect some sort of response.

I realise that you haven't been online in the last 34 hours, so unless you're getting updates from your 'phone or something like that, then you probably haven't read the message I sent you last night, when I tried to get some clarification about your plans. But that doesn't change the fact that I've now spent two days waiting for some sort of update or contact. And it doesn't change the fact that I've had to tell other guests that there might be limited space - which has meant that they, too, have changed plans unnecessarily.This just seems rude to me. So I'm going to revoke your invitation.

Later, I noticed that he had been online since then, but he didn't respond to that message, either.  And now, five weeks later, I think it's safe to assume that he's not going to.

(A brief sidenote, to elaborate on another reason I wasn't happy to have R as a guest by that point:-

A couple of weeks earlier, I accepted a young couple as guests.  They were from Taiwan and the request was sent by the girl.  She seemed very nice and wanted to stay for one night.  They arrived in the evening, whispered to each other a lot (as if I could understand them anyway), had a shower each and went to bed early.  She spoke some English, but it seemed that he didn't.  I made a couple of attempts at conversation with her, but it amounted to little more than telling her about the bus routes and timetables and how best to get into town in the morning and offer a couple of suggestions for places to visit.  The following morning, they left.  I was under the impression that they were coming back that afternoon, but late in the evening - when their flight was getting to be due - I checked their room and discovered that all their bags were gone.  So when they had left that morning, that had been it.  They'd had a free place to stay and then gone on their way.  No cultural exchange.  Nothing at all.  For that reason, I am not comfortable with hosting anyone for one night.  Even if the guests are friendly and want to get to know me better, there's too little opportunity to do that.  And if they're not, then there's too much opportunity to abuse the hospitality.  And so, if R was leaving on the 15th, then he simply wasn't welcome to wait until the 14th before turning up.)

The following morning, D and I got up.  He produced his bread again, like it was some amazing gift, then asked what I had to make sandwiches with.  Now, another problem I have, is trying to decide whether something is a bit cheeky or not.  I'm never sure whether I'm overreacting a bit.  To me, this seemed to be cheeky, but I let it go.  I told him to help himself to whatever was in the fridge.  He made sandwiches for himself, then went out to see the town... and probably to meet C and her husband somewhere, as well.  I had some correspondence to take care of.  And I was annoyed at that sandwich thing, so I found myself  struggling with the situation all over again.  In absolutely no time at all, it seemed like the tiniest little thing was enough to piss me off and set me right back to square one, in the tolerance stakes.

(I have no idea if that last sentence makes sense.)

The main problem was that I had expected to have a flat full of people.  I was promised music and fun and interesting personalities, but all I got was a single other person and I was finding it increasingly difficult to even talk to him.  The thing is that if there's more than one person around, I can step back more easily and in more socially acceptable ways, because they interact with each other and I can respond to that interaction when appropriate.  If it's just a one-to-one situation with a stranger then it becomes much, much harder for me.

C was the person who initially approached me for hospitality, so she was definitely the person I expected to see - and my interaction so far, had been with her.  The circumstances, the rules, the guests, the atmosphere, the ambience and whole, general situation - nothing was what it was supposed to be.  And I really didn't know how to handle it.

One night, I cooked something up for D and I - a sort of vegetarian pasta dish, because I knew he didn't eat meat - but he was out late.  That was cool, because he had the spare keys and I didn't expect him to observe any kind of a curfew.  So I ate some, then set the rest in the fridge.  The following morning, I took it out of the fridge, poured it into two containers and froze it.  D saw this and bounded across the room to see what it was I putting into the freezer.  He literally peeled the lid off one of the containers, so he could take a closer look.  This seemed to me like a strange breach of etiquette, but again, I didn't know if I was overreacting, so I let it go.

On the 15th, there was a disturbance from outside my flat.  Out in the stair, someone was banging on my neighbour's door and demanding to be let in - for more than an hour.  I confronted him three times, but each time he got more and more aggressive, to the point where he was actually inviting me outside to "take a walk" and "discuss" the situation.  Now, I'm not a complete pussy.  If someone attacks me, I'll defend myself pretty fairly well.  But I'm not going to actually accept an invitation to a fight if I don't have to.  So I closed the door and called the police instead.  They arrived quickly, but by the time they got here - in a perfect example of bad timing - the arsehole had gone.

At one point (before I called the police) there was a fresh wave of banging and shouting from out in the hall, as this stranger made a renewed attempt to demand entry.  Without warning, D stood up and walked out into the hall.  By the time I realised what his intentions were, he had opened the front door and started his own conversation with this guy.  I was incredulous and actually sat and listened to the exchange without doing anything.  This seemed like a serious liberty to me - making a decision like that in my home and acting on it without making sure I was cool with it first.  And if he had asked, I would have definitely said I wasn't cool with it.  I was genuinely astonished.  And yet again, I couldn't tell if this was something I should genuinely be outraged at - or if I was simply overreacting.

