
Since we moved into our house in the Cyclades a few years ago, I’ve come to accept that if you own a home on the beach in Greece with plenty of spare rooms, people will come to stay.
But what is it about house guests abroad? Do they need fresh towels at home every time they wash their hands? Do they have to have three cooked meals a day? Do they have chauffeurs in normal life, or do they become allergic to driving only when they are on holiday? ‘We didn’t bother renting a car because we don’t want to go anywhere.’ If you want to make a host’s shoulders slump, saying this will do the trick.
If I sound mean-spirited it might be because I’m not a natural hostess to start with. I blame my extremely right-on mother, who filled our bedrooms with asylum seekers when we were at boarding school and forgot to tell them to leave when we came home.
In Greece, we’ve had guests who happily rent their own cars, travel with chargers and leave generous tips. But they are, in my limited experience, a minority. Could this have something to do with the general boorification of the world? Or is it that even the most civilised, self-sufficient human beings regress into helpless teenagers when they stay with you? I say teenagers but there is something about breakfast, a meal I’ve skipped for years, that brings out the actual toddler in certain guests with all their finicky, short order requests. Meanwhile, the second most depressing group of words in the English language? ‘I think your coffee machine is broken.

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