Insider View - Here's to The Hotel Bore

There is a cartoon postcard that friends have been known to send us, entitled ‘THE GUEST FROM HELL’. It depicts a drawing room with blazing fire in front of which the club bore, refilling his glass, is regaling other guests, who are either yawning or have lost consciousness altogether. Even the dog looks frantic.

A jolly laugh greets the arrival of this postcard in our house. It sparks memories of evenings spent with vicarious embarrassment, as one guest seeks to impose his – it’s often his – anecdotes, jokes, photographs of the grandchildren, drinking songs or just views on the economy to the unwilling ears of others.

Anyone choosing to stay in private houses or small hotels can face this danger, but two things strike me about this situation. Sometimes such an encounter can take on a life of its’ own, become an adventure, something to talk about afterwards. Then there is the undoubted fact that bored guests can always choose to go to their rooms.

We have recently encountered a different kind of guest from hell. Of course, the arrival is always preceded by a telephone call or email in which, after long negotiation, the host finally agrees to charge the very minimum for the stay, so much so that it is scarcely worth opening the door. The guests (there are always two of them) sashay out of a large expensive car that has swooshed gravel up onto the front lawn.

Large heavy suitcases and clothes on hangers are left for others to carry. Looking neither left nor right, not taking in their surroundings nor their hosts, the pair make their way as quickly as possible, and with as little conversation, to their allotted bedroom, where they stay for activities that involve turning a neatly constructed bed into a whirlwind of cloth.

They will appear at the last moment for dinner, a little furtive, cleaned up in their designer outfits, press each other’s thighs under the table, not look up nor thank when their food is brought and, before returning upstairs, ask for breakfast in bed.

There is no question of social intercourse with anybody else – they seem to shudder at any attempt at friendliness. There is no danger that they will fall captive to a resident bore. When they leave, they avoid signing the visitors’ book, and there is no question of a tip. You can be sure that the electric blanket, the fire and all the lights have been left on in what was their bedroom.

Nothing wrong with any of this, you might think. They don’t give any trouble. But this is the point: we would almost prefer trouble to the feeling of being used. People who open up their homes to paying guests do so with some degree of nervousness, but also with pride and trust. We hope our guests will be interested in what we do, or at least give a passing recognition of our labours. It’s just impolite to arrive at the house of another without commenting on the view or the flowers in the hall, isn’t it?

Those indulging in romantic liaisons, meetings that used to be called ‘dirty weekends’, would do well to remember this, or perhaps choose the anonymity of a large hotel for their activities. We in smaller premises are hurt by indifference.

We welcome lovers, indeed, relish their happiness, but, like children, we want to be told if we are doing well. If we are not to be praised, then let’s hear where we can improve. We don’t want to be invisible. It’s just tolerable being treated badly if one is being paid for it, but in the current climate, when prospective guests are looking to drive down prices to uneconomic levels, it’s hard to bear.

A remedy for this situation was proposed by a friend in tourism, who suggested that we follow the Ryanair route. We could charge, say, €1 to stay for a night in our premises, but then make a charge for every individual service, such as food, sheets, heating, car parking.

At our meals we could emulate the American breakfast system by charging for ‘side orders’, add-ons for every sausage. Those little extras, like birthday cakes and afternoon tea, which are presently given free of charge, will start to appear on bills.

Owners of large cars who won’t pay reasonable charges, beware.

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Together with her husband Johnny, Lucy Madden runs their magnificent 18th century mansion, Hilton Park, Clones, Co Monaghan as a country house which is open to private guests, groups, small weddings and conferences. The restored formal gardens are also open by arrangement. Lucy is a keen organic gardener and also a member of the Irish Food Writers Guild.