On the Friday morning of that week - the 16th - I asked D if C had told him I had Asperger's Syndrome.  Then I told him that one of the problems with the syndrome was that people who had it didn't always handle changes very well.  I explained that I handled them better than most people, but that there had been a lot of changes in the past couple of days and that by the time he had arrived, I had been struggling with them.  I said I had expected more people than just him.  And I pointed out that the guest I had received was not the guests I had been promised.  I did my best to phrase this politely diplomatically, but I felt it was important to voice my frustration.

That evening, when he came home, he said he had two surprises.  He had brought beer and he had brought C home with him.  These surprises were presented to me like I should be ridiculously grateful, but they were clearly just concessions to the fact that I wasn't happy with the situation.  C had graced me with her presence.  For a while, things did seem livelier and at one point I went out for more beer.  D pointed out that he had brought beer with him, but four small bottles really weren't going to be enough to last the evening, so I wanted to get some more.  He seemed a bit offended by this, but seriously - two beers each is just enough to give you a taste and leave you wanting more.  This might be the same sort of philosophy that most alcoholics use, but just about every one of my friends will back me up on it.  Which probably means I only hang out with alcoholics.

At that point I was getting hungry as well, but apart from the frozen pasta dishes, some bread and some cheese, I didn't have any food in the flat.  So I offered to make up some sandwiches.  C and D both turned those down, so I made up a couple for myself.  Then, D asked if the pasta dishes were still in the freezer.  Yes.  He asked if he could have one.  Yes.  So he got up, reheated the pasta and shared it with C.  Yet again, I was astonished.  I ate my cheese sandwiches, while those two tucked into the pasta.

C stayed that night, then disappeared again the following Saturday morning.  For the weekend, it was just D and myself in the flat and things were getting strained again.  Mainly because of yet another detail that seemed trivial, but felt rude.  We had started watching a film together, and suddenly he reached into a bag that was by his side, brought something out and started tucking in.  Every time I had cooked or eaten, I had offered to share it with him if he'd been around.  I thought it only natural that he would at least offer to return the courtesy.

On Sunday afternoon, I went to my parents' place.  When I got back on Sunday evening, D asked if I was hungry.  I was really surprised at this enquiry and admitted that I did feel a bit hungry.

"It is too late, I think, to do any cooking," he said.  And that seemed to conclude that line of conversation.  But that pissed me off, so I set about backing him into a corner.

"The pizza shop is still open," I said.  Translation - go out and get us a fucking pizza.  He stood up reluctantly, and got his jacket.

"But you do not want anything?" he asked.

"Actually, I could really go for a pizza," I said.

When he came back, he had the cheapest option on the menu.  A small cheese and tomato pizza.  But I ate it, anyway.  For some reason, it felt like some sort of moral victory.

On the 19th - the Monday - I had an appointment to keep, so I got up early and headed out the door.  Just before I left, D told me that C was coming round that afternoon to collect some things.  Once again, he was looking annoyed at me, but this time I couldn't figure out why.  It only became clear later.  I attended my appointment, then when things were wrapped up, I realised I'd had a couple of missed calls.  I checked my 'phone and realised C had been trying to get in touch.  Then, when I went home I found her waiting for me in the stair.  She was there to collect her things and then move on to a different city, because "Edinburgh made her uncomfortable".  I wasn't sure how to interpret that.

It took me a little while to figure out the miscommunication - and the reason for D being annoyed at me.  I had been told that C was coming round, so I had been expected to wait for her.  And he had felt that I had been obstructive when I went for my appointment.  I had assumed that since I wasn't going to be around, then he'd wait for her instead.  But he had simply carried on with his own plans and gone out sight seeing.  Which meant C had turned up to an empty flat and had waited in the stair for me to come home.

Before she left, I asked her what D's plans were.  By then, he had stayed for nearly a week and had contributed a grand total of two beers, some bread (which I never tasted) and a pizza.  She told me I would have to ask him.  I decided that it was time to raise the whole issue of the misleading couch request, but she countered that by saying that I had accepted "perhaps one person, perhaps many".  I felt like I was politely raising a subject that had been a real bone of contention lately, but I could see that she was getting angry at me and - to be honest - I wondered if there had been a subtlety in her email that I hadn't picked up on.  One that meant that her "perhaps one, perhaps many" statement was accurate.  So once she left, I checked the email again, but it didn't read that way to me, no matter how loosely I tried to interpret it.  And there was no getting round the fact that I'd been promised lively conversation, music and some lessons in vegetarian cookery.

I'd had enough.  That evening, I told D that he could stay that night and one more night, but then he was really going to have to find somewhere else to stay.  I figured a full day was enough time for him to make alternative arrangements.

The following morning, at around 9AM, he knocked on my bedroom door.  His bags were packed and he told me he was catching a train in an hour.

I can't begin to describe my surprise and relief.