Deep Sorriness Atonement Blog

First, the minor confession.  Having resolved last week not only to do a sponsored walk, but to remind myself what poverty felt like by doing it on £1 worth of food per day, I am now going to backtrack on the peanut-butter sandwich diet.  This is because I have a lot of fresh food that needs using up.

And the reason for this is the major confession.  Having invited a friend to stay for the weekend, I had driven him away by Friday afternoon.

In the three years that we have known each other, my Beloved Partner has noticed a pattern among my friends, at least the ones who are single and childless.  Quite a few of them are (like me) rather emotionally brittle.  Quite a few (like me) aren’t very good at dealing with social situations. 

The friend who came to stay on Friday morning, and left Friday afternoon, was someone I had met about twelve years ago while spending a few months working in Leeds.  Since then, he had visited me a few times, and in between, we wrote to each other.  It was clear from his letters that he was bored, miserable, fed up with living in Leeds, and happy only when he was travelling.  I hoped that spending a bit of time in Somerset might cheer him up, and had mentioned a few times in my letters that he was welcome here.

Last Monday, I received a letter from my friend saying that he was free to come to visit at the weekend.  It seemed rather short notice, as we were still trying to prepare for going away on holiday the following weekend, but it was the first time he had suggested meeting since my marriage.  I phoned to say that would be wonderful, and he arranged to come to us between 4pm and 5pm on Friday.

On Friday morning, I was in my dressing-gown and just telling myself that I had better get washed and dressed and start cleaning the house and getting the spare bedroom ready before our guest arrived.  Then there was a knock on the door.

My friend had arrived the previous day by mistake, and spent hours trying to find the house.  He had eventually concluded that it was far too late to disturb us, and slept out under the trees until morning.

I invited him in, made him a cup of tea, and apologised for not having made up his bed yet.  Oh, that was okay, my friend said – he’d brought his own bedding.  I tried to explain that we had bedding, but he was already heading out to the car to fetch his bedroll.  And his bags of food.

Bags of food?  The Beloved had been shopping yesterday to stock up on the limited range of things my friend would eat, which, as I recalled, included eggs, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, grapes, and crisp butties.  But it seemed that my friend had come determined to feed himself.

He had also brought food that he didn’t like, for us.  This included a synthetic milkshake which he had bought by mistake, thinking it was the flavour he did like, and a cake which I would have to eat on my own, as it contained sultanas, which neither my friend nor the Beloved will eat.  I knew I ought to say, ‘Thank you,’ but I just felt irritated.

I got washed and dressed, and then did the stack of washing-up that had been accumulating for days.  My friend offered to help by drying up, but I hustled him out.  I usually leave things to drain dry, but I should have thought about how rebuffed I was making my guest feel.

As our guest was banished to the living-room, the Beloved, who is shy of meeting new people at the best of times, tried to make polite conversation.  Realising how much my friend loved travel, he tried to introduce his current favourite computer game, Geoguessr, where you are plonked down a Google Streetview of a road somewhere in the world and have, as you wander, to work out where you are.  As my friend isn’t familiar with computers, he just looked blank.

We went for a walk and played Scrabble, and then I started getting a meal ready, peeling some vegetables to go with the sausages my friend had kindly brought.  Again, he offered to help, and I refused, explaining that I preferred cooking alone.  He offered to cook dinner tomorrow, which I thought was a much better idea.

By the time we sat down to eat, the conversation was becoming strained.  My friend, instead of spontaneously making jokes as he had earlier, was laboriously telling jokes he’d heard, most of which fell flat.  To change the subject, I suggested that he should teach us the card game he’d brought.

He did his best to explain it, but there was a lot of information to take in, and we were as frustrated at not being able to follow as my friend was at our incomprehension.  Eventually, we quarrelled so fiercely that it was impossible to apologise, because my friend had blocked his ears against hearing any more.  He packed his bags and left.

Sometimes I think I’m a nice person.  Then, when I get into rows with people who are only trying to be friendly, just because their routines and expectations are different from mine, I realise how selfish and insensitive to other people’s needs I really am.  I could have kept my friend company and let the Beloved cook tea, instead of throwing them on each other’s company all day.  I could have let my friend help in the kitchen.

Alternatively, I could stop inviting guests round, but this wouldn’t help me learn social skills.  The Bible says, ‘Practise hospitality.’  It does not add, but it well might, ‘and eventually, you might get the hang of it.’