Last summer my old school pal, Claire, rang me in a panic, begging me to take in her two best mates for a week while they tried out a seaside break in Brighton. I felt obliged to say yes, even though Id already hinted:
Peak holiday season, love I cant just hand over a room for free, but I also dont fancy charging you friends outright.
Claire laughed it off. Dont worry, theyll pay. Money isnt the issue; they just fear being ripped off by dodgy landlords who take an upfront fee and then lock out guests or kick them out midstay.
I fell for that. Had I known the cost, Id have declined on the spot.
Feeling a tad uncomfortable, I offered them a generous discount about half the usual rate.
The day arrived. Instead of the promised family with a tenyearold lad, a teenage girl turned up alongside them. Oh well, I thought, theyre acquaintances. The threeperson room, however, was far from cosy.
The welcome was warm. I whipped up a proper British dinner, then gave them a quick tour of the towns charms before retreating to my own chores.
The next morning the guests son, eager as ever, blasted a waterpistol at the TV, shattering the screen. His parents were in the room, but that didnt stop the mischief. They apologised profusely and promised to foot the repair bill, but the set was beyond fixing (still waiting for a tech). I tossed them a spare TV from the next room. Whatll you be doing this evening? I asked.
Later that day the teenage girl, distracted, forgot to fill the kettle and ended up boiling an empty pot. Classic.
Then, as they tried to rearrange the cramped space, two pieces of furniture gave way a nightstand leg and a table leg. They giggled, Heehee, youve got loads of furniture! Well tape the table leg and stick something under the nightstand nothing fancy.
The climax was a raucous party that roared on until two in the morning, complete with slurred chants and shrieks. At 11p.m. I asked them to turn the music down. Their drunken reply: Were paying, love, so we can party. After a second warning the volume finally dipped.
Arguing with inebriated guests seemed pointless, so I postponed the confrontation until the next day. When sunrise painted the sky, I sat the couple down and said plainly that their behaviour was unacceptable they werent the only ones on holiday, and they needed to treat the appliances with care.
They shrugged. We paid the money. I snapped, Then be grateful youre staying here as friends of a friend, otherwise youd be out on the street!
My words seemed to sober them up; the devices survived, and the revelry toned down. The friendship, however, didnt make it past that night.
We fell silent, yet they still made off with the little gifts and souvenirs Id prepared for them and our mutual friend. In the process they vanished with two large bath towels and a fleece sheet from the room.
Claire and I had been inseparable from our teenage years until she married and moved to Manchester. Shed always described her friends as polite, wellbehaved folk. If that were true, they could have been our regular summer guests.
In the end, Claire kept quiet for weeks, then finally hinted that the holiday had been a disaster for them: They kept saying I was nagging and killing the vibe, even though theyd paid a tidy sum!
Its a shame, but the cash they handed over didnt even cover a new TV, kettle, table, nightstand, linens, or towels not to mention the frayed nerves I now carry and the disappointment of other guests. It tarnishes our reputation, and next summer the resort might just choose another spot.
Still, Ive learned a massive lesson: sometimes the best answer is simply no.
