I'm a Mole

I feel like I'm a mole.  That's been underground for a long time and has suddenly emerged into the light and air, and who, all of a sudden, after days and weeks, has space to move around in and stretch.

I've got time to write a blog, play the piano, have a bath in my own bathroom, and go out to dinner at the Peter Tavy with Esteemed Partner to celebrate the clear fact that my B&B and house rentals are, without any doubt at all, a resounding success.

I am such a perfectionist in my work that it has been something of a roller-coaster though.  Sometimes it has felt that anything that can possibly go wrong will go wrong.  And because I suffer from early onset dementia - well it feels like it to me anyway - I always seem to forget something.  And I simply cannot bear to make mistakes and get things wrong. Or get told off.  I have been moving around in a state of exhausted, permanent, apprehension.

All my guests have been extremely nice about this though, and many have just laughed at the inevitable errors of a new B&B-er.

My first four visitors all arrived at once and honestly, they were so nice, and so along the same lines as Esteemed Partner and myself, that I really felt, had they lived around here, they would have become close friends.

When the new loo lever went wrong, Robert mended it himself, and when the adapter for the silly continentally plugged kettles blew up because it was meant for 1 amp shavers, he personally went to Newton Abbot to buy three sensible adapters from the pound shop, and refused to accept payment for them.

A more mature couple,  with the most delightful little dog called 'Spud', found that despite my changing all the telly's from 'freeview' to 'freesat' at late notice and vast expense, they still didnt work, nor did the light switch in their bathroom.  Having silently lost my temper inside my head on both counts, I subsequently discovered there was nothing wrong with either - we had simply been using the wrong switches.  I wrote down their breakfast requests, but then didn't read my notes and only gave them one poached egg instead of two, and forgot to lay any cups or glasses; yet despite all this I felt they became very fond of and paternal towards me.

I have repeatedly not quite finished laying the table when my guests appear for breakfast at the time they said they would come, and on one occasion I forgot to offer them tea or coffee!  Sometimes I forget to wear an apron, or even put on some shoes for serving!

I have finally learned how not to over-book, with all the calendars I have to complete for every booking; but the worst moment was when I came back to find the kitchen awash.  'Agh, those delightful swiss children have left the bathwater running with plug left in," I thought. But no - water was pouring through the ceiling into my £90 room, 'Bellever'.  Meanwhile a car came up the drive, which was the guest that I had already double-booked and who I had had to move down to Bellever from the poshest room (my room) which he originally asked for.

We sat at the garden table in the sun, while I had a Cava and a fag, and explained the situation to him, while Esteemed Partner hot-footed it over from Ashburton to help solve the problem, as the water continued to pour down.

I will tell you what happened next when I get around to it!