can't complain

All things considered, life isn't too bad. I've been reminded of how fortunate I am this week by the arrival of an old friend of my husband who dips in and out of our lives every year or so. Back in the 70s they were both good looking, fun loving, free spirited young men. My guy has retained his individuality and rebellious streak but in every other respect is a conventional loving husband/father/working man. His friend never did settle down, he is an alcoholic and mostly lives in a van, stuffed to the gunnels with all his worldly goods, and travels about the country in it like a motorised hobo. He is a stranger to soap and shampoo so smells like a dustbin and looks distinctly unsavoury - grimy face and hands poking out of layers of equally grimy clothes. This year he was 'rescued' by an organisation that helps rough sleepers and after a period in a hostel, has been given his own flat in Canterbury. There's nothing in it, hence still living in the camper van, but he's hoping to furnish it with a social fund grant some time soon. You can't help liking him, he's a seeker after truth - his conversation is a combination of paranoid rants against immigrants and authority and rapid fire fact after fact on every subject under the sun, although you have to be in the mood to cope with his constant chatter and questioning. Definitely a bit wearing at the end of the day, especially if you're wanting some quiet time. He has a good heart though and I do feel sorry for him. I think we're his only friends in the world.

On the mum front, the old dear lulled me into a false sense of security for a few days, being cheery and quite sweet, then on Thursday night reverted to needy mum, resenting the time I spend with my own family and sulkily trying to get me to go last night by saying she had nothing in to eat. Well, she had a ready meal but said it was too big for her and clearly would rather go hungry than waste any of it. I stuck to my guns and had my usual Friday night with husband and friends in the pub. And very nice it was too. I ate fish and chips, chatted, laughed a lot, knitted, unknitted, spilled beer all over the place and finally arrived back home at 11 (stone cold sober). Our friends , who became increasingly loud and incoherent as the night wore on, were most complimentary about Mr and Mrs Lily's relationship (30 years wed this April) and they had a point. We may not always have had a smooth ride, but we've survived through a mixture of contrasting personalities, shared interests and lots of laughter. We're best friends and genuinely care for each other. I'm a lucky woman.