Monday, 25 July 2016

The Kitchen is Closed

So, my foreign students went and left, as they do and I've figured out how to reset my Facebook settings from Spanish back to English.

So folks, but if any of you are looking for any class of hospitality in the coming weeks, don't bother coming to me.  I can direct you to a lovely hotel down the room.  If you insist on coming here, I can point you towards the kettle and the fridge.  I can't guarantee fresh milk, or biscuits, so it's best that you BYO.  (Naturally, there is a universal exception for wine).

I can't stand over the quality of my toilet facilities either.  It's been three action packed weeks of having two teenage boys here, on top of my own 8 year old one.  All I'll say is that, over the last three weeks, that I have reminded of a poster that my aunt Kathleen and uncle Ciaran had in their bathroom when I was a child, bearing a poignant poem that still has developed meaning over the years -  'If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat'.

If you would like early-morning homemade pancakes any time soon, can I suggest the Bay Tree in town?  Because I'm done.  At least until Back to School.  The same goes for packed, flipping, lunches.  I won't fret over a balanced diet, human hair, dog hair in food.  If I run out of mayonnaise or milk, we will do without.  (If you are balking at the idea of dog hair in food, just think of it as protein supplement - you heard the ads about keratin in hair, right?)

As for the Socks & Jocks.

Let's face it.  Laundering clothes and undergarments is a chore.

Your children's - You tolerate, only because you love them.  And to gather ammunition for later years. Who, may I ask, invented white, or pastel Socks & Jocks for little people? I'll tell you -  Someone who doesn't have little people, or who doesn't do laundry, that's who.

Guests Socks & Jocks.  Let's just say that there's a limit to what one will do in the name of international relations.

If anyone needs me, I'll be the one lying back on my own couch, slathered in fake tan, drinking wine at 8pm, because night time Josephine Le Taxi has turned off her sign until the end of August.  I may, or may not wear a bra.  I might be cutting my toe nails.  I might be reading, or writing a blog, like I am now, hooray ! (And just for the record, I'm fully clothed as I write this).

I may actually sit down for the full duration of a meal.  The meal may be cream crackers and jam, or some sort of flat carbohydrate with a paste from a jar.  It's unlikely that there will be a table cloth, or napkins.  There may not even be a plate.  My excuse for not shopping is that I need supplies to go down to allow me to 'see what's there' and to create a better view of the mould in the fridge.

There will be no extended queuing for my one-toilet-only Hobbit House, and if there happened to be, I'll ask my children to pee in the garden.  The bringing of electronic devices into the bathroom shall be strictly prohibited.

I may or may not wash the stack of dishes in the sink, or maybe ever, as an experiment on self-cleaning.

But if truth were told, the house seems quiet and I miss hearing The Spaniard belting out tunes from the shower.

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