**Diary Entry: “Enough is Enough!” – Emily Refused to Host Guests Who Turned Her Flat Into a Free B&B**
Sometimes life throws you a story so strange, it feels like you’re reading a sitcom script—except the only ones laughing are the spectators. For the person living it, there’s nothing amusing or easy about it. That’s exactly the tale my neighbour Emily, a gentle, quiet woman in her mid-thirties, recently shared with me. At first glance, she’s the picture of refinement, but as it turns out, even the most patient souls have their limits.
She used to live in Manchester, working at a local library and mingling in a circle of mutual acquaintances—a mixed bunch, but harmless enough. Among them was Alex, a jovial chap with a knack for flirting, whom she’d occasionally see at casual gatherings over tea. They weren’t close, just passing familiar faces. Later, Emily moved to London, built a career, and settled into a cosy flat in Kensington, nearly forgetting those old ‘friends’ from her past.
Then one day… Alex reappeared.
Years had passed—he’d married, divorced, then remarried. They bumped into each other by chance on holiday in Brighton. Oddly, Alex was alone, not with his new wife. Emily didn’t pry—it wasn’t her business. Yet he kept probing: *How’s life? Where are you living now? Any plans?* She humoured him politely but without enthusiasm.
A week later, he called:
*”Listen, me and Sophie—my ex-wife—are in London for a couple of days. Mind if we crash at yours?”*
Emily was stunned. Before she could politely refuse, they were at her doorstep with suitcases three hours later. *Fine*, she thought. *A day or two, I’ll manage.* But two days became five… then indefinitely.
Alex and Sophie made themselves at home. They lounged in their underwear, demanded meals, threw impromptu dance parties late into the night, drank from her crystal glasses, left messes everywhere, and even invited strangers over—*”just for a quick chat.”*
*”Can we stay one more night? It’s so cosy here!”* Sophie chirped, helping herself to Emily’s fridge.
Emily clenched her teeth until day five, then showed them the door. She lied about feeling ill and invented urgent work. The moment they left, she scrubbed the flat spotless and vowed: *Never again.*
A month passed. Just as Emily regained her peace, Alex called again.
*”Hey! Me and my new wife, Claire, will be in town for a week. How’ve you been? We’d love to stay!”*
This time, something inside Emily snapped. She sat bolt upright in her chair.
*This isn’t cheekiness anymore. It’s an invasion.*
Calm but firm, she replied:
*”Alex, I respect you, but my flat isn’t a hotel. I don’t have the energy—or the patience—to go through this again. If you’re in London, there are hotels, hostels, rentals. I hope you understand.”*
Alex hesitated, then hung up. No thanks, no apology—just silence.
Later, Emily confided in me:
*”I used to think being ‘nice’ meant never saying no. Now I realise—respect starts with yourself. If I don’t want guests, that doesn’t make me cruel. It makes me wise.”*
Was she right to stand her ground? Or should she have taken pity and let them in one more time? Where’s the line between kindness and sheer audacity?
