Weekends are pretty hectic at Torrisdale. Saturday is usually change-over day for the holiday cottages and a minute after kick-out time (10am) an army of over-60s, headed by my MiL, descend on the houses to remove all trace of the previous occupants. It’s like Kim and Aggie meets Dad’s Army Wives meets CSI. I am not yet involved in the cleaning but I like to think I’m doing my bit with the laundry. The NASA style washing machine and dryer are housed in our bathroom so it’s a case of chipping away at the gargantuan mound of washing piled up outside until all that’s left is the gargantuan pile of family laundry. Very occasionally I catch myself thinking, Lady Mary (Downton) would never have to do THIS*. And then I remember we’re not living in a ropey early 20th century period-pain drama. Phew.
Another task I’m enjoying is the meeting and greeting of guests. I do love a chat with a total stranger** and have met some really lovely people. We get a lot of repeat bookings so faces become very familiar. It’s wonderful to see people falling in love with the place. I do need to up my game on the history though. I’ve found myself making up nonsense when asked, perfectly reasonably, who built it and lived in it in The Olden Days. I think I should probably stop spewing forth a thinly disguised Downton Abbey plot. Apart from anything else, it just sounds so implausible…
*Another random thought I have frequently occurs when trying to change an explosive nappy on a wriggling toddler. I can’t help but wonder, does Victoia Beckham ever get poo on her hands and then forget to wash before preparing dinner and then remembers halfway through her mince and tatties….
**I can’t pretend anymore. I’m turning into my mother.