OH and I talk. And I consider relinquishing my lightsaber

So, OH and I 'met'. I asked if we could agree some ground rules for our meeting (no shouting, no abuse, no interrupting and to listen to what each other was saying instead of lining up our next points while the other was speaking) and he said he thought that was a great idea.

Amazingly, we stuck to them. And considering that his opener was that he wants me to 'be a nice person' I think that was an amazing achievement. He also said that he doesn't want his brothers to be here and that they don't want to be here either but that this was a situation borne out of necessity. He said that he would agree to my conditions to how often they come round. And he said that he wants to stay with me. He asked if I want to stay with him and I said that I'm not sure. I explained how I am struggling to deal with what even a few more months of their demands would mean for us, let alone the possibility of this all going on for decades. He struggled to keep his cool. But he listened.

To cut a long conversation short we agreed to:

1 Write up some family ground rules with the kids - which we have done. Babe said we should call them 'the glue in the team'. 

2 Have the brothers round/do something with them for some of the weekend and sometimes during the week.

3 See if we can work to both sets of ground rules for a fortnight, and then consider continuing, or a change of tack.

This lasted through Monday evening, and yesterday evening (I was out) but started to falter today when he got home from work and accused me of bombarding him the minute he got through the door. So he went off to the gym, sharpish, to escape and avoid the risk of breaking more rules. 

I wasn't meaning to bombard him. But I'm going to my mum's for five days tomorrow with the kids and I had kind of hoped he'd remembered this, plus I had some questions to ask and stuff to discuss before I went, including:

1 Who broke the downstairs toilet flush when I was out last night? And could he fix it this weekend while I'm away

2 Why had the brothers refused to eat the Greek aubergine dish I had cooked when they came round last night, and instead eaten the seafood I'd told him I was planning to cook - and enjoy some of myself - today?

3 What did they want me to tell a friend who has some work lined up for them to do this weekend, but which will involve OH helping them source the materials and a ladder

4 Could he please remember to give them the receipt for the plaster he bought - I have placed it beside the bread bin - and which they used to fill the holes in their bedroom walls and which Mr Khan said he'd deduct from their rent, due today? And could we please have that money, rather than them keeping it, since we paid for it?

I felt like I needed to get my requests in fast because literally the minute OH stepped through the front door (he gets home at roughly 6.17pm most days) his mobile rang. It was, of course, OBrother and he was asking why Mr Khan had asked for their rent today. I told him to tell them that he'd asked for it because it was due today. I was feeling riled at their insensitivity - why must they call him at what they know is literally the minute he gets through the door instead of at least giving him time to come in and take his shoes off? I think that might have irritated him, too, because I understood him saying, in Albanian, 'I have just got through the door.' Really, it is like having an extra two kids to look after. If I could just keep my mouth shut for a fortnight he'll probably get to the point of telling them to piss off himself.

Heck, it is going to be very hard keeping this up for two weeks but we are trying. And at least I'm going to be away for some of it.

In the meantime I have simply got to make a priority of trying to relax and de-stress. I have got to find a way of focussing on my own priorities and letting go of all this irritation or it is going to infect me. On Monday I started, for a few minutes, to hum and feel happy and as though I was enjoying life. It caught me unawares so I paused and noticed it. I wondered if it was my birthday but no, that's next week and the reason I'm going to my mum's. (OH's father passed away on my birthday and I know that he and the brothers will want to mourn together. Mourning is really big in their culture and I quite admire the priority they make of it, but I don't want to end up banished to the dining room on my birthday.) (I told my dad not to send me flowers this year as I won't be there and don't want them thinking they are inappropriate flowers of sympathy or I don't know what.) My next feeling was one of astonished guilt that I was feeling happy, so I started to feel stressed again. And then I remembered all the reasons I'm not allowing myself to feel happy at the moment anyway - failing marriage and death by drowning to foreign relatives - and started to feel bloody miserable again. But back in my comfort zone at least. Gee whizz!

OH isn't looking very happy either. I know he's tired. I'm sure he'd stressed. And I'm sure he's missing having an intimate relationship with me because he needs bits of it more than I do. The truth is that I'm yearning to reach out to him and get back to someplace we used to inhabit together, but I feel that I have to make a point of trying to get us both to change our relationship, to rediscover a place of mutual understanding and respect. I'm afraid that if I act like nothing has been happening it will be only a matter of days before we're at one another's throats again and I can't live like that any more. Not least because of the impact it will have on our kids. To be even more truthful, to reach out to him right now would feel more like a response borne out of habit, than one that is coming from deep within and genuine. I don't know if I'm just in need of a good thawing, or if I don't have those feelings any more. I feel lost and frightened. Luckily I am by turns too busy and then too tired to think about this all day and all night.

I may or may not blog over the next few days. I am very much looking forward to a change of scene. And the certainty of making plans and choosing who to spend my time with. If my mind lingers on what is going on in my home while I'm away, or on what mess and/or level of olfactory incidence will greet me on my return, I am going to release those thoughts to the elements. I am going to run on the sand in bare feet and let the sea spray wet my hair (friends who know how much I hate getting cold and wet will be surprised by this). I am going to laugh with my children and eat prawns with my mum and go on theme park rides with my brother, whom I love. I am going to welcome the onset of my forty-second year because God knows what it will hold but I am determined to step forward with open arms and not a lightsaber. Even though I know that is what Babe has asked for, for my birthday.

In which I consider establishing some boundaries. And finding a shrink

What joy! OH has taken the boys out for a couple of hours so that I can do some housework. This gives me a chance to get my head together and work out what I need to discuss with him - we have agreed to talk this evening.

The week ended in more turbulent emotion. On Thursday it looked as though the brothers had actually decided to look after themselves for one evening and at 8.30, having finally got the kids into bed, I went to sit down with OH in the sitting room. Surprise, surprise, at that moment his mobile rang. It was OBrother, saying that they were starving. And OH told them that they must of course come round. I lost my rag completely, saying that they were behaving like children: they're living in a house with a fully-fitted kitchen and are also in possession of the 'home-starter pack' which our local supermarket is now offering for about £6 and which OH had bought them. It consists of crockery, cutlery and cooking utensils for two. I'm pretty sure it is not intended for young couples or students - major retail outlets are always ahead of the game and clearly there is a significant market of 'new arrivals to the UK' to cater for. The brothers could, I went on, walk five minutes to the Spa and buy themselves eggs, sausages and tomatoes and cook themselves something. Ridiculous! (Of course I happen to know that DBrother intends to buy himself an oven to put in the bedroom and is not prepared to share a kitchen. Even more bloody ridiculous.)

OH saw red and we had a fiery exchange during which I presume the brothers arrived at our front door, heard us and went away again, because they didn't turn up. OH's main defense was that from Saturday he would take them to do a shop and their days of turning up here to eat every day would be over. My main argument was that they were behaving like children and that this needs nipping in the bud. They had been here one day shy of a month and eaten and cooked here every day. We did not find common ground and I ended up stomping off so we failed, once again, to spend any pleasant time together.

On Friday late afternoon I met OBrother on the cycle path as he arrived home from work (on my bike which has now had the child seat taken off it and stowed somewhere) and as we were leaving Babe's school's spooky disco. I asked how he was and said there was chicken in the fridge and that he was welcome to come round and cook. The conversation seemed fine to me, but he didn't appear. OH arrived home from work later than usual and it evolved that the brothers had been standing outside our house waiting for him. I'm not sure if they were trying to keep their distance or once again being infantile, but outside they remained. When I asked OH what was going on, he shouted that he had told them to stay away unless he was at home. And added that they know they're not welcome.
'Look,' I said, once again getting pretty distressed. 'I didn't say they can never come round, but I asked them to start cooking for themselves at their place and to give me some space. I invited them round earlier perfectly amicably (actually I don't know the Greek word for amicably but I'm giving you the gist) and to stand outside is simply insane.' I thought I'd heard someone hawking in the street shortly before OH got home which explains that, anyway.

He stormed off to the gym and took them with him to 'look around that part of town and get themselves a pizza' (they have been paid, thank God, and now have the next two month's rent in hand) and I was left putting the kids to bed, once again.

Yesterday we spent the first Saturday together in ages. It would have been nice except that OH woke up in a foul mood and made us late for the Steiner Academy consultation I wanted to go to, at the city farm. We then went for our first Aldi experience - it having been hailed by many friends - but found it an unsatisfactory experience and ended up going back to Tesco's for the things it doesn't sell, anyway. So I can't honestly say we saved much and I don't think it was worth the time we ended up spending shopping. Babe did at least get the dracula fangs he had been nagging us for and wore them all day, savagely gnashing at us at regular intervals. I'm not sure if there was a hidden message in there or not.

We all crashed out in front of the telly in the afternoon, and when OH woke up, he attempted to apologise and held out his arms to me. After the psychotic sh*t he had hurled at me all morning, I was not inclined to bend and instead asked when we could have a proper conversation, which is now lined up for this evening. The brothers came round after that - having met him at the Spa first - possibly because OH had told them I was going out. When I got back, enough chicken, rice and potatoes had been cooked to last an army a week. I can guess why. It was late, and they had left.

So, what am I going to say this evening?

The wise and lovely friend I spent yesterday evening with suggested that I had to come up with some boundaries to negotiate, that I could cope with and which would also be fair to OH. My mum - who is also wise and lovely - suggested the same thing when I called her in some distress on Friday evening.

My friend suggested that I do not obsess about the longer-term projections for this situation, but instead concentrate on coping mechanisms to get me through the short-term.

I guess these could include:

1 That the brothers eat at their place after work on weekdays. I need help with the boys between the time when OH gets home and them going to bed. We have agreed that I spend half an hour each evening with Babe, doing his reading etc, and this is a routine I want to be really disciplined about establishing and maintaining. And I can't do it with Babe2 yelling at the top of his voice the whole way through. So OH's support is required.

2 That at the weekend we have one family day, or the equivalent of. If OH wants to hook up with his brothers on the other, and the kids too, so be it. And that OH discusses the weekend with me, before making arrangements with them.

3 That if they come round on Saturday evening to eat and socialise, then they don't come round on Sunday evening as well.

4 If they will not relinquish their house keys, that they at least keep them for emergencies, and knock when they come round. And no more rifling through, and helping themselves to, our stuff.

5 OBrother returns my bike and rents one from the council, free of charge. (I will just sort this, no need to state it really)

6 Now that they are earning, they will repay what they owe us, gradually, at an agreed sum per week each. We are up to our ears in overdraft.

(I haven't forgotten that demands will be made of me in return. Not to behave like a screaming banshee going beserk will no doubt be one of them.)

I guess the conditions above would leave me coping, up to a point. It will not address the burning resentment I feel because I'm in this situation and I am going to have to find some karmic means to address this.

Neither does it address the fact that I am feeling even more emotionally frozen that I was before, and unsure as to whether I want to continue in a relationship with OH. Part of me feels that the distance that has emerged between us over this last month is the beginning of the end, and I'm not sure I want to re-enter the semblance of a relationship with him, with all this going on. Things have been said that will never be forgotten. It is clear that our relationship is fairly dis-functional, because we wouldn't be in the situation we are if it wasn't.

Also - and I promise I won't bang on about this again - our lives have now changed in a hugely significant way, and there is no going back. DBrother, I suspect, will either get cheesed off and go home, or bag himself an English girlfriend and then not be interested in spending any time with us. In the fifteen years or so of my relationship with OH that has been lived here in the UK, DBrother has made almost no attempt whatsoever to be in touch with OH. He called us once, about ten years ago, to ask if we could buy and send to Athens some medicine that his then-wife needed. And then about a year ago he started making overtures, and it was clear to me what he was angling for and why.

OBrother, on the other hand will, I'm pretty sure, end up staying here. He has always said that his game plan is to live here for a decade and then retire to his home in Albania, but once he's brought his wife and sons over, and got them places at school etc, I can't imagine that he'll leave them on their own if they've put down roots. And the boys would most likely end up wanting to stay, once they've made friends and speak the language. And even if they wanted to leave, the economic situation in Greece and Albania is unlikely to improve in our working lifetime, so how would his sons go back there to work? Despite the benchmarks I've laid down above, if his wife and sons did come to join him here, they would of course see us as their social lifeline and I how could I possibly escape that? This isn't just about me wanting to preserve my space, this is about me being forced to hang out with people I don't just have nothing in common with, but also with people I just don't like very much.

Finally, there is no escaping the number of relatives that are no doubt holding out for DBrother and OBrother to make a go of it here, so that they can come and join them. No other siblings (OH is one of eleven, nine remaining, who are all, bar one, married and have kids) expect to join them (I don't think), but there are loads of nephews and nieces who have left or are leaving or who are completing school and who will, I am sure, expect to come here too:
OBrother's two - already mentioned
DBrothers two - in their twenties, speak moderate to good English, no skills
Tsister's three - all in their twenties, struggling to keep a roof over their head in Corfu and no skills between them, some English
Vsister's one - about to do military service and whose parents have indicated that they want him to come here - moderate English
Msister's one - can probably look after herself - good English

And others...

So it seems to me that the questions I have to answer are:

1 Can I cope with the brothers being around if OH gets them to agree to the terms above, and keeps the terms himself?

2 Can I let go of residual resentment and make a fresh start?

3 Can OH and I lay down some ground rules and then set a time frame to see if we can live in peace while we give some time to seeing how the brothers' situation evolves? I could use that time to assess:

4 Do I love OH enough to stay with him, knowing that our lives together are going to be affected, most likely for a decade if not longer, by the ongoing demands of his family?

Gee. What a list of questions. Maybe OH is right, and I do need a shrink.

Not out of the woods yet

My house stinks of white beans that are mid-way through the several hours' boiling they require. And of smelly feet. Just after OH got home this evening, and we were talking in the kitchen - facing one another, no less! - and celebrating our new-found space (and were actually in grave danger of reaching out to embrace one another) the brothers came through the front door, muddied up to the eyeballs. I had literally just said something along the lines of 'thank god we've established a new routine, because I was starting to fall apart at the seams.' Neither of us could quite believe that they were there, so we continued just standing, facing one another, trying to work out what to do or say. My mind was, if I'm honest, on all the sofa cushions and throws that I had washed yesterday afternoon.

Following our break-through conversation yesterday evening, OH went straight to OBrother and gave it to him straight: that they needed to start cooking and eating in their own place. He then came and told me that he was taking the brothers to the supermarket, to stock up. I guess he wanted to strike while the iron was hot. He looked exhausted and fifteen minutes later we'd agreed that he'd take them on Saturday instead, by which time he said he hoped they'd have earned some money and be able to pay for the shopping themselves.

I knew DBrother would be a harder nut to crack. He had become nearly hysterical on a previous occasion, after we came back from Mr Khan's together, when I'd said he'd have to bite the bullet and start using the kitchen. 'I can't, Sofia, I just can't.'

Well I'm sorry, but he's a grown man and he came here knowing it would be difficult. I shared a house with five people once before, when I was in my twenties. It was called being a student. I am now a woman in my forties and I can't do it again. Apart from anything else, I want to go bra-less in the evenings without feeling uncomfortable.

Yes of course if they were literally penniless I might re-consider, but having taken the room they are just going to have to put up with stained tiles in the kitchen and blinking well cook and eat round there as well. I can't be having them just dropping round when they feel like it. And as I said to OH yesterday, if I am going to be expected to sometimes-support, sometimes-lead on the employment, social and language problems that could last for years, then I won't find the goodwill in my heart to do so if the brothers are driving me to distraction on the home front.

DBrother also, incidentally, keeps talking about how when he opens a bank account his (grown-up) daughter is going to put money into the account and he'll then share it with me. I have told him repeatedly that I don't want or need gifts. But it does really irk me that he didn't come here with more cash in hand, seemingly expecting to doss with his brother and his wife for as long as it took, without contributing, when we have two small kids and not enough money to last each month as it is. In Greece he drives a BMW motorbike, he owns a plot of land in Albania overlooking Corfu, and he recently sold the house he owned there for enough money for me to presume he has something in the bank. I am starting to detest his round, open face, really I am. He did, today, give me a 200 Euro note to part-cover the training he did at the weekend.

When he showed up eventually yesterday evening, 'too stressed' to eat what I'd prepared but also more than happy to divvy out and then ravage the seafood with his brother, I could barely conceal my rage. Talk about an atmosphere that you can cut with a knife, I have created a whole new set of atmospheres that you'd need a veritable variety of sharp kitchen implements to deal with. So... OH dropped them off at their place after they'd eaten and when he got back promised me that he had also now discussed the new living arrangements with DBrother on the way and that DBrother himself had concurred that it was necessary. I am sure this conversation took place. The problem is that the brothers are thick-skinned, stubborn and frankly too used to having a woman to look after them to simply swap our home for their digs, just like that. So they are choosing what to respond to. Which means I am now going to have to ask OH to issue them with another ultimatum that will kick in this weekend after he takes them shopping.

Meantime, here I am, once again, in my dining room. Having made clear that I am once again royally pissed off. As it happens I have a report to write that I really should have been doing earlier today when I had the chance but decided to do housework instead. OH disappeared with DBrother on his way to the gym several hours ago and OBrother and his smelly feet are in the sitting room while the steam from the beans he is cooking permeates every scent-receptive molecule of our house.

The brothers will be turning up here again early tomorrow morning to get the bicycles, no doubt leaving a chilly breeze in their wake. At least they are working but they haven't been paid. The bloke who's giving them work is, I failed to mention in a previous post, a right notveryniceperson who owed OH hundreds of pounds for months, in the knowledge that we couldn't pay our mortgage without it, and who only produced the cash when I started legal proceedings against him. But beggars can't be choosers and we've got to take chances where we can in order to get their rent paid. Good grief.

Anyone who thought all this would be simple should, well, should have bloody well spoken to me first.

Homeward bound?

My intention of the last few days has been to list the positive aspects of the situation I'm in. But once again, events have overtaken me. Which means you won't, at least, get a pitifully short entry.

This weekend, a successful trip to London was made and applications for construction industry cards (which were paid for through the nose - don't ask) sent off. OH also went to visit a bloke he's worked for before, who has several construction sites of his own, and he and the brothers did a few hours work for him on Saturday and as a result, the brothers received their first earnings. Hooray! At least I imagine that's what they thought, it must have felt significant. We haven't had the opportunity to discuss it.

Since the site is near to where our local cycle path passes the eastern outskirts of the city, they were to have cycled there yesterday afternoon to continue the job ('we' had national insurance interviews in the morning) and the hope is that he keeps them on for a while. Unfortunately, the chain came off my bicycle on the way there and by the time they had fixed it they were wet and fed up and decided to call it a day. I don't know what they think OH does on the building sites where he works when it is raining and by now they must have realised that it rains here more than it doesn't, but hey. (If you're wondering if I'm being mean and whether they've got the right togs or not, we have lent them loads of OH's stuff, and two huge cardboard boxes of clothes arrived from Athens yesterday, having been sent by courier. My heart sank when I saw them.)

