Rural Idyll

When friends and family come to visit, I have fantasies of inviting them into my beautiful, idyllic cottage. I imagine that I will have finished all the decorating, there will be fresh flowers in the guest bedroom, home-made bread will be rising in the Aga, I will have completed my over-ambitious gardening project so we can all have civilised drinks on the breakfast terrace, I will wow everyone with my home-made chutneys and apple pies using fruit grown by my very own hands, the bedding will be freshly laundered and ironed, the animals will behave impeccably well, etc, etc.

This is no way ever reflects the reality.

What happens is this:

My guests are always parked up and waiting on the driveway for me to arrive home, because I am so rudely late. So I hare through the gate, slipping on the rotten apples (that I have failed yet again to pick up), full of apologies, which they cannot hear because my over-sized, ridiculous hound is stood on her hind legs, pressed against the window, barking like hell unleashed, slobbering all over the glass and looking really fierce. The guests are bursting for the toilet (of course) so I wrestle with my front door, which, due to the house falling down no longer fits its frame, fall over the coats and shoes and unopened post, all the while being whooped and cheered on by Wally the parrot who is positioned at the end of the hall-way, open the inner front door and race up the stairs before everyone else to flush the toilet chain and check for loo-roll, picking up dirty knickers clothes on the way. Then I slam the bedroom doors shut (best to hide the mess) and shout that they may now use the bathroom.

I do have a downstairs bathroom, but you have to be brave to use it. Placed on the back of the house as an afterthought, it looks like a Swedish sauna and I use it as a dumping ground for things such as a panel saw and disc-cutter. I am also scared of spiders so I have stopped opening the door incase there are some giant ones in there.

Then I survey the astonishing mess in my kitchen. I am lucky in that I have an enormous, plain-glass window across the width of the kitchen that looks directly onto rolling fields, I am always distracted by the beautiful views. The window is single pane and has gaps around the edges because the frame is rotten and therefore leaks and lets in a howling wind, but I love to look out of it.  I do not know, I really don’t, how so much mess happens. I reckon the sheep pop in during the day and have a little party with the cattle and use all the crockery and cutlery to do so.

So I charge about the house, stuffing socks down the sides of the sofas, spraying air freshener and lighting candles to try to get rid of the distinctly pungent aroma of dog farts and stick the kettle on. Whilst the water is boiling, I decide to check the garden for dog poo and discover that yes, my dog does indeed shit at least ten times a day and no, the fairy has not been for the last week so the lawns resemble a training ground for landmine clearance. Hence, the second sight guests are greeted with is me, racing around with a horse poop-scoop and a black bin liner, picking up elephant sized crap in order for them to enjoy their tea or coffee outside, in the rural idyll.  Guests then make their own tea/ coffee, they can see I have my hands full.

As the dog runs through her repertoire of party tricks for the visitors (wall of death around the garden, thorough search of their handbags followed by a smash and grab of an item from it, slobber on the most expensive trousers, loud fart, toy that has been left in the rain is rammed into someones crotch area, and so on) and I reassure everyone that the milk in their drink is supposed to have lumps in it, I usually start to admit defeat. Realisation dawns that my hosting skills have sadly not met my own expectations, I am not Kirsty Allsop or Nigella Lawson, Domestic Goddess, I am an optimist, not a realist.

Without rose-tinted glasses, what I and my guests are confronted with, is a house that looks like a tornado has recently ripped through it. Unkempt, apple and conker-littered lawns, bare, stripped walls with exposed plaster in the living room, no curtains (I hate them) or even rails for curtains to go on, an unholy mess in the kitchen, a conservatory that has been turned into a parrot playroom with a three-man sofa for the dog to lounge on, an avocado bathroom suite with test-patches of paint on each of the walls, mouldy window frames (I don’t know why I find that funny but I do), freezing cold because I cannot afford oil for the central heating, a beautiful Aga that is out of action because of the oil situation and a sad-looking Baby Belling that is borrowed to replace the Aga. There are mice in the house occasionally (I should probably stop feeding them pizza), and earwigs, beetles and spiders (hey, my house is literally in a field) and I will not have them killed, we all live in harmony. My animals are unruly (like my life), my laundry habits are hit and miss, carried out on a need-to-have basis (I only bought an iron and ironing board because one guest refused to visit unless I got one for him to use) and I like climbing mountains, even if they are made of clothes.

But I love entertaining, so I am free with my hugs and enthusiasm, the views are indescribeably perfect and beautiful and best of all, the carvery in the village is only £3.50 per head, so dinner is served!


The View from my Kitchen Window


4 responses to “Rural Idyll


    Honestly that sounds like heaven. Or to put it another way, my house. We live in a drafty, old, large farmhouse surrounded by woods in the back and cornfields on the other three sides. Bugs, mice, spiders, etc., depending upon the time of year infiltrate, and there’s really little you can do to keep them completely at bay. Our home has plaster walls that we’ve yet to gut and absolutely no insulation. Windows that were put in 1920 that leak terribly. And when the weather turns and winter is upon us, well…we freeze our ass off! But there is also something comfortable and inviting about the clutter, the dogs roaming round, cats molesting you when you come up the walk, and knowing when you step in the door that this is not a house where you have to take off your shoes, worry whether you have a coaster under your glass, are messing up the throw pillows, and most people feel completely at ease kicking off their shoes and curling their feet underneath them on my sofa or loveseat. That’s the kind of house I always wanted and the one I have. A place where people feel welcome. These others with their polished homes that makes a person feel uptight the moment they walk in the door, can keep them. Given a choice I’d much rather have coffee or tea with you. 🙂

    • skiingsaddler

      Thank you! What a truly lovely comment, it has made my day. Its actually advisable to keep your shoes on in my house, lol. I think we totally ‘get’ each others living arrangements, I would definitely feel right at home in your house and I think you would in mine too. I am so pleased you have the home you have always wanted, lots of Love, x

  • nooberry

    Michele, whilst I did not get an email alert to this new post, I loved it all the same once I saw it on facebook. You know I always try to be the perfect hostess – I even bought a teapot! However, though your house and your domestic skills may not be on the same level as Delia you must always remember that no-one, not even I, should aspire to be my mother. Please see:

    Plus, who really cares when you have a view like to distract guests whilst you hunt for poo?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: