Making Your Friends Homeless Pt 2

Following on last week’s installment, I was beginning to get easily riled by my friend’s continued presence as he waited for a new place to stay.

I remained diplomatic in the face of various agitations as I know that my friend’s inability to find somewhere new to live was exceedingly frustrating. I know too well the tortuous process of going through listings, visiting places and trying to get through interviews with potential housemates who want to lay your soul bare for them to pick over.

So I tried to be as reserved as possible when dealing with my friend’s tendency to stay out late with my keys and his general aversion to keeping things tidy. But everyone has their snapping point. And mine came with a bottle of wine. And not just any bottle of wine. This was a 2000 Chateau La Gaffeliere, rated as one of the best wines of that year.

I don’t hang on to a great deal of stuff. I concur with Buddha that an attachment to material items is draining for the soul and diverts us from the development of our true spiritual centre. But then again, this was a 2000 Chateau La Gaffeliere.

I had been saving this bottle for a special occasion like the birth of a child, the publication of a novel or humanity’s last hours on the planet following a nuclear fallout derived apocalypse.

So imagine my horror on arriving home to find my friend pouring it into a saucepan and cheerily announcing: ‘I’m just making some spag bol, it’s all right if I use this stuff?’

From that moment on, I began an active campaign to get my friend out of the house. I wasn’t even sure I could call him a friend after what he had done. While watching him finish off a meal of spaghetti bolognese, made with a beautiful bottle of wine, I sat him down and demanded that he come up with a plan about finding a new place. He looked up at me rather bewildered and asked me very sombrely, ‘Are you throwing me out?’ The awkwardness of my reply meant that what I said wasn’t so much spoken as dabbed out of my mouth and across the table.

‘Yes.’

My friend shuffled nervously and looked quite lost. He began muttering about places he had been looking at and progress that had been made. He became more and more earnest about what he intended to do and this frenetic escalation of promises made me feel awkward to the extent that I just blurted out, ‘Well great, take as long as you need.’

From then on my friend underwent a big transformation. He was now home on time and kept his room meticulous. But there was hardly a word spoken between us. Before the wine incident, we had enjoyed lively conversations but now all that remained between us was an uneasy silence. He was gone within four days, happily establishing himself in Canning Town. We’re still friends although the whole experience was a chilling reminder of how people you think you cherish can so quickly become people you want out on the street, eating cat food in a skip.