I presume the brothers are there today. I was expecting them to come round and collect the bikes early this morning, and had hoisted them out of the back yard and into our downstairs corridor in preparation but they didn't turn up. OH thinks they might have taken the bus, which frankly amazes me, but here's hoping.

Possible limiting factors to their being there a while include the extent of the work available and, obviously, their English, without OH there to translate for them. In the meantime, we are also hoping that one of them at least, probably OBrother, might get to work on the site where OH is currently based. (But he needs to get a bank account first, which he can't open until we get the letter with his NI number.) The plastering work in the house over the road that has been gutted is still a 'possible'.

I really hope that they'll get enough work this week to get the next month's rent, which is due next week, in the bag, so that there is no chance of me being asked to have them back here again. Not that we have room for all their clothes now anyway. Following that, it would be great to know that they have the next couple of months after that lined up, and if possible, I would like them to pay us back what we've covered so far because we are stretched beyond belief. Well, stretched by our terms, Clearly they are more stretched.

While we're talking of being stretched, of course there are lots of different ways that one can be stretched. Despite our financial situation, It's the emotional stretching that I've been finding it hard to deal with. I know that much is clear to you! And yesterday I was stretched a little bit further than I could cope with, and I'm afraid that someone let go of one end and I pinged. I knew it was coming, but was not prepared for it. It was not nice. Not for the brothers, And not for me. I am still vibrating slightly and am possibly a bit saggier than I was before.

I had, over the weekend, realised that OH and I need most urgently to have a conversation about where all this is going, but I hadn't yet formulated what I wanted to ask for. So I was carrying on, and feeling grouchy. Not least because the boys and I barely saw OH all weekend, since he was working needlessly in the rain on Saturday, in order to get the brothers working, and because on Sunday he was carting them up to London and back.

Yesterday I had arranged to meet the brothers in the centre of town, half an hour before OBrother's interview, which was half an hour before DBrother's. I explained that I wasn't too familiar with the backstreets, but that I'd got the A-Z and the address and this plan would give us time to walk there and find it. The city where we live has a number of what you might call central areas, but they know the place where they got their keys cut which is next to a large bank, so to save getting lost or being late, we arranged to meet there. I went in early, as I had some bits to do, and wanted to get back straight afterwards as I had stuff to do relating to one of the voluntary positions I hold. (Note how in a few short weeks I have learnt to over-explain and justify every frigging thing I have to do.) They didn't want to pay for the bus, and I can't afford to pay for all of us, so I cycled and they walked.

At the appointed time, OBrother turned up. DBrother had apparently decided to come along later as his interview was later.
'But we won't have time to go and find the place and then come back and find him and then go back there again before your interview, or between the interviews!' I exclaimed. Already getting pretty hot under the collar. 'Perhaps you could call him and find out where he is?'
'Our phones are out of credit,' OBrother responded.
'Ok, well let me top you up,' I said.
'I've left the top-up card at home,' he replied.

We decided to run for it and call later from my phone, as we had already lost ten minutes. In case you think I'm being mean about the phones, here's the deal. OH bought them each a SIM card with some credit. We gave them each a phone - we had old ones lying around. After a lot of complaint and subtle and less subtle anglings for new ones (OH had told them that I have two brand new ones in unopened boxes upstairs which I intend to flog on ebay) they got them working. We said they they could make brief phone calls home from our landline now and then, but that was it. (When OBrother came over the Christmas before last, he ran up a phone bill of over £250 by making calls so we've drawn a line under this for a reason.)

After walking round in a rather large circle, which was my fault entirely, we got there slightly late and went upstairs for our interview. The woman who conducted it was friendly enough, but it was clear from the subliminal sarcasm in her responses that she was well and truly over completing applications for National Insurances numbers. Some of her responses included:
'Oh, a European passport holder! That'll be nice and easy then.'
'He's a man and he can remember the year he married, well I never!'
'Perhaps he could repeat his signature for me a couple of times? They don't look the same, he'd better copy. Don't worry, I'm not looking.'
'Any other siblings? Eleven? My God. Will they all be joining you?' I did not bother to translate this last bit, and said, "No."

She then asked for DBrother. I explained that we had to go and find him but that we'd be back asap. She seemed unsurprised and said with an ironic smile that she'd "be waiting". OBrother used my phone to call DBrother and went off to find him. Eventually they returned while I spent a pleasant enough half hour in Stamfords where I sourced a European-to-UK plug that OBrother needs to charge his video camera and use his hair clippers. He looked at it and said it was not the right one so, to avoid an argument and because I was feeling annoyed, I put it back on the shelf, despite knowing full well that it was.

When called over to her desk, DBrother shook the woman's hand warmly. I took his arm as he leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. The light in which I see each brother changes daily, as I get to know them better, and I am getting the impression that DBrother's sensitive romantic character is a card he has played to woo many women over the years. He is in his early fifties but looks about the same age as OBrother who is in his mid forties. He has a round, open face and is not bad looking I suppose. He has a warm smile and I am certain that he would like to find an English wife. I notice the way he interacts with people and pick up on these things.

His friendliness prompted a new set of responses:
'Oh, how very polite. We have got a charming one here, haven't we?
'Now let's see, can he remember the date of his divorce as well as the date of his marriage? He can! Boom Boom.'
'I presume I'd better put your phone number down for this one as well then, shall I?'
'Great signature. Has he been practising?'

We were also, unprompted, given other titbit insights into her opinion of her job. The Pole who was 'single' over here but whom she tricked into revealing the name of his wife back home; the Romanian who said he was called 'rat' and got down on all fours miming one; another guy who, when asked how many children he had said that each wife had five and that he had two more on the way (children, not wives). And the guy who she said she put on benefits because she didn't want him breaking into people's houses and hitting them over the head if she didn't. I was really glad to leave. We were told that their applications should be simple and that they would take six weeks max, possibly less.

I needed to head off at this point, as I was aware that by the time I got home, I'd have less than an hour to get stuff done and that I did not, now, have time to drop by the place I'd been intending to. I was also massively looking forward to some time at home by myself. So they headed off to work on the bikes and I went to wait for the bus. OH called and asked where I was and I told him. He then called back twenty minutes later to say that they'd had problems with the bike chain and they'd be going back home. My balloon burst, and I said as much. So he called back five minutes after that to say that he'd asked them to give me a bit of space and that they wouldn't be at home when I got there. He also said, and really, I have been aching for him to say this and take the pressure off me, 'When I get home from work tonight, tell me what you want them to do and I'll talk to them.'

When I got home, the front door was open. The back door was also open and a wet gale was blowing through the house. One bike was in the corridor and the other had been carried through the dining room and into the back yard. The brothers were stomping around the house with their wet shoes on, despite knowing that we have a shoe-free home. One was trying to find his passport which he'd had ten minutes earlier. The other started trying to talk to me about something.
'Please,' I said. 'I've got less than an hour now to cook, clean, respond to my emails and start writing an Annual Report. I've got someone dropping in with something for me to sign and I need to talk to her about some stuff. Then I've got to go and get the kids.'
'Ok!' he said.
'It's not ok,' I said. 'Please, give me some space now to let me get on. And please close the bloody doors, the house is freezing!'
'Ok, ok!' he said. 'I'm taking the milk from the fridge to make some coffees round at our house, ok?
'No,' I said, 'That is not ok. I've got someone coming round in a minute to whom I will offer a cup of tea. You will be passing the corner shop on the way home and you can buy yourself a pint of milk for around 60p.'
'Ok, ok, don't get annoyed,' he rejoined.
'Look!' I shouted. 'I'm tired and I've had enough for today. I'm annoyed that you messed me around in town. I can't understand why you have decided not to go and work today when you are desperate for the money and you can't afford to mess other people around either. I am annoyed that you haven't produced the Euros I know you've got with you to pay for the cards you applied for in London yesterday, as agreed. I told you that we needed to change them in town and I need to get them into my bank account, fast! I didn't sleep all last night for stressing about all of this and right now, PLEASE, just leave me on my own for a bit.'
'But we are stressed, too, Sofia,' started DBrother.
I didn't want to hear it. So I started flapping my arms around like a frightened bird and literally forced him to the front door and through it. OBrother followed him. With the milk! I slammed the door behind them. And I can't remember what I did after that. But I think it involved sinking to the floor and quite a bit of shouting at the walls.

When OH arrived home, I was just heading out to the shop in the rain to get milk because the boys wanted cereal. He looked tired and fed up and annoyed that his brother hadn't gone to buy some milk for himself, given everything else we've been providing them with. By this time, would you believe, OBrother was already back and watching telly in the front room, having rejected what I had cooked in favour, it turned out, of the sea food that was in the fridge and which I had been saving for later in the week.

When I got back from the shop, OH came to find me in the kitchen. I had the feeling that OBrother was ear-wigging because the telly was on quietly for once, and perhaps he was hoping to observe OH lose it with me. Who knows. DBrother I knew would have the hump and be round to eat now OH was home.

'Here's the deal,' I said to OH. 'Before they came, you told me these guys would get a place of their own and work with you, and that the impact on me would be minimal. They've got a place, and now I need them to live in it. Most of the time, at least. I want my house keys back so that they can't keep coming in when it suits them. If they stay in this country they are going to need ongoing help with finding work and speaking the language, for YEARS. I am not going to cope with that until I have my home, my life, my house keys and my personal space back.

'And two more things,' I added:

'I presume that they will not consider bringing anyone else over here until they are established, with some money in the bank and a place that they are happy living in.

'And this is it. No-one else. I know they're all lining up to come. But this is it. Or I leave.'

Funny how what you want hits you in the face as clear as day and out of the blue.

'I agree,' he said.

Tantrums and turn-ons

I had all this funny stuff I wanted to write tonight. But as usual, events overtake me.

The brothers are clearly in a foul mood with one another. So would I be if I'd spent 24/7 with either one of them for the last three weeks. 12/7 is bad enough. DBrother is dealing with this by going for long rides on the bicycle. OBrother copes with it by sulking when DBrother is not around. They are both jockeying to be my favourite pain-in-the-arse brother-in-law. DBrother clearly thought he was at the top of the pile because he felt we were 'connecting'. Now OBrother thinks he is at the top of the pile because I complimented him on his developing English ("room, small, bed, big, no good, big problem" - I'll explain later) and because I told him that the ancient Greek meaning for his name is 'he who conquers mountains,' which he likes.

If you're wondering why I was googling the origins of his name, it's because there isn't an English version of it, that I'm aware of, and since it's a tricky name for people to repeat and remember I thought we might give him a new temporary one. I could have some mean fun with this if I wanted to, but I will probably just open our book of baby names at the boys' names beginning with 'O', dip my finger in and see what it pulls out. I'd let you know the results but I'm trying to keep this somewhat anonymous in case I get famous. (I had nearly 1500 page views last month, BTW, but that was probably mostly my mum.)

So, what's really got their goat in the last twenty-four hours is the bed situation. They are fuming because Mr Khan had a brand new double delivered today. Two weeks after he promised to bring them two singles. OBrother announced this when he turned up to cook. He said he had tried to explain to Mr Khan why it wasn't any good, using the words I listed above, which I suspect might not have impressed him very much. They keep going on about what a lying bastard Khan is, but he has given them a TV and aerial and has shown us a sky lead they can use if only they can get a sky box from somewhere. And he is hardly obliged to give them new beds.

I put it to the back of my mind until I heard DBrother go out earlier and then come storming back in about twenty minutes later. OH had just got home from work and I understood DBrother to be shouting something along the lines of how ridiculous it was and what a lying bastard Khan was, etc etc. I told OH to put the kids to bed, grabbed my coat and asked DBrother to come round there with me.

I knocked gently on Mr Khan's door and when he opened it, smiled warmly and enquired about the health of his child. He is very bad, he said, with two breaks in his leg and a break in his back. He said he himself is exhausted, taking the other one back and forth from nursery. (Another house-mate told me later that he thinks the story about the child is utter nonsense. Heigh ho.) He went on to say that his own wife is 'a bit stupid in the head' (where else would she be stupid?)(and is that why he thought we'd get on?) and that he had thought to ask my help with the child but realised that I have two children of my own. 'That's right,' I said, 'And three men as well, to look after, which is infinitely worse.' I'm not sure he understood.

I moved the conversation on to the beds. He started getting agitated and slapping his head. I am starting to wonder if this might indicate when he is straying from the truth. Anyway. I had just been up to the bedroom and it does now look like some kind of crappy furniture showroom. The two doubles are centre stage, next to one another. The new one is at least new! Khan claims that he went to speak to OBrother, to ask if he'd be in the house the next day for the beds to be delivered, and that OBrother had shown him one finger by way of a reply and said 'One bed, no two beds.' So Khan cancelled the order, and got a double instead. I think it is highly likely that OBrother did say this, having changed his mind and decided one single would now be better than two and losing the double. I can't see why Khan would go and get a new double for the fun of it. But he might have been making it up. Heck. I don't know and I don't really care. The scenario made me feel a bit like matron negotiating a squabble over tuck. We agreed that the brothers will dismantle the first, old double and put it behind their wardrobe. They will keep the new one, and the old single mattress, until he gets them a new single bed, some time next week. If he does...?

I then moved onto the shower, and engaged the young man living in the next room and who is an electrician in the conversation, and he has agreed to fix it when Khan provides the relevant bits and bobs. He is from Ivory Coast, I think, but mentioned that he has a Greek girlfriend. He seems a really nice bloke. Later, outside, he agreed that Khan is a bit of a nutter but also said that he'd let him sleep on his bedroom floor when he was desperate. He might also have a bit of tiling work for OBrother.

As regards the telly and the one channel it can currently receive, Khan agreed to send his friend's son up to have a look, next time he's round.

Finally, I made the near-fatal mistake of saying that the brothers didn't want to use the kitchen because it wasn't very clean. Khan started to get angry and shouted that he would kick them out. He pulled us in there and DBrother, oblivious to his rage - my God, he doesn't really read body language - starting doing things like rubbing his finger over the surfaces indicating bread crumbs and flour - to prove his point. In fact, someone had very recently had another go at the kitchen and I swear, I could have cooked in there myself. Between us, the man from Ivory Coast, to whom I might refer as MTenant because his name starts with that letter, and I managed to calm Khan down. I lied through my teeth and said DBrother was joking and that he wanted to cook Khan a lovely Greek meal. MTenant joked that he'd like to invite his Greek girlfriend to the meal but he was worried that with their good looks, the brothers might steal her from him. I begged Khan not to kick them out saying that quite frankly I didn't want them in my kitchen any longer and they needed to stand on their own two feet. MTenant said that he and Khan needed to teach the brothers English or they wouldn't ever be able to stand on their own two feet in this country. He called in another housemate from Pakistan, I think, and got him to volunteer to help with this. Jeepers, creepers. It felt a bit desperate and we all scrambled as soon as we could after that.

On the way home I tried to get DBrother to see that it might be a bit of a laugh if he and OBrother had a go at socialising in the house. The worst it could do would be to improve their English. But he wasn't really having it. And in response to cooking in the kitchen he just kept saying, 'I can't.'

When we got back to ours I relayed what Khan had said. OBrother accused me of trying to pin the bed fiasco on him. On the subject of the kitchen, DBrother said a load of garbled stuff to OH in Albanian but I understood the phrase 'lots of onions' and knew he was on a curry-hating, racist band-wagon. He then switched to Greek and said that, 'Up til now, we've played it your way, S,' to which I responded, 'Believe me, we're not doing anything the way I want it, but we are in my house!' He then said 'We've only been here three weeks'. 'Fair enough,' I said, 'but I don't want you cooking here every day for the next three months when you've got your own kitchen in your own place. We need to strike a balance here.' To which he retorted that he'd come to England to stay with his brother. And that we needed to work out how long he'd be welcome for. He then added that as soon as he was working, he'd eat out every day. I tried to keep calm and said that that isn't what I was asking. And he argued and said that yes, it was.

OH stood between us with a diplomatic stance and to be fair, did not side with his brothers. He pointed out to any one of us when we were becoming over-wrought or unfair and asked us to calm down and watch what we were saying. If I wasn't in such a terrible grump with him I'd have been finding it a bit of a turn-on. I think I even heard him say to DBrother at one point, 'She's right.' I also heard OBrother saying 'She's right!' a couple of times too, just to win some extra Brownie points from me, and to piss DBrother off.

But when the argument was clearly taking us no-where I flounced out saying, 'Oh, just get back to your football!' which they did. And OH cooked for them. And they ate. And then I pretended to run away from home by slamming the front door after me when I went off to get some rice crackers from the takeaway up the road. But no-one ran after me. So I ate them on my own. Two guesses where! (Still no beanbag.)

My son stands accused, and my hackles rise

I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable being at home when the Brothers are. I sense - perhaps incorrectly, of course -  that they think I am avoiding their company. Guilty conscience, maybe? The truth is that I have had very little by way of time to myself since the kids were born. If the telly is on at home during the day, it's not because I'm lying on the sofa watching rubbish TV, it's because I've left Babe2 in the company of Mr Tumble while I try and hoover or clean or cook or put the washing machine on. When he's not at pre-school I take him places, tots groups and the like, because he's reached that age where he demands the company of peers. This means we're not actually at home together very much - generally out in the mornings, and then after lunch and before school pick-up is when I usually get things done. I tend, at those times, to be feeling a bit tired and not very chatty and somewhat pressured by my to-do list.

During the hours he is at pre-school, I want to do at least a few things for myself. I've listed some of them in a previous post. But I've been giving a fair bit of this time to doing things like taking the brothers to the job centre, to language institutions and to glaziers and the like, to ask if they have work. And I've been researching jobs online. I don't really want to spend much more of this precious time being chatty. I like my own space and I'm also quite noise-sensitive and can't stand talking over a telly that is on full blast.

The honest truth is that I'm starting to dread coming home and finding them sitting in the front room with an expectation of me keeping them company. An even more honest truth would be that I put the key in the lock hoping it will turn which means they're out. I feel really mean saying that. I am only too aware that they don't have anywhere much to go or anything much left to say to one another. But frankly, nor do I. At least not when there are other things I would rather be doing.

I have, in moments of calm, tried to pursue conversations. But in the back of my mind is a pause button that doesn't want them to feel too comfortable, too much like they're welcome here or too much like I want my evenings and weekends given over to them. I don't want a constant need for communication with members of OH's family to be the shape of my life moving forward. Whatever patterns become established here and now may be expected to continue when they bring their nearest and dearest to join them, if things gets that far. I know this is neither a generous nor a hospitable approach. I know I am not being as warm or as welcoming as I could be. How bad should I feel about this? I am one long osscilation between acute guilt and acute stress and irritation.

