I had a cousin called John who was a bit of a rake. If he wasn't genially propping up the bar at the rugby club, he was engaged in a similar exercise at the golf club. He drank too much, smoked incessantly and generally ended up late at night gambling. Even though he was quite well off, he soon got into debt. His mother didn't see him for days on end. She had no idea where he slept, or with whom he slept for that matter. The rest of the family was more concerned for my aunt than for my cousin. He seemed to thrive on his revelry, as if the physical effects of his life-style by-passed him and were inflicted by some ugly twist of fate on his mother instead. It was a sort of 'Dorian Gray' situation, where his mother took the place of his own decaying portrait. Everybody in the family had rows with him. There were frightful scenes, endless flare-ups, and he even came to blows with an uncle of mine on one occasion. I tried with the rest of them, but got nowhere.
We had all given up, when things dramatically changed, or so my aunt said. It was almost as if he had a conversion experience, been struck by an angel of light, or something heavy!
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