AirBnB Horror

Most of our AirBnB guests are lovely and give us really nice reviews, so it is always an extra shock when someone isn't lovely.

This afternoon an elderly guy turned up.  He had booked quite a while ago, and when he appeared he seemed a little pedantic, a bit slow on the uptake and I didn't, on the whole, get a good vibe off him. He seemed disconcerted about the fact that the room was on the top floor even though it's in the description on the AirBnB website.  However, I'd got the room ready, ironed pillow cases, sewn back the lost buttons on the duvet cover, put out the tea and coffee things. M had cleaned the small upstairs bathroom. The guest, "Roy" had booked for 3 nights, so it was a good booking, and I was prepared to grit my teeth if we didn't get on. I asked him what had brought him to Ramsgate, he said he wanted to see the Turner, and had booked somewhere in Margate, but she'd cancelled the booking and then put the price up. I said it was easy to get to Margate on the bus and Ramsgate was much prettier.  He said he was going to have a rest.

About two hours later I went out to offer him the house key as he was walking down the stairs.  Strangely he was holding a roll of loo paper and the top of a Bonne Maman jam jar in his hand.  He said he had had a terrible allergic attack, he was allergic to dust.  I said I was sorry - it must be because of the work we're doing on the house. He said he'd only ever had such a bad attack once before.  Then  he held out the lid of the jar.  The jar sits on a tray in the room, full of ground coffee which is there for guests to make coffee in their cafetieres with.  The jar is not in the first flush of youth and some black spots were appearing beneath the lining on the inside... he waved it at me "it's not very nice is it!"   "It's just coffee" I said, thinking the black spots were bits of coffee.  He launched into the attack, "I'm very disappointed with it all/this is not what I expected"    "Look, it's extremely clear on the website," I said, firmly.  "it's work in progress.  It's a family home, not a posh B&B!" "Don't mention the word posh!" he spluttered.  "This allergic attack...." he raged. "Well, of course, in the hay fever season" I began sympathetically  "This is nothing to with hay fever, Madam!" he shouted. "I was only trying to say, a lot of my family have allergies and...."  "No Madam, no.  This is quite different! "  "You aren't the only person who suffers allergies" (My father and I both have dust allergies) "I have found somewhere else, and I'm going there."   "OK, that's fine" I said, relieved to get rid this contumacious git.   I went back into my room and shut the door and he stomped off somewhere.

I sat at the laptop, unable to work, