Houseguests are a fucking nuisance.
You only invite them out of a sense of obligation, and generally the invite is just a polite formality – “you must call in on us sometime”. You know the kind of thing. It’s something polite you say, when you can’t think of anything else.
When they arrive, it is utter chaos. All your settled routines are disrupted, and instead of going down to the pub for a couple of pints, you have to bring your guests to somewhere fancy, and invariable to some place neither you nor your guests really want to visit and it’s always somewhere expensive.
When they finally depart, they leave you broke and exhausted and regretting that you ever gave out your address in the first place.
We have just gotten rid of a houseguest. She flew out from Cork a couple of days ago without offering to pick up even half the tab having stayed for four days and having been wined and dined at the best of places. Fucking rude, I call that.
Now we have another houseguest arriving tomorrow.
We are trying to put a brave face on things. We barely have time to scrub out the toilets and wash the sheets before some bloke called O’Bama decides to treat himself to a free night’s board and lodging. What’s worse. he has decided to bring his own stuff, which you would thing would be good news, but it means we have to shut down our airport so he can fly in a fleet of cars and helicopters. For fuck’s sake! Doesn’t he know we are advanced enough to have our own cars we could lend him? Thank God it’s only for one night. God knows what the fuck he would have dumped on us if it had been for longer.
All these houseguests are going to leave us punch-drunk and even broker than we were before. I am just dreading that call that we are bound to get from France or Germany or Outer Mongolia. The word has obviously spread that we are suckers for a free meal.
Would you all please stop calling?
When we casually mutter something about dropping in, if you are in the neighbourhood, WE DON’T REALLY MEAN IT.