Last year, an old friend of mine called me in a flurry of excitement and begged me to host her nearest and dearest mates for a week at my home. Apparently, they’d decided to relax on the glorious British seaside, right in our quaint village. It felt strange to say no, so I agreed while giving them a heads-up:
Peak season, folks! I cant just offer a free room to everyone, but on the other hand, Id feel rather awkward charging your pals full whack.
My friend replied, Darling, theyll pay. Moneys no object. They’re just worried about chance encounters with those dodgy sorts who take payment upfront, then leave visitors locked out, or boot them halfway through their holiday.
Well, I walked straight into it. If only I knew what this holiday would truly cost me, Id have bolted in the opposite direction.
Overwhelmed with guilt, I gave them a generous discount. They got the room for half price.
Their arrival day was a curious spectacle. Instead of the promised family, I got a teenage girl and a ten-year-old boy. You could call them friends, I suppose. Awkward doesnt begin to cover the atmosphere in a three-person room!
Our meeting was civil enough. I attempted to cook a nice meal and, after dinner, showed them all the local sightshistoric pubs, seaside amusements, and the worlds smallest museum. I wished them well and hurried off to my own tasks.
On day two, the guests son decided to blast a working television with a water pistol. The parents sat in the room, unbothered. When the TV fizzled out (still waiting for repair, by the way), they apologised and promised to cover the costs. I gave them the spare telly from the next room. Evening entertainment saved, apparently!
Next, a friendly family member scorched my kettle. My apologiesthe teenage girl forgot to add water.
Then came their interior decorating skills (the room was apparently too pokey). Two legs snapped, one from the bedside table and another from the desk. They found it hilariousOh, youve got plenty of this old furniture! Well just slap some tape on the desk leg, pop a book under the table, no big deal!
The grand finale? An almighty party carried on until two in the morning. Shouting, singing, drunken yelpsthe works. When I mentioned around eleven that perhaps the music could come down a notch, they quipped, Relax, mate. Weve paid for this holiday! Albeit, after my second grumble, the noise did subside a smidge.
No sense arguing with the inebriated. I waited till morning and had a proper chat with the couple, explaining their behaviour simply wasnt cricket. They werent the only guests on holiday and, perhaps, could treat appliances with a tad more respect.
They shrugged, unimpressed: Weve paid, havent we. Well, that really ruffled my feathers: Thanks for coming as friends of a friendotherwise, you wouldnt be here at all!
After that, the whole entourage behaved more reasonably, and the gadgets survived intact. But our budding friendship ended right there.
We stopped talking altogether. That didnt prevent them from swiping the gifts and souvenirs Id set aside for them and our mutual friend. Added bonus: two huge bath towels and a terracotta sheet vanished as well.
I must add, these were supposedly my friends absolute best mates. She and I had been thick as thieves all through sixth form, up until she married and moved to a different town. She always raved about how lovely and well-mannered her friends were. If only! Had they really been so, they couldve spent every summer here.
So it goes. My friend stayed silent for ages, but one day she confessed on the phone that her friends hated their holiday: They said you were always picking faults and ruined the mood. And, mind you, they paid loads!
Sorry, but the money they handed over didn’t even cover a new telly, kettle, desk, bedside table, sheets and towels. Not to mention my frazzled nerves and grumpy fellow guests. Thats not great for the guesthouses reputationnext year, summer visitors may flock elsewhere.
However, Ive gathered invaluable experience and now I absolutely know that, sometimes, the best thing you can say is simply: no.
