I have had to abandon the B&B over the last couple of weeks. Usually I can write this blog in a heart beat, leaving out a million more things that could be said, protecting guest’s modesty and our incompetence. Well sort of. Our incompetence is usually the best part of the story. But recently I have been working Away. In London. A teeny tiny speck in a vast stretch of everything.
Running the B&B remotely is not as much fun as I thought it would be. Trying to squeeze phone calls back home harassed, distracted, barking orders to the Husband (who also has a day job) about laundry pick ups, food intolerant guests and the best way to catch a mouse humanely. ‘No you have to drive it at least 3 miles away otherwise it will find its way back,’ that’s me shouting. I have made up the mileage. ‘Are you sure?? Isn’t that snails?’ that’s him. Knowing I exaggerate. ‘Just try it. Pop it in that dodgy Tupperware with the gap in the lid so it can still breathe’ that’s me. Micro-managing. ‘And don’t forget the children have swimming straight after school so make sure you have the duct tape for the verrucca because it really does work. And one of them has to take wellies in but I can’t remember which one’ that’s me again. Multi- thinking. ‘I know. I’ve got your ridiculous list stuck on the fridge. I can’t hear you very well… you’re breaking upppp’ that’s him, pretending he has lost signal. ‘I’m on the tube. I SAID I’M ON THE TUBE’. That’s me, very loudly. Losing him. And looking up to a carriage full of people glaring. Maybe it is me that’s breaking up…. ‘