Last night, having been round here since about midday, the brothers left the house soon after OH got home from work because he said he wanted to go to the gym before eating. (And they had an appointment with Mr Khan to look at their telly but he didn't show.) I put the kids into bed and tidied around. I had literally sat down on the sofa, thinking that OH and I might spend a few minutes in one another's company, when the brothers got back so that they could eat with him. Inevitably, he now has two adults instead of one looking forward to spending time with him in the evening. As well as me (sort of). And the kids.

When I got home this afternoon, after staying out a bit longer than usual because I was feeling tired and particularly uncommunicative - heaven help us when my PMT kicks in in a week or so - I sat down to ask how they are and they said they wanted to talk about Babe. DBrother then went on to say that Babe had hit him over the head with a light-saber yesterday evening when I went to his parents' meeting. It hadn't hurt at the time but when he laid down earlier today for a rest it had started bleeding and his head was throbbing. They went on to say that Babe is 'poli ziliaros' - that's Greek for 'a very jealous type' and had pushed Babe2 really hard when they were playing together. To round off, they said that 'we need to sort him out.'

AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

This made me see red on so many fronts, it was as much as I could do not to just start shouting random lexical items at the walls. In fact, I think they were trying to raise this as a 'family issue' that could be discussed and acted upon 'as a family'. I think they might have been looking for a bonding opportunity.

The problem is that every effing day since they arrived here the brothers have laughed whenever the boys jump towards them or slap their bottoms. They have allowed the boys to playfight with them in a way that I do not usually allow. I understand that this is, in part, because of a desire to bond that has to overcome language limitations, but we do have shedloads of toys and games lying around the place that they could quite easily pick up and use to interact with the kids. This playfighting has escalated into them allowing the boys to throw the cushions around the sitting room, charge into them with weapons, and jump excitedly between the coffee table and the sofas. And I have, on a number of occasions, made it really clear that I do not allow this latter piece of activity, mostly because our fireplace is very old, very large and made from cast iron and I do not want them landing on it headfirst. And - if I must justify myself - our sitting room is the one room in our not very large house that I try to keep clean and up-together.

What aggravates me even more is that we did actually have a slightly heated exchange yesterday right before I went to the parents meeting, in which I begged the brothers once again not to let the boys jump onto the table. They claimed not to be able to stop them and I'm sorry to say that in response to this I put a teddy on the table, asked them to pay close attention, and then roared 'Stop!' at it at the top of my voice. They visibly shifted in their seats. 'Please, for their safety and yours, respond like that when they start climbing onto the table,' I requested. They could also, of course, just lift the boys off.

They are not wrong to judge that Babe can be a bit mean and rough with his younger brother. He also puts up with a lot of his younger brother wrecking his games and hurling himself at him. Overall, I think they get on pretty well with one another, and I feel that a certain amount of rough and tumble is par for the course. I parent them within reasonably clear boundaries and most of the time I think we manage pretty well. I know that I can have rose-tinted spectacles when it comes to my eldest offspring, but I think to describe him as a jealous type is a) just not accurate and b) even if he was, I'm not really into attaching labels to children that might stick. Yes, keeping them on the straight and narrow is a neverending job, especially when your partner is not always very supportive, but that's just parenting, isn't it? Do we need to sort him out? No we bloody well do not, thank you very much.

After huffing in and and out of the room a bit, I tried to be sensible and asked them how they expected me to respond to what they'd said. What did they want me to do? By this time tho' they could tell I was pretty annoyed and responded that they said they were 'just talking'. No doubt if I wasn't pretty much at my wits' end, I might have just been able to laugh off their observations instead of getting so wound up.

So what is this ramble, tonight, trying to say? I think I'm trying to say that despite fairly good efforts, I am doing a fairly crap job of hiding the fact that I am feeling the pressure of having them in my house an awful lot of the time. If I were still working it might not be having such an impact. (Hum, that's not true, is it?) And leading on from my blather of last night about tread mills, I think I am going to have to come up with a time-frame for them being here or there is a high risk that I will explode. A time-frame that OH will hate me for wanting to impose and do everything he can to resist. But I really don't think I can spend all that much longer having them effectively living here for most of each day.

If they get the papers for their construction cards sorted this weekend (the bloke who does the 'training' is now not answering his phone...!) there is an outside chance they could start some work next week. As long as the receipts are considered sufficient proof of competence, as the cards themselves could take up to a month to arrive. And as long as the foreman on the site OH is working on at the moment comes good. If they don't get work next week, I am not sure how they are going to pay for the next month's rental of their room which is due in about ten days' time.

I was going to ask what my cut-off for the current domestic arrangements should be? (All they need to do is get their TV working and start using their own kitchen and bathroom and I'd be feeling a lot less pressed.) The end of October? Christmas? But there is a fairly strong chance that within a fortnight I am going to be faced with the dilemma of whether I let them come back here to live or not. I know I can't. So what then?

A routine evolves

I have never liked gyms. I am not very sporty, have flattish feet and am quite easily bored. And as it happens I also have largish baps which are a terrible encumbrance in the sporting field. I am not a particularly sedentary type though, and appreciate the need for physical activity. Aerobics I can get into, as long as the music is ok and I don't have to do those ridiculous grapevine moves. (It's a while since I did aerobics so it's possible they've phased those out by now.) I was good at hockey at school and wouldn't mind joining a team, although the last time I played the ball seemed to fly through the air at shoulder height a lot more than I was expecting it to and I'm not sure my wits are sufficiently about me to cope with that any more. I do however cycle, scoot (yes, scoot), run very occasionally and generally like things like yoga and pilates. Oh, and skiing. I've only been a few times but it is completely brilliant fun.

Despite my dislike of gyms, there are two pieces of gym equipment that I can tolerate. Only for very short bursts, mind, and because although it hurts like hell I can count down the seconds and minutes and push myself because the end is never far from sight. These pieces of equipment are the running machine, and that awful cross-country skiing thing.

I am sharing all this ahead of telling you what my life feels like right now, so that you will really appreciate the metaphor. It feels like I am on a running machine. Or more a treadmill, let's say, moving at a medium but definitely uncomfortable velocity. A treadmill that I can't get off but don't want to stay on. And I can't pace myself while I'm on the darn thing because some random bugger from the gym has put it on a program and cycle that I can't even see from where I'm standing. If I knew it was going to stop in ten minutes, or twenty, or maybe even a matter of hours at worst, I'd find a bit more welly from somewhere to enjoy the ride. Or at least cope with it. But I don't know when or if it is going to stop. It is uncomfortable and might be endless and I feel out of control, very stressed and fairly hacked off too.

I guess I've kind of made that obvious by now. And I know I know I know how much harder life is for billions around the world, and probably how much harder and more miserable life is for the brothers right now. (You're probably wondering how OH is. So am I.) But that is what I feel like. Yes, of course, there are moments of optimism. There have even been a few moments when the brothers and I have shared a joke. But mostly it feels as though my life, my home, my time and my energy have been taken over by an alien force that is plotting to reproduce and subsume me.

The brothers, and OH, have told me that they are taking one day at a time. That they are not thinking too much about how well or how badly things might go. They are simply doggedly determined to find work, make enough money to improve their accommodation and then up the stakes. In part, I can respect this perspective. But as someone who considers herself to be something of a strategic thinker and who likes to plan and know what the endgame is, their approach leaves me feeling quite agonisingly out of control.

I have, this morning, while Babe2 was at pre-school, been googling kitchen assistant and cleaning jobs and my eyes are going fuzzy and I'm feeling slow and useless and wondering if I could do any better for myself. If I had time to be looking for work for myself right now, that is. It is desperate. No, they do not have food hygiene certificates. No, their customer service skills are not great. Yes, they would clean windows beautifully but no, they don't have computer skills and they have been tactically avoiding situations that have me reaching for the A-Z. Is it worth trying to apply on their behalves for a six-hours per week cleaning job, spread over five days and to be carried out between the hours of five and seven o'clock in the morning?

I have emailed friends and a local emailing list marketing their practical skills. This has resulted in two potential small jobs. Which is better than nothing but won't feed them for a month and the effort involved in me translating what's required makes me reluctant to get too involved. My Greek is ok. But I don't know the words for things like plasterboard, turf, trowel or hammer. I am doing my best, but acting like their agent turning up to look at jobs is not especially easy.

As I got home from reading at Babe's school yesterday afternoon, DBrother rushed up to the front door with a man in a duffel coat.
'Ask him about work!' he said.
I was lost.
'This man was standing outside my house,' the man said.
'Oh,' I said.
'Is he looking for work?'
'Um, well, yes, but how do you know that?' I asked.
He ignored my question and asked what DBrother can do.
I reeled off a list. He then explained that he was doing up his house around the corner, which, it evolves, has been completely gutted. The three of us trooped round to take a look and were introduced to Mr Singh who, having been told they can build and plaster etc, asked what they would work for.
'You tell me,' I said. 'They're really good at what they do, I'd trust them with my place.' (That was a bit of a white lie, actually.) 'They are pretty desperate but I know what the minimum wage is, and they want more than that.'
'Ok,' he said. 'I'll call you in about ten days, when the roofers are finished.' He took my number and made a point of calling me to check he'd got it right. Let's hope it comes to something.

In the meantime, we've found a place in London where you can pay through the nose for training to get you construction industry cards, and OH is most likely taking them up this weekend, as he thinks one of them at least will be able to work with him. I have organised this, of course. And got them onto waiting lists for all the free English classes I can find. I hope to heck it comes off and won't result in them spending their last bit of cash for nothing. Their last bit of cash which would otherwise, incidentally, be covering their flights home.

They are still moaning about the room and house they're living in. That preparedness to 'live like gypsies if we have to' (their political incorrectness, not mine) went out of the window pretty fast. Khan has gone underground and the shower doesn't work. I went round again this morning and in fact the bathroom is not otherwise too bad and there is a bath. I checked out the kitchen and the truth is that I wouldn't really want to have to clean it or cook in it either, but then I'm not in desperate circumstances. Well I am, but... They had said that the fridge is too smelly to put their milk in. But it's not, it's fine and there is space. I think the bitter truth is that they feel outnumbered by the six or so individuals who get home from work in the evening, and cook curry together and have a bit of a laugh. I suspect there is also some latent racism at work, which I have not yet found the will to tackle.

I also, incidentally, noticed that in their room they have put photos around, of their children and families. And one of their dad. I haven't asked if they are missing them. I did suggest that they try skype using my laptop but they haven't taken me up on it and I can see how that might make things harder so I won't suggest it again.

The observant among you might have noticed that they have at least bought some milk:

The other night, several hours after our abortive attempt to discuss stuff, I asked OH if we could talk. He took a long time to answer because I woke him up to ask him this. He was on the sofa, not in bed. I'm not that mean.

I reminded him that before the brothers had even booked their tickets to come here they, and he, had insisted that they would find their own place to live in. Well, that he would find them their own place to live in. Their desire had been to be independent from the start. I also reminded him of the purpose of that decision - so that they would have somewhere to sleep, eat, wash and watch TV etc. Ie somewhere they could have a bit of space of their own, and so, presumably, that we would, too.

I then pointed out that despite having a room of their own, they are doing everything (and I mean pretty much everything), here. I asked if he could ask them to give us a bit of space maybe one or two evenings a week, and to perhaps request that they at least breakfast there so that I could have some space in the mornings when getting the kids ready for school etc. OH saw red and flatly refused. He accused me of being evil and selfish and a lot of other things I won't mention. I realise, in retrospect, that I hit that 'hospitality trigger'.

However, on Saturday, after taking them off on a pointless trip to open a bank account, despite my assertion (which proved to be correct as I had already investigated this myself) that they need National Insurance numbers first, OH took them to our local supermarket, and bought them a kettle, toaster and some basic supplies. I guess this was his way of making them self-sufficient and I have to accept that asking them to spend more time in their place was just not something he could do. And to be fair, that isn't something I could have easily asked of my own family, either.

So we have now slipped into something of a routine: the brothers are now not rising early, are trying to find ways of occupying their mornings ahead of coming round to cook at our place in the early afternoon, where they stay until some point in the late evening. A kind friend has given them a TV but there is no aerial connection, so hopefully OH will sort this out at the weekend for them. They are making use of our bicycles and the fact that we live near an amazing cycle path that takes you right out into the countryside to a nearby city, along what was a train line. Low moments include them encouraging the kids to jump between the coffee table and the sofa, screaming, for at least an hour every day when they get home from school. But a plus is that I can get off to evening meetings promptly, by not having to wait until OH gets home from work some time after six.

Strangely enough when they all went out and left me on my own on Saturday night, the house felt uncomfortably quiet. Perhaps our very bricks and mortar are feeling a bit shaken by the turbulence in the air, too.

DBrother and I have a serious talk

I have mentioned what an irritating SOAB OBrother is. Although I must say that he is visibly doing his level best not to get on my nerves. The brothers realise what is unfolding around them and they're not insensitive to my situation. Well, beyond imposing it on me against my will, but anyway...

DBrother is altogether different. For want of a different reason to hang this on, I'd quite like to put it down to star signs. (Groan!) I am a scorpio and can almost guarantee that I will form close bonds with other scorpios (or find I hate them until we both realise we are scorpios and can laugh about it and then get on) cancerians and pisceans, of which he is the latter. I'm not quite sure how to describe why I get on with these signs except to say that my experience of them thus far is that we feel things at a similar depth which makes communication easier from the off, somehow. There's a lot of stuff that doesn't need to be expressed, so you can cut to the chase. I appreciate that some readers will consider this total BS.

I can talk to DBrother about how I'm feeling and how I'm seeing things and he seems to understand. I don't need to find ten different ways of putting it. The communication between us is relatively easy and uncomplicated, and doesn't have to forged through a mire of antagonism or self-protective misunderstanding. Unlike OBrother, DBrother thinks before he speaks. He doesn't constantly court conflict and one-upmanship. He is a philosphical thinker. We actually have a reasonable amount to discuss. New order politics, for example. Somewhat refreshing, I have to say.

Strangely enough, I have barely spoken to him for almost the entire seventeen years I have been with OH. An argument I had with him quite early on established a malhumour between us - more on my side than his - that I allowed to fester and perpetuate. I always interpreted his deportment and body-language as that of an elder sibling bearing down on the others. I didn't like what little I heard of the way he expressed himself. I chose to dislike him and treated him with suspicion and barely concealed hostility. In fact, I am brilliant at barely concealed hostility, which I know is nothing to be proud of.

The argument we had early on, and on which I based my view of him, was over a pair of wheels. At that time, OH had a small motorbike, a super little red one (!), that he had agreed to sell to DBrother, because he was planning to get a bigger and better one. (The new one he got was blue and I never felt the same about it.) From time to time DBrother would borrow the bike to get to work. Without asking, because he had a spare key, and it would leave OH right in the lurch because he had quite a drive to work along routes that didn't have buses. I think that somehow this was an acceptable agreement between them, because they had been through great hardship together. And this was in Greece, before they'd had their Greek ethnicity recognised, and Albanians holding down jobs was not easy. Life for them was very hard. I saw stuff that would make your toes curl and that is nothing compared to the lives they were living before I met them. I will write a book about that some time.

Anyway, this arrangement with the bike also continued, as I saw it, mostly because DBrother was the eldest. And this was something that I just couldn't get my head around. I couldn't understand him wanting to assert his 'authority'. Neither could I understand OH succumbing to it. (He'd told me stories, by then, of how DBrother had belted him as a child. I now think perhaps there was more to it than that. I know OH did things that weren't acceptable living under the dictator and the family were probably worried for his safety.) I am an eldest child who has only ever been verbally assaulted for acting like the eldest, and I guess the truth is that it got to me on a deeper level than I could acknowledge at the time. It made me see red. Plus I am super-protective of those I love.

So one day, after the price for the bike and the date for the exchange had been agreed, and DBrother had borrowed it and forgotten to lock it, and it was stolen, and he then refused to pay OH anyway, I lost control and stormed round to his house and gave him a piece of my mind. Looking back, I wish I had a video clip of that event. I'd only been in a Greece a few months and I can't for the life of me imagine what I was able to say at that point. The months of the year, yes. 'One cheese pie, please,' yes. (I mimed Popeye blowing his pipe when I wanted a spinach one.) 'I love you,' probably. But 'You selfish bloody bastard, your little brother works his guts out for his money, how can you possibly let his bike get stolen and then not have the decency to give him the cash anyway...' is probably not something I was able to say. I know that it wasn't my place to say any of it. I remember that I was standing on the stairs outside his front door in the block of flats where he lived when I said my piece. And I remember that at the end I understood the one word he said to me, which was Greek for 'Have you finished?' And I stormed off. And have harboured hateful vengeful thoughts against him ever since. Although he did cough up half the cash after that.

Perhaps he was the person I thought he was. I'm sure that other events must have taken place that perpetuated my view. Perhaps he was and he has changed. He has been through hardship and grief. And divorce. But actually, I think maybe I was wrong about him. I think I might have misinterpreted his body language. And his silences. And the way he would disappear. Actually I think he is quite a sensitive soul. I have described him to my mum as a romantic and I think she might be worried I've got the hots for him because I've said it a few times. Hell no, but wouldn't that put the cat among the pigeons!  I say 'romantic' because he has a sensitive, philosphical quality to the way he seems to think and then express himself. He went to music school and is apparently known as 'DBrother the singer' in thier hometown. Hitherto, if I was asked, I'd have presumed he was known as 'DBrother the wanker', if I'm honest.

Yes, I think I was wrong.

Today, after the blatant expressions of hostility being exchanged between OH and myself last night, which led to me spending another evening on my own in the dining room, the atmosphere was pretty cold. So when OBrother went out with OH, I went and sat down next to DBrother and tried once again to talk to him about Stuff.

I started by saying that I felt that whether I used the right words or not, we would struggle to understand one another because of our opposing cultures and that this was a hard bridge to cross. He didn't disagree. I tried to explain that they were arriving at my home against a backdrop of seventeen years of friction with OH that had left me feeling quite emotionally frozen and unable to welcome them with the warmth I would like to. I reminded him again of the reasons why their arrival was not good timing for me and of the reasons why I felt their plans were ill-thought through and unlikely to succeed. I told him how afraid I was that they would end up moving back here if they didn't find work and how much I need my personal space. We agreed that that wasn't an option. I then asked if maybe two evenings a week, they could give OH and I some space. He said yes of course. But explained that the kitchen at Khan's is too filthy to cook or eat in (it's not actually that bad, but we won't go there right now - and OH did actually find them a kettle and toaster etc today) so I agreed that they could continue to eat here every day for the time-being. I also expressed my despair at OH's intransigent attitude when I feel I am doing as much, if not more, as can be reasonably expected in this situation, and he is still being really bloody horrible. (I won't tell you what he said last night but it wasn't nice.) DBrother agreed it wasn't right and said he'd talk to him. I told him what a complete and utter waste of time it would be but that he could try if he likes. We have wagered £1000 on him turning OH around. If we divorce, I win.

So, what is this post about? There's an awful lot rolling around in my head, but I think it's about making mistakes. About making snap judgements and mis-assumptions. Thinking we know what's going on in another person's head when we don't really have a clue. Thinking something is the way it is when actually it isn't at all. How many more mistakes have I made, I wonder?

When the time is right, I will apologise to DBrother for not giving him a proper chance before now. When we are at Gatwick waiting for his flight home, perhaps.

OH and I try to talk

I heard OH park up outside our house after work this evening, and went upstairs so that I could be busily tidying the kids' room when he got in. He likes to play really loud music when he's driving which is why I heard him before I saw him outside the window.*  He also likes to sit in the car for a bit once he's come to a halt, with the loud music on, which drives me insane as I consider it unfair on our neighbours. I don't easily shake off that particularly British desire not to get on other people's nerves. Plus he has awful taste in music. As might we all if we'd been brought up under a socialist dictatorship (DBrother has been trying to explain the difference between all this left-wing stuff but my Greek isn't that brilliant and I haven't been entirely following it all) in the 'eighties, when Madonna and Michael Jackson occassionally occupied the illegal airwaves from across the water in Corfu. In fact to be fair to OH it's only because I don't like his awful music being played really loudly in the house that he ever started to listen to music in the car. When the kids were tiny it was one of the places he used to hang out with them, sharing something he loved. These days we don't play enough music in the house full stop. But that's another story.

I had actually been sitting in the living room with the brothers and the babes for about an hour before OH got home. I have no idea where the brothers were all day, or if they were at ours, because Babe had an INSET day at school and we went to a museum in town with friends, quite early. They were in when we got back, watching telly while their food was cooking, and I could tell they were feeling miserable. Where do you go all day when you haven't got any work or any money to spend and it's cold and raining? And these are two brothers who don't really get on very well, but are now being forced to spend a ridiculous amount of time together. I felt really sorry for them, despite the fact that they were watching Jeremy Kyle at high volume. I suggested to Babe that he teach them how to play snakes and ladders and I think they enjoyed the interaction, and the opportunity it gave them to practise counting to six, and so on.

So... minutes after I heard OH come into the house I heard raised voices. When Greeks are talking it can be really hard working out what is a conversation and what is an argument and I suspected it was the latter. I was pretty sure that I hadn't done anything naughty so presumed that OH was getting it in the neck for something. Poor him, after working ten hours in the driving rain. I don't think they're giving much consideration to what the reality of his working life is.

Minutes after that, he came upstairs and said hello. I put on my best weary face, raised my hands and said 'I done nothing!'. This is a bit of a family joke. When Babe2, who is three, is about to do something naughty - he is hellbent on trying to unlock and jump out of his bedroom window - he looks at you, shrieks those exact words and then runs into his room, slamming the door behind him. When you open it, seconds later, he is doing his level best to stick things into the keyhole.

'I asked at the gym if they've got any spaces for a massage or something tomorrow,' he said. 'I thought you could go and relax and have a nice time.'

A nicer person would have thanked him for his thoughtfulness. Instead, I pointed out that 1) we can't afford it and 2) I can't relax because my life at the moment is a living hell that is of his making and what I would really like is for him and I to have a proper conversation to try and unpick where things went so badly wrong between us and how we ended up in this situation which is a complete and utter disaster. Except that we can't discuss it, I went on, because we are incapable of understanding one another and we don't have time to have the kind of conversation we need to have, which would take years, and anyway, I don't want another bloody argument so let's not bloody bother.

He made to move away. So I quickly pointed out that I did not want him to move away. So he stayed. God, why do I have to tell him to stay?!

I remember an incident with an ex, once - if you can call him that because we never really got it together properly, although boyohboy I was mad about him - when we walked around a park and he was making signals that he wanted us to get back together. I wanted to, as well, more than anything. But I also needed him to understand that he'd hurt me before, (in the simplistic, over-emotional way you get hurt when you're not all that long out of puberty) (I developed late, incidentally) in the hope that he wouldn't do the same again. I needed to say what he'd done and why it had hurt and how much, so that we could move forward. And I'll be damned if he didn't take what I was saying as a 'No!'. I wanted someone who would fight for me, give me a down-on-one-knee apology, maybe a bunch of flowers, and some indication that if we were going to get back together it was for reasons more than simply to get a shag out of me. Instead I got a hurt shrug and that was that. Well, pretty much that was that.

(I do, incidentally, know that I can go on a bit and there are of course two takes on every tale. But just saying, like.)

So, what did I want OH to do at that moment? What could he have said that would have helped?
'Sorry.' That is always a good thing to say. You have to sound like you mean it though.
'You're right.' Yes, that would have helped, whether he meant it or not.
'I love you, You're a wonderful human being and I don't want to lose you.' Yep, that would have been fine too.
'What can we do to make things better and move forward from here?' No, that would have resulted in me throwing something at him. I am dog-tired of having to come up with solutions.

Instead, we had a garbled, angry conversation that was fast and unsatisfactory and broken off because Babe2 started crying downstairs. (Which reminds me of other fast and unsatisfactory things we do now that we have kids...) And in the course of that conversation I asked him not to walk away three times and he stayed.

He said he knows our marriage is in tatters. He said he knows it isn't working out with his brothers. He said he knows OBrother is not easy. He was starting to win me back, a little bit, at this point. He then said that he can't see how they'll bring family members over here. My hackles started to rise because they are talking about this already. How I'll have OBrother's chain-smoking wife for company and how his son and Babe will play together and have so much fun. OH then went on to say that he thought they'd only stay until the economic situation in Greece improves. At which point I'm sorry, but I told him to F off.

I want someone to hear what I have to say and take it on board, reflect and then offer solutions that indicate they have heard and understood what I'm saying. I need someone who can be realistic and understand what a really deep mess is being created by this situation. I have reached a point of emotional distress and overload where sticking plasters ain't gonna cut the mustard.

I went downstairs to find OBrother storming out of the house. I asked what was wrong and OH explained that OBrother had argued with DBrother about who got their driving license first. Like I say, things are starting to disintegrate. I sighed and went to get the kids ready for bed.

*Since we started seeing one another, seventeen years ago, I have been finely tuned to hearing OH arrive home. From our rooftop flat in one part of Athens, where you couldn't see the street or his bike from above; from the balcony of another; from the window of our house where we live now, etc etc. I always hear the engine or the music or the beat of his heart, maybe, and tell people 'he is home', way before he comes through the door.

The Brothers dob me in

The Brothers have been telling tales. When I got back from a governor's meeting last evening, and went upstairs to finish putting the boys to bed, I heard a hushed conversation going on in the hall and then OH and the two of them filed out of the front door. I asked where they were going. 'For a walk,' OH replied. 'What now, in the rain?' I quizzed. 'And aren't you tired?' (I can't help from getting protective even though I hate his guts.) 'I haven't seen you for days!' But they slunk out anyway. I knew they were going to the supermarket because DBrother was carrying the broken plastic laundry basket that we keep our recycling in and it was full. OH always insists on taking our recycling to the supermarket even though the council collect it from outside our house every Monday. Such a waste of petrol, time, money etc etc. I can't get a sensible answer from him for why he does it. Same as I can't get a sensible answer regarding why he does 'lottery calculations', but hey.

What joy! I made myself a hot chocolate and Baileys and went and sat in the luxury of my own living room, on the sofa, for a whole nineteen minutes, after which period of time they got back. Bugger! He might at least have dropped them at 'theirs' for the night. Fat chance. They came in and sat down and I just couldn't be bothered to communicate so I went into the kitchen to see what they'd been up to. OH was filling a pan with oil ahead of cremating some sea bass. He turned to me and accused me of being unkind to them, telling them to get their own coffee, being generally unwelcoming etc etc. He then said he'd just seen a friend of mine in the street who had asked how I was coping, which had shocked him. I tried to explain that all my friends were wondering how I was coping in these pretty stressful circumstances. 'But how do they know what's going on?' he asked. 'Because I've emailed everyone I know asking if they need any decorating doing, like you told me to!' I retorted. (I'll be fu**ed if I'm going to tell him I'm blogging about it. For now.) 'Well, don't tell anyone else!' he said. (Oops, I've just emailed the Guardian Family Section :)) 'Why? Is this a secret?' I asked. Actually, I shouted. 'Yes, it's my secret!' he shouted back. 'Well you're doing a completely shit job of hiding it!' I hissed, and re-took my position in the dining room. I may need to get a beanbag.

***

Trying to get on with these men in difficult circumstances leads me to a few reflections today on human interaction. And what is it about some people that makes you warm to them, and what it is about others that makes you twitch with irritation when you come into their presence.

Some of this is not rocket science, clearly. We sat down to eat the other evening and the way OBrother was eating with his mouth open was enough to make most people want to leave the table. They were both sitting hunched over their food, shovelling it in as fast as they could, elbows on the table, and I knew that I would be visibly recoiling if we were anywhere public. I know this makes me sound like a bitch. I'm just being honest which I guess of one of the semi-confessional intentions behind this blog. I've always been an open type and to be honest I prefer other open types. I can't stand mysterious people. Unless it's refined mysterious, I guess, in the form of Johnny Depp. How benile.

