P is not for palatial

A friend just told me that she’s looking forward to visiting our palatial home.  Spacious, yes; palatial, no.  I’ve told her to think again.  Think barn conversion without the conversion.  Cows not kings.

Our first real guest was due today.  Real because she is not under 10, she is not related, and she is not forewarned.  Melanie and Dom stayed, but they don’t fully count.  They’ve visited before and knew what to expect.  They’d seen the X-rated bathroom that’s just one clinging shower curtain away from a horror film set.  And though not under ten, they’re still young enough to think it’s OK to go to a party with a bottle and a sleeping bag without having also to book in with the chiropractor in anticipation of the next morning's drinkers’ palsy, as my physio called it.

We’ve done our best.

 

Melanie’s only complaint was that she couldn’t get to the window for air in the night so we’ve cleared a passageway to the airway through the still-boxed artwork.

I have visions of guests stumbling over themselves to explain why it is they don’t need to wash.  I would understand.  Bidets give me the willies too.  This one in particular.  I’ve not even cleaned it.  I have visions of guests receiving fictional phone calls summoning them away before they need to avail themselves of the bathroom.  We’ve made it a little better, with a brighter light, but it’s still dingy.  What else could it be in shades of terracotta with no natural light?  It was the last room in the house that I ever entered.  Perhaps that's why Anna postponed.  Perhaps she thought she could go two nights without a wash, but not three.

I had a good idea that I could at least cover up the flock carpet in the bathroom.  It’s ragged.  It's worn.  You might want to wear flip flops.  I had a good idea that I could use some of the leftover carpet from London in there as it would at least be a layer between our guests and athlete’s foot.  But then I realised the carpet would prevent the door from closing, so flock carpet it is.

Guests get to complete their ablutions in brighter surroundings.  The loo is at least a little more cheerful, with natural light with tomato walls.  The loo and basin are the Indian turquoise that I once adored.  It can still cast me back to my Trinidadian childhood.  While the bathroom is en suite to the guest room, the loo is just outside the bedroom door, off the playroom, but close enough for a midnight dash.  It’s not as private as you might hope with an internal window onto the bedroom, but at least there’s a curtain… and it almost covers the window.  The external window has a fabulous purple and orange covering, designed to look like curtains, but actually a single construction controlled by a rod.  The mirror tiles affixed to the wall rather haphazardly take you back to an earlier, more basic, era.

Well, D-day tomorrow.  We shall do the real, live grown-up guest test.  We wait and see if she runs screaming in horror.