Jaqui's Daily Blog

Saturday 7th July

I like to think I am a good guest.  I always arrive at the time I said I would (though I do have Mr B to thank for this; his middle name is Punctuality.)  I park tidily (most of the time.)  I always ask if anyone wants to use the shower before me.  And if my hosts want to watch a television programme which I don't usually watch myself, I watch it along with them, without protest, and ask intelligent questions to show my interest.

 

However, let's now take a look at these statements from the point of view of mine hosts.

 

I arrive: my host hears the car outside and wails: "Another five minutes and I'd have finished hoovering!"  He / she looks out of the window at where I have parked (tidily) and cries: "Why does she always park there!? The neighbours will go berserk....."

 

When I take my turn in the shower: "How long does she take, for heaven's sake? Surely she washed her hair YESTERDAY?!"

 

And when I repair to my bed after watching X Factor: "Does she have to ask questions about every single contestant, where they lived, what they do for a living, how many pets they've got.  Doesn't she ever just WATCH a TV programme?!"

 

Not that they would ever breathe a word to me.  So, rather than me be an ideal guest, I suspect I am simply blessed with lovely people who welcome me warmly and let me come back again - and again - however annoying I may be.  

 

I hope I am an equally good host.  I am reminded of my father's favourite poem.  In fact, my Dad didn't really "do" poetry, if you know what I mean.  But he loved the sentiments in this three-liner - and so do I.

 

"Come in the evening, or come in the morning;

Come when expected, or come without warning.

Only - Come!"

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Latest comments

24.09 | 18:00

I’m glad you liked it, Sally. Jaqui x

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24.09 | 08:25

Beautiful piece. Thank you. Sally

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30.08 | 19:32

P.s. I absolutely adored Gipsy Tart, and, yes, my son has his work cut out!!

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30.08 | 19:26

I too went to school in Kent where my Aunt worked as a dinner-lady. I got seconds sometimes thirds of my favourite pud, the said Gipsy Tart. My son’s a dentist!

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