He has gone at last (though all his stuff has not) and I hadn’t realised just what a weight we were carrying…I thought the House had become more sociable, more ‘normal’ if you like, but the shadow of his collecting mania, deeper than any of us who had gone before, the sheer amount of junk he said ‘yes’ to, and the gathering stench and thick, heavy air, growing worse all the time, especially the last year, and becoming hardly bearable the last few months, mean that it doesn’t surprise me now that we have had to part, or that (like others, though not like the three before him) he has written off the carpet. A nice person, a lovely person, (but then there but for the grace of God go all of us), changed by circumstance, bad luck, poverty, overwork, into someone moody, unapproachable, terse, not threatening, not even unfriendly, but not…someone you can just address; Someone moody enough that the one who lives next door to him can no longer request that he does his share of cleaning the bathroom. Air so thick, we could no longer have guests to stay, the dog snarled at him, was reluctant to go upstairs due to the leaden coils of cigarette smoke. And so, imperceptibly again, it became harder to just invite people round. And now I see how wrong it had all gone, incapable of helping him any more as we were, because now he is gone, I get that sense again, of some kind of release from something…#TheHistoryofThisHousein50Objects
Posted on: Sun, 05 Oct 2014 07:45:38 +0000
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