Well, yes it was worth it – we loved it, now we don’t let anymore it’s good to look back. Even though there were a lot of unexpected occasions.
Having a holiday apartment attached to our house has brought us many friends; visitors who return year after year in the summer to enjoy the lovely Pembrokeshire coastline and all the other attractions this part of West Wales offers. We love seeing them again. And we are fortunate to meet many new people as well.
But there have been downsides. Or should I say, occasions that made us think again about sharing our home.
I’ll start with the vicar, his wife.
They arrived two hours early. But I’d finished the cleaning …
it was pouring down and there was no reason not to let them go in and settle into the apartment.
Within minutes there was a knock on the house door. Did we mind if they rang their daughter to tell them they’d arrived and to come and see where they were. Not at all we said. What they didn’t say was that the daughter was on holiday with two other couples – and five children. They came and stayed for the rest of the day. Okay, we thought, we’re not insured to have thirteen people in our one bedroomed apartment but it was still raining. And we felt sorry for them. And they’ll be gone soon.
We found out the following day, they were camping in tents in a local farmer’s field. With no showers or cooking facilities.Alarm bells started to ring. Loudly!
Weren’t we the mugs!
The daughter, friends, kids arrived the next day, and the next, and the next – and the next. They stayed indoors when it rained and, when it didn’t the children ran riot over the garden until they were all ready to go to the beach. In the evening they came back to cook their meals and to bath the kids. What happened to the children after that we never found out but the adults always appeared to be having a party until the early hours ‘ I thought we had a vicar staying?’ Husband said with gritted teeth as we lay in bed at one in the morning listening to the gales of laughter and crashing of doors. He was, it has to be said, slightly narked because he’d had to have a cold shower earlier because all the hot water had been used up. (the house and apartment run on the same heating, electricity and water supply).
The crunch (the last straw, the one that broke the camel’s -er husband’s temper– to coin a mixed cliché) came later in the night – three in the morning to be exact. We were woken by a loud bang. One of the friends had backed into Husband’s car. Well, as far as he was concerned, enough was enough! I should add at this point, he’s usually pretty easy going. But a trampled garden and a dent in his car was the tipping point.
They had to leave!
Easier said than done. The vicar and his wife refused to budge; there was some very un-vicar -like language bandied about, the wife turned into a screaming fishwife, my husband turned a worrying shade of crimson and I knew we were out of our depth.
We called the letting agent. ‘Come and sort it out,’ Husband demanded, ‘or I will.’ Worrying; in all the years we’ve been married I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen his ‘sorting out’ . It wasn’t a reassuring thought.
In the meantime the daughter, friends and kids turned up for another day of fun and frolics. Unfortunately it was a fine day and the kids decided to play football – mostly amongst the flower beds. And this time they had two dogs with them. ‘Where did they come from?’ Husband appeared from his shed with plastic bag in hand, pushing it at one of the men and pointing to defecating pooch Apparently they were usually left in the tents. ‘Not much of a holiday for them, then,’ was Husband’s comment.
The agent arrived. He went into the apartment and came out looking slightly apprehensive. They followed him outside. There was lots of finger pointing. He wasn’t getting anywhere with them. Surrounded by shouting people I did feel sorry for him. But all I wanted was them all to leave and to have a husband go back to his usual colour and with less teeth gritting.
It took the agent three hours to persuade them to go. And another two for them to pack up. Husband stood guard on the drive, glaring at mad dogs and kid. I went indoors (always the coward!)
Which poor souls got them after that we never found out. I breathed a sigh of relief. Until I went into the apartment. It took me ten hours to clean. I won’t go into further detail.
Husband put a ban on vicars.
And then there was the Football Man …
And the Hippies …
And the couple with the heavily pregnant wife – who wasn’t – when the three of them left. Worked it out?
Oh, and the couple who insisted Husband was growing his vegetables all wrong and decided to give us a surprise. Husband went only slightly crimson that time.
And the …
And the …
All stories for another time …
Here we are:
And I’m here: