The TV talent show star was due to arrive at 5 p.m., and would be checking into our house long before we were ready to open it as a B&B.
I said yes to the lady in the village who organises events, and she told me to expect this singer who is very popular in Ireland, and his band, who would be performing at the local folk festival.
Kids, babies, female friends holding babies. I leaned to my friend: ‘They can’t all be staying at mine, can they?’
I spent weeks trying to make our partially renovated Georgian house look acceptable, and then the builder boyfriend had to go to England and I was left in West Cork making up beds and trying to hide cracks in walls.
We only have one guest bedroom with an en suite bathroom – the plumber has still not finished the others – but the organiser said it would be fine.
The TV star could have the en suite bedroom, his band members would make do with the other rooms, and they could all share the one bathroom.
I made the beds with my best linen and left out fluffy towels. I told the lady to tell the band it was ‘rustic accommodation’.
I said I would do the whole thing for nothing, because the place was such a mess. But I looked this star up and thought, he’s such a big deal all I need is a photo of me and him outside the house and our B&B is made when we open next spring. Looking at his website, he seemed to have quite a lot of band members.
I asked the organiser, could she give me an idea of numbers? A lovely but rather scatty Irish lady, she stood in the house after I showed her around and said that it would be three men, which I said was no problem.
Then she said: ‘W-well, when I say three, now, I mean, it could be four. F-four or… or… or… five. No it’s three. It’s definitely three.’ I said five was fine, as the two other rooms were twin, so long as they knew each other and could share the one bathroom. ‘Oh yes, yes, definitely…’
On the day, she phoned and said they were on their way from Dublin. At 5 p.m., two hours before the gig, a car came up the long driveway and a chap wearing a cloth cap got out and said he was something to do with the band. He put a bag down in the main en suite room and said he would be back with the others after the gig, and off he went.
I got all dressed up and went down to the hotel in the village where there was great excitement. It was a terrific gig. The TV star was superb, and the fella who had dropped off a bag turned out to be a support act, and he, if anything, was even better.
But when the big singing star brought on his teenage daughter towards the end, to sing an Adele song, I realised his wife was in the audience too, and what looked like his entire extended family. Kids, babies, female friends holding babies. I leaned to my friend sitting next to me: ‘They can’t all be staying at mine, can they?’
As the evening drew to a close, I hurried back to the house and opened all the doors so the guests could come in later. I braced myself for whatever was about to happen and thought up contingencies including vacating my own bedroom and sleeping with the dogs in the outbuildings.
At midnight, I was tucked up watching Netflix when my phone rang and the organiser, sounding flustered, said there had been a change of plan.
The big star wasn’t coming, just two of his band members. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘…And the two men from Galway.’
‘Wait, what?’ ‘Th-th-they’re on their way now. They’ll be there about 1 a.m.. And they want separate rooms. Oh dear, they’re playing tomorrow, you see, they’re playing a gig at…’ ‘Stop!’ I screamed. ‘You need to listen to me! I don’t care about the gig details. Do these men know the other men?’
No, she said, they did not. So I had four people from two different bands, staying in three rooms, and one bathroom between them. There was nothing I could do. I abandoned myself to my fate.
The musicians from Galway arrived first, shortly after 1 a.m., and took the two best rooms. The guys playing at the hotel with the TV star thankfully got absolutely wasted and rolled up gone 4 a.m., after an all-night session.
I could have put them in the hay barn and they wouldn’t have noticed. I squeezed them into the last twin room and told them they would have to make do with the downstairs loo as a bathroom.
They were so drunk they didn’t care. The next morning, after I cooked everyone a big breakfast, the TV star came up the driveway in a people carrier to pick up his band members. He was red-eyed and white as a sheet. Right, I thought, after all this trouble…
‘Group photo!’ I shouted. And I made them all pose with me by the fountain. When this B&B finally opens, the hungover singing star can be my first celebrity endorsement.
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