But what is it about OBrother that makes me not want to spend any time with him at all? He is quite forceful and I guess a tad impatient. He expects to speak and not listen. He is very opinionated. He is fussy. He isn't English!

Yesterday I bought him some chocolate digestives. The following brief dialogue took place.
'OBrother, I've you some of those chocolate biscuits I remembered that you like!'
'For breakfast?'
'Yes!'
[No comment]

And later:
'OBrother, would you like a coffee?'
'You haven't got any mugs.'
'Yes, I have! Would you like one?'
'I just went into the kitchen to get myself a coffee and there aren't any mugs.'
'I know the dishwasher is on, but I have other mugs in the cupboard. Would you like a coffee or not?
'Ok.'

He is making huge strides with his language skills though. And literal strides, as he moves around the house, highlighting domestic vocabulary: 'ceiling', 'electric lamp', 'wood floor'. I have so far refrained from telling him to be quiet and am working very hard on a casual smile, which is something I don't really do. I have, however, told him not to ask me to help him to learn English because it is one aspect of living with OH that has been total hell over the last seventeen years, and it would bring this house of cards down around us in no uncertain terms.

So he is now constantly accosting Babe with phrases from his phrase book to see if he can understand him.
'Are you going through the window?'
'Is this mashed potato?'
'Have you got any change?'

This evening Babe asked me when they are moving out.

After dinner yesterday OBrother decided to start shouting what are probably listed as key phrases in his study guide. 'So!'*, 'Oh no!', 'Come here now!' - to which Babe2 responded by running straight over to him, looking scared. And then he asked me why he'd done that. Doh!

*When OBrother asked OH what 'So' means, OH informed him that it was a very rude thing to say, as it's like saying 'What's it to you?'. Obviously that is only the case if you say it in a 'What's it to you?' tone of voice. In the same way as you could make it sound like an invitation for a shag if you said it lavisciously. I'm only mentioning this as a teeny-tiny example of how irritating and confusing OH can be. More on that soon!

Thank-you for bearing with me today, while I have a bit of a foul-mouthed, angry and unkind rant. I have really laughed a lot writing this and think I needed to. More soon!

Ships in the night. Or something.

So. At half past ten last night they did go off to sleep in their own place. Just after I'd gone into the living room and said, 'I'm going to bed now then. Maybe see you tomorrow, OH?'. That comment was of course shot at him, not them, and I needn't have said it, but I am feeling fairly fed up with him. They did already have their shoes on by then, in case you were wondering whether I'd scared them off or not.

OH is being really cold and grumpy with me and I am considering looking into my legal rights if I decide the time has come to separate. (Bear in mind that a good 10% of what comes out of my mouth is hyperbole and exaggeration.) He is behaving like this, I presume, because I am not doing enough to welcome or help his brothers. Coming as he does, from a culture where hospitality is everything, (and intelligence in very short supply) (yes! strike me dead for writing that, I dare you!)(I just mean 'logical thinking', really, I suppose) (and I know I say that with a western egocentric perspective but I am only human) the way I am behaving is just not good enough.

Don't get me wrong, OH is not generally a particularly traditional type, but where his family is concerned, there is a whole lot of 'how things should be done' to contend with. I do in fact notice that as he gets older, he gets more and more like this. I am so tired of his complaints against my lack of culinary skills - in the Greek department, of course - that I have pretty much refused to cook for him, which makes him moan even more. It is such a shame, because I really believe that the older I get, the more open-minded and self-reflective I become. I am more than happy to consider criticism launched at me, even if it hurts, as long as it is reasonably expressed. But I can't be doing with being negatively compared with a community of women from another country and culture. Which creates some, well, dynamic tension, shall we say, in our household.

At present you can, of course, cut the tension with a knife round here some moments. Which is entirely as predicted. I'm not perfect and the Brothers are really driving me up the wall at times. So it is not entirely surprising that my general demeanor is managing to convey that I am royally pissed off with what's going on.

And just as you are thinking I am a bit mean after all, I forgot to mention that although they slept in their own beds last night, they were back here at half past seven this morning. Yes, I was just coming out of the kitchen stark naked with a cup of tea in my hand when the key turned in the lock of our front door and I had to bolt upstairs, spilling it as I went. When I told them, last night, that I'd arranged for us to go and look at a friend's window that needs fixing after school today, I observed that they were struggling to tear their eyes away from the football on the telly. They did not say thank-you, that's for sure. I think one of them said 'ok'. That was OBrother, who at 7.30 this morning said they had come round to see my friend's window before school.

Poor sods. They thought they were really trying, getting here before school. Instead they got a semi-vitriolic complaint and strong suggestion that they go and buy themselves some coffee and sugar from the corner shop and breakfast from now at home.

You see the problem, right? We're all trying really hard. In totally incompatible ways that are leading me, at least, to an early grave.

I have already have mentioned how aware I am that there is a gulf in understanding between their culture and ours. No matter how much I seek to be understood, I cannot be. Anymore than I can understand them. Not on all levels, or across the board, of course. But... I think the following example kind of encapsulates it:

When the brothers and I had a heated conversation the other night, after OH had gone to bed, OBrother said, 'Sophia, if you think you're a good woman, doing all you do for the community etc, how come you can't help your husband's family and have them come live with you when they are in need?' I was floored. Answers on a postcard, please.

I am in fact asking myself this all the time. I worked for a major development agency for nearly twelve years. I think of myself as a giving individual who has the world's Poor somewhere on my agenda. So why can't I just let whoever wants to come and live in my house and sleep on my floor and eat my food and watch my telly and make noise and have cheesy smelly feet that Babe keeps moaning about and and and and and?

I guess part of me wants to quiz their level of desperation when, instead of going to the Greek church on Sunday to network, as I suggested, they went into town and bought trainers.

Things start to implode - or do they?

Things are starting to implode. Or maybe they're not. I have lost all sense of judgement on most things lately.

The brothers' dependence on me is as clear to them as it is to me. And they have evidently been discussing this. Today, when they came home for food, OBrother asked, 'Sophia, would you like to open an office and organise jobs for tradespeople?', such as themselves, I presume.

'Well,' I said, trying not to get irritable, 'It is my ambition to work using my skills, in the same way that you want to work using yours. I can't say "never" but no, that is not want I want to do.'

I am, in fact, doing quite a lot to keep my CV looking good and my brain alive. I am Chair of Directors at our local community centre, which comes with an unpaid and sizeable workload. I am a governor at Babe2's nursery and at Babe's school. I am studying for a diploma that I have barely started. I have writing aspirations I am trying to fulfil by entering a competition most months. Hitherto, I have had only the time after the boys go to bed each evening to meet these requirements, which is also when I have domestic stuff to keep on top of. I have been waiting for Gus to start pre-school so that I'd have a bit of time to focus on what's important to me. Ironically, that was last week. I won't ask if it's fair that the brothers arrived at the self-same time, suddenly upping my workload by multiples of ten, because that wouldn't be helpful. But I am feeling pretty darn stressed by the amount I have and want to do, irrespective of this new complication in my life. And in case you're interested, I have not been feeling well for some time and await the results of more blood tests. Diddums!

Mr Khan is, we now think, a total nutter/lying bastard. Or is he? The brothers went over to the house on Saturday to find out whether he'd sourced two single beds as promised and he insisted on walking back here with them, so I found him standing outside my house when I got back from doing my weekly shop. He immediately started wringing his hands and expressing profuse shame at not having got the beds. He claimed he had been mugged at gun and knife-point the night before, on his way back from the children's hospital where his youngest child is being treated having fallen down the stairs. If that's a lie, incidentally, I hope the lie is that the child has been injured and not how the child has been injured. He proceeded to ask if I would give him money to get the beds, as all his cash and cards had been taken. I said that I have no money whatsoever, having produced the £300 required for the brothers' deposit in good faith. When he want on to say he had no money to get food for his wife or children at the hospital I brought the conversation to a swift close. What the hell have I got us into?

Needless to say he did not ask if we would be meeting him on the Sunday to discuss building an extension to his friend's house, as previously suggested.

As a consequence of all this, the conversation and activity of the last few days has revolved around single beds. A dear friend with a car drove me around the city where we live this morning, looking for the cheapest new and second-hand options. I don't know how I let this happen as I should have insisted they put up with what they've got, a week ago. Time is of the essence and finding work the priority! Somehow I keep getting sucked into their wooly thinking. The Brothers have revealed that they only have enough money for one more month's rent and I now suspect they do not have anything put on one side to buy tickets to get back home. Any early bets on how I'll spend my Christmas money?

When I got home I went and found two lie-flatable sleeping bags from the roof to serve as mattress protectors, a pile of bedding and towels and told them to make do with the double bed they've got, and the additional single that was on the floor. Enough is enough: they've got something at least to sleep on, and I need my living room back. They agreed and took the stuff over. Leaving behind, I noticed, their wash stuff. I wonder if OBrother's PJs are still tucked behind the cushion on the sofa?

I do really hope they will sleep in the room tonight. Although it's them being here all day and all evening that is more of a problem if I'm honest (I'm back in the dining room tonight while they watch football.) When will they start washing there? Or cooking and eating? Shopping for an additional two men is really straining our already unrealistic budget and they are eating everything in sight. Hungrily, you understand, not greedily. And with some embarrassment, which makes me feel really, really mean wanting them out.

But I want my space back, and to clean and air. And to relax for half an hour before I go to bed. And to have a conversation with my husband. I think. More about that some other time. Goodnight!