Family visits…

I do not want to sound uncharitable, but I really cannot be bothered with the forthcoming visit by the in-laws. I know, I sound positively dreadful saying this, but I feel the need to say it. M’s father and brother are coming over this week from Ireland for the weekend. Now, I hear you all saying, well, what is wrong with that. The simple answer is this, I cannot be bothered with it all. Yes, I am a miserable sod, but I love my own space, and quite frankly prefer the quiet life. This, of course, is not against M’s family, I feel the same way about my family. A visit of a few hours to me is like a handshake, but a weekend is like a hug, which I do not do (yes, you guessed it, I am not demonstrative at all).

We have built our home around us, and the things that we like and enjoy, along with our dogs. We have three bedrooms, so have room for guests, and the guest rooms are always ready for said visitors, but I like, no, I love the vacancy of the rooms. I know, I can hear the rolling of your eyes, but I cannot change the way I am. Whenever we have had guests stay over, 90% of the time I have wanted to rip my arm off and hit them with it shouting at them “it is time to go, come on, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out”. That feeling is usually as soon as I get up which is always early. Our nieces stayed for a week a few years ago, and I felt I had been sent to hell, and was shacking up with the devil himself. The room they occupied was quite literally and figuratively destroyed, makeup on the bedding, their hair straighteners left on, sitting on the bed, trying to burn its way through and finally set fire to the house. Luckily, I had the intelligence to check every day. This along with the floor containing everything they brought with them (no carpet or rugs could be seen), and a mountain of rubbish and other detritus scattered there and in our lounge made me vow never to have anyone else stay over ever again, a vow to this day I have never broken.

Another visitor/guest was my little brother.  A good few years back he came for Christmas.  Well, he invited himself to be accurate, but I thought I would go along with it.  Christmas Eve, he turned up drunk, hours after he was supposed to have arrived, he stayed until Boxing day morning as he was going to my Mum’s as she always has a gathering of the family, an occasion I avoid like the plague. I dropped him off and drove back home like a lunatic so that I could start my Christmas, but in all honesty, it was a Christmas that never was.

When we were given the dates of them coming, we set to work on correcting little things about the house, like touching up a few scuff marks on paintwork, putting away our current projects and making sure the guest rooms are clean and freshened up. Laundering of the guest towels to ensure maximum freshness etc. It has not been much of an effort, but it was things that needed to be done.

Next on the list is planning all the meals I have to cook whilst they are here, that was not too much of a bind, and I hope that they like what they are given, at least I am a great cook. Then it’s the entertainment, what to do, where to go, will they want to go out sight seeing or just potter about the village, should I dig out my chauffeur’s cap?

I am utterly exhausted and they have not arrived yet, at this rate I will be ready for my grave by the time they leave.

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