Help! I’m turning into Basil Fawlty

Basil Fawlty ended up beating his car with a tree branch after doing B&B for years, and I am very near that point after six months of dealing with customers.

Among the many requests I’ve had since opening en suite rooms in my house in Ireland I can now add: ‘I would like a throw.’

An American lady and her husband checked into our largest double room with a king-sized bed, marble bathroom and spectacular view, and she came straight back out, down the stairs calling my name urgently – so urgently I thought she must have found a dead rat in the bed – and pronounced: ‘Ah. Now. Do you have a throw?’

The lady explained that she wanted to take a nap, but she didn’t want to go under the duvet. Basil Fawlty would have said: ‘Oh a throw! Yes, why not! A throw!’ And after turning to screech at Sybil to get whatever a throw was, he would mutter under his breath: ‘I’ll give you a throw… I’ll throw you out if you don’t stop bothering me…’

But the builder boyfriend was away in London so my Sybil wasn’t available. ‘A throw, of course,’ I said, thinking: ‘Dear me, the throws I have are all covered in dog hair.’ Then I remembered that I had some dry-cleaned patchwork quilts. I found her one and handed it over. As she took it, she said she would like the heating on. It was 4 p.m. on an April day and while it was raining outside, it was warm.

Basil would have said: ‘Heating at 4 p.m.? Oh, why not! And while you’re at it, would you like to burn some pound notes from my wallet? Here you are…’ And he’d empty his money in front of her, produce a lighter and invite her to set it on fire.

I said: ‘Of course, please feel free to turn the thermostat around.’ And I demonstrated the dial outside her room which burned oil, drained my bank account and reduced the already tight margins on doing B&B rooms for €50 a night.

I mused over some cheap velour throws in Aldi later that day but decided that if I offered an inexpensive machine-washable throw it would only lead to guests finding fault with it. ‘This throw is a bit small. Do you have a larger one?’

Of course, most of the guests who come to Kitey Towers are wonderful, like the farm boy from South Island, New Zealand, who stayed for two nights so he could do the Mizen Head. I cooked spag bol and he entertained the BB and I with tales of his travels, working on Irish sheep farms. Then there was the US Marine who said ‘Yes ma’am’ to everything and liked Donald Trump, so that was a meeting of minds.

These people only ever stay one or two nights, come and go quietly, and leave five-star reviews. The longer the stay, the more problematic the guest. You know you’ve got big trouble when someone tries to book in for a month.

I have one currently. She arrived arguing, spends every day arguing, and will argue until the day she checks out. I hope she checks out.

It’s too cold, she says. I turn up the heating and she comes out of her room to complain that it’s too hot. I turn the heating down and I get a message on the booking system complaining she’s cold again. We had a heatwave for a week and, as I sunbathed outside in a bikini, she came at me with a sour expression and requested a hot-water bottle.

She demanded an iron and when I said we don’t provide irons, she went looking for one, found one, turned it on and complained that it was dangerous. ‘Your iron is sparking! There are loose wires in it!’ she extemporised, with a horrible dark look on her face.

Bunny boilers, these long-stayers. Not eccentric and endearing like the major in Fawlty Towers. These are people who are so difficult and argumentative they cannot rent a home to live in on normal terms, probably because no one will have them. They get their feet under your table and start ordering you about.

I should have told her to sling her hook, but I wanted the money so I smiled and said: ‘Oh dear, let me take that from you and just demonstrate that it works. There we are, perfectly working iron, no sparking, no loose wires, no need for law suits. No need for the United Nations to get involved. Thank you! Thank you so much!’

I got in the car to go and look for an iron with one of those EU safety stickers on them to show they’ve been tested but couldn’t find one. Distracted, I left the car boot open after unloading some shopping. Later that day, I got in the car to nip out for some breakfast items I had forgotten but the battery was flat. The boot light had drained it. ‘You evil swine!’ I yelled at the poor Suzuki.

I am turning into Basil Fawlty, but I see no way around it.