Melissa Kite Melissa Kite

Real life | 20 September 2018

I want to be able to run around in skimpy knickers without fear of embarrassment

The little lodger is moving in. I chose her after an exhaustive search of twentysomethings looking for accommodation, during which I met a terrifying selection of millennials and members of generation snowflake.

The highlight has to be the 22-year-old engineer who came with his parents. They toured the house and inspected the room on offer. They then fixed me with a withering stare and, as the lad stood by saying nothing, fired at me the most frightening list of questions I can imagine being asked about a prospective lodging situation.

‘And where will we sleep when we come to stay?’ was the first, asked by the mother, a very nice lady — but, you know, not so nice I’d want her in my house every weekend, sitting on my couch, watching Coronation Street on my flat screen.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you look out that window you will see the back of a very nice B&B on the high street that has rooms at extremely reasonable rates.’

All things considered, I got in with the next question: ‘Any girlfriend or… who will be coming to stay?’ She looked askance. ‘Oh no, he’s much too busy for girls, aren’t you? No, but he’s got lots of very good friends. I suppose it will be all right for them to stay?’

‘Friends?’ I said, half choking on the ‘s’ of the plural. ‘How many? How often?’

‘Well, they’ll want to come for nights out in London. Not every weekend, of course.’

I gulped. After we had made our way downstairs and were standing by the front door, the father said: ‘And the rent, what does that include?’

‘Ah well, I don’t think you’ll find a better deal in this area. That includes all your gas and electricity, your council tax, Wi-Fi, even your cleaning.

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