October 25

At about the same time as yesterday, a silver car draws up outside the gate and hoots impatiently.  I wish people would realise just how long it takes to walk from the house down to the gate.  They expect you to materialise in front of their eyes within seconds of their arrival.

'Tell them to bugger off,' says John.  'If it's that woman from yesterday, tell her there's no electricity, no water, no internet, no television and it's double what we quoted her.'

John is not usually so unappreciative of drop-in customers. 

The problem is that if people stay tonight, we will obviously need to change the sheets and clean the cottage by the time other guests, who are booked, arrive tomorrow.  The unpredictability of the electricity may mean that this is not possible.  Already, there is a huge pile of ironing that is not done. We are running out of sheets.

There is a woman driving and a man in the passenger seat.  Throughout the whole conversation, he doesn't look up from his phone.

'Is this Limerick Lodge?' she asks.

'Yes.'

'How much is it for a couple for one night?'

I tell her.

'What are your rooms like?  Are they nice?'  

You'll be surprised at how many people ask us this question.  I'm tempted, as I always am, to say something like: 'Pretty awful.  Wouldn't stay here if I were you. Save yourself while you still can.'

Instead, I say: 'Very nice.' I try smiling, but it does not feel successful.

'Are your rooms . . . ' she hesitates.  Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. 'Are your rooms carpeted?'

'No.' I try what is best described as a sad wince.

'And that price, does it include breakfast?'

'No,' I say with another sad wince.  Inside, I feel triumphant. They will not stay.

'I see.  Thank you,' she says and puts her car into reverse.  

I am glad we do not have carpets. Their absence saved us a lot of washing.