Man with problems and spade has the art of head burying down to perfection. He has worked until he dropped. Retired to bed for a bit when the police arrived with a teenager in tow. Buggered off for the weekend without a bye your. When he lost his job he set about teaching himself wood turning and then became absorbed in all things culinary. Taken it upon himself to wage war on the overgrown church yard when the boy died. The shed has been extended bit by bit to fit in more angst over the years. All solitary solutions. The pattern of behaviour set when cubs refused him membership and his mother found him hiding under the bed.
However this time whippet and I are to reap the benefits of this approach. He arrived home with a smile and a camper van! I just brought booze. And while this wont resolve the current onslaught we can now dodge them for a bit. The trick is to refuse worries pleas to come too. I am working on it by taking a leaf out of his book and at the very least refusing their words within the walls of the peace wagon. Undoubtedly pain will haul itself on board. And I doubt the change will prove a rest but you never know.
He has overlooked a couple of small problems. The fact that whippet needs a leg up and snores and there's no cocktail cabinet.