ONE mid-morning about this time last year Liz and I passed each other on the stairs. After a busy hour making breakfasts – specialities pancakes with maple syrup and creamy scrambled eggs with smoked salmon – she was on her way down with an armful of used sheets and pillowcases before tackling the north slope of the ironing mountain.
After a morning of melon slicing, bacon grilling and pan-washing, I was heading up with bathroom-cleaning kit while pulling on the Marigolds; true, not the usual macho, hell-of-a-game, mine's-a-ginger-beer image I like to project, but we all have our
little secrets.
We paused to gaze into each other's eyes, as we so often do, but the pause lasted longer than usual. Eventually I said: "I don't think I want to do this any more."
She clutched the banister: "Thank goodness for that. I was hoping you'd say it first."
I realise that four years of running a bed and breakfast business is no big deal. We have friends who have done it for more than 20 years and one in particular was a source of inspiration, information and advance warnings. We knew it would be hard work providing five-star gold service based on the simple premise of being a B&B that we would like to stay in, but old ideas of nylon sheets, shared bathrooms and breakfasts heavy on the baked beans and hash browns die hard.
"B&B?" said a work colleague when Liz first mentioned the idea. "Money for old rope."
How I wanted him to come and do a morning stint when the temperature rose in the kitchen as we tried to get separate orders for kippers, smoked haddock, and our local-produce breakfasts to the table at the same time. No wonder Gordon Ramsay swears.
Nor could we persuade our acquaintance to come and clean bathrooms for a week, vacuum, dust and polish, hang out several loads of washing after each changeover, do a few hours at the ironing board, take tea and home-made scones to new arrivals, cut the grass or clean the windows. And be prepared, as you finally sit down with a coffee and newspaper, for a knock on the kitchen door.
Providing quality service was hard, satisfying work as we knew it would be. But it had its own fascination, although not necessarily shared. I realised that when I found myself saying at a party: "Interestingly, not everyone has a sausage…" You can tell when you've lost an audience.
What else did we learn about our fellow humans? Mainly that anyone under 35 will be untidy. Guests of a certain age – ours – kept rooms and bathrooms almost as clean and neat as they found them.
We found there were differences not only between nationalities – all Canadians are friendly and open, American veer between extremes of courtesy and abrasiveness – but between areas of Britain. There's little you can tell anyone from Yorkshire.
But most of all we learned from inspirational octogenarians downwards that there is a lot to life after retirement and that age is only in the mind. That helped us decide to quit while ahead. Never mind the weather, this has been a most enjoyable summer.
The full article contains 548 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
