So, this phone call. Its from Jim*, he is going to be arriving at 10.30pm this evening, is it OK if he comes through the back door? I confirm that it is. Can he have the telephone number for the local taxi firm? I get the card and asks me to wait whilst he fishes his pen and some paper out of his bag...........I suggest that perhaps it would be quicker if I text him the number (as I lift the now boiled to a mush potatoes off of the cooker, burning my hand in the process). He agrees that would be best. "I am OK for breakfast tomorrow at 7am aren't I?" he asks. I mention that actually we don't start til 7.15am but of course 7am is no problem, whilst straining the mushed potatoes and making a mental note to set my alarm at 5.30am instead of 5.45am for tomorrow.
I finally get Jim off the line as the "chip repair" man pulls into the car park. Before he went out in the morning the
So long story short, chip man sorted out Rm 5's car, shame the attitude couldn't be fixed with a quick buff, and the rest of the evening passed in whirl during which I longed for gin, took a tin out of the oven using a cloth, put it down, spoke to my husband turned round and picked the tin up again, without a cloth, I cried, ran hand under cold tap, longed for gin, served dinner, longed for gin, fought with husband about the fact that the dogs were barking, longed for gin and went to bed at 8pm.
Next morning up bright and early to serve Jim his breakfast at 7am. He came down at 7.15am. Now this is no big deal. It really isn't an issue, but when you work 7 days a week and have to get up incredibly early every single day and rarely have a morning when the alarm isn't going to go off getting up 15 minutes early is a bit of a pisser. But a fact of life in this job, it's OK, I got over it.
Room 3 (young couple her: very short, very fat, very tattooed, him: very tall, very thin, very scared looking) plumbed new depths of appalling guest breakfast room etiquette when she hoicked up her grimy t-shirt to expose a massive roll of fat (please note that is the correct technical term, I should know I have several, I just don't share them with unsuspecting fellow diners) and with an elaborate flourish swabbed the area and gave herself her insulin shot, complete with gasp and sharply inhaled breath lest anyone had missed her cracking out her Greggs' legacy.
And then finally at 8.15am breakfast was finished. Breakfast room cleared down, lights off. At 8.30am Room 5 and his wife appeared and sauntered into the breakfast room. When I explained that sorry but we had finished breakfast he suddenly turned into "angry thug". You know that chest-puff thing that aggressive men do to one another, arms out to the side, chest pushed forward fronting up to one another like rutting stags? That. At me. In my own home. I was tempted believe you me, but the little voice in the back of my head kept saying "Trip Advisor, just remember Trip Advisor" so I smiled (again, same reason) and offered them tea and toast, which they accepted with the good grace of a pair of stroppy two year olds and then left, having had half a cup of tea and half a slice of toast. Sometimes I want gin before 9am you know. But I can't because at 9am I start my day job......
One day all of this might find its way into a book, this was a genuine period of 6pm one evening to 8.45am the following morning, not even a full 24 hours and this sort of stuff happens day in day out. Remind me to tell you about Mr English, Idiot Boy and Knobber sometime.
*I changed his name. His real name is Ben.