Or at least park his gear with us while he does his living elsewhere.
So we're clearing a room for him.
This involves me in sawing up furniture and burning papers.
Which is uncomfortably close to what domestic murderers do.
And it's not as if I had half an acre to work in.
All this mayhem is going on in a tiny back yard and I'm in constant fear- what with the air and noise pollution I'm causing- that someone is going to pop their head over the back gate and go, "Hey, you!"