Well be staying at your place for a bit we cant afford to rent our own flat! announced my friend, as if she was kindly bringing round some scones, not moving in her entire family.
Ive always considered myself an active woman sixty-five and still going strong. I love visiting new places and meeting the most peculiar people. With a mixture of fondness and exasperation, I recall my youthful days. Back then, you could spend your holidays anywhere you fancied! Trip to the seaside? Too easy. Camping with friends in the Lake District? Why not! You could even float lazily down any river you liked. And the best part? You could do all of it with just a bit of change from your handbag.
But, alas, those days are long past.
I always adored mingling with people. Id strike up conversations on Brighton beach, or in the queue for the West End. With many of these acquaintances, I kept in touch for years.
Thats how I met a woman named Margaret. We ended up in the same B&B one summer holiday and left as bosom pals. Years rolled by. We exchanged the odd Christmas card or a letter dipped in nostalgia. Then, out of the blue, a telegram arrived. No signature, simply: Train gets in at 3 am. Meet me at the station!
I hadnt a clue whod sent it. Naturally, my husband and I stayed in. But at four in the morning, the doorbell rang. When I opened it, I very nearly fainted. There was Margaret, armed with two teenage girls, an elderly mother, a man I presumed was her brother, and an avalanche of baggage. My husband and I just gaped like goldfish. Then, in they all barrelled, and Margaret said,
Well! Why didnt you collect us from the station? I sent you a telegram! And the taxi was absolutely extortionate!
Sorry, but I had no idea it was you!
Well, youve got my address, so here we are!
I mean, I thought wed just exchange letters. That was all!
Margaret then explained that the eldest girl had finished school this year and was off to university, and the whole clan had come to cheer her on.
Well stay with you just until we get sorted. We cant possibly afford rent! And youre so handily near the centre!
Honestly, I was stunned. We werent even related. Why on earth should we let them all move in? Suddenly, my husband and I were running a full-scale B&B three meals a day. Theyd bring a supermarket bag of apples but never cooked a thing. It was up to me to play hostess, chef, and washer-up.
After three days, with my sanity hanging by a thread, I kindly asked Margaret and her entourage to find somewhere else. Frankly, I didnt care where. Cue: utter pandemonium. Margaret began smashing a vase and screeching like shed lost an Oscar, while the rest carried on as if it were a pantomime.
I was appalled. Eventually, they left, but not without swiping my best dressing gown, a stash of towels, and, somehow, my prized casserole dish complete with the cabbage stew still in it! Heaven knows how they spirited that away. The casserole is now a legend in our household.
And so, that chapter of friendship ended with the subtlety of a Shakespearean tragedy. Thank goodness for that! Never seen them since and these days, Im a bit more circumspect when making new friends.
