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Landlady: Air B and Beer
Two weeks ago, I had an inundation of Airbnb clients. The Cuban Boyfriend, who is used to smoking copiously (although he would deny this) in the house, had to hang out of the bedroom window in order to continue his filthy habit, in order to give my Airbnb clients the illusion of a clean, sensible and orderly household run by grown-ups.
My first guest arrived from China (via Poole Valley coach station) at 2 in the morning, giving The Cuban and I a valid excuse to grace the portals of Wetherspoons until her arrival. Living in Scandinavia, The Cuban loves a Wetherspoons, where you can buy four pints of beer for the price of one pint in his own country.
On arrival, my Eastern guest proceeded to borrow my shampoo, then try to lower the price of the accommodation, which she’d already paid for. This was rather annoying, although I haven’t seen her since she arrived, she never uses the kitchen and insists on using her own bedding (rather than my own very high quality Egyptian Cotton and feather linen). Ultimately, I feel that her absence is worth a reduction in rent.
The following day, an older couple arrived for the weekend to stay in my smallest room (I don’t mean the bathroom) right at the top of the house. Far from keeping themselves to themselves, they proceeded to shout at each other all the way up the stairs, the man complaining that his wife wasn’t carrying anything. They seemed like an affluent couple, who could well afford to stay in a nice hotel, where they could argue all they liked in privacy. I felt guilty that they had to cram into my tiny guest room, so gave them free reign of the house, which I later regretted as every time I went onto the roof terrace or into the kitchen, at least one of them was there holding court or drinking wine or tea with my other lodgers. The Big Daughter, who loathes all house guests without exception, bought a pizza to eat on the Friday night, then couldn’t get into the kitchen to cook it because you know who was in there drinking wine and gassing endlessly. Eventually, she had to go out for a takeaway.
After the couple had left, I took seven empty wine bottles to the recycling bin. Not that I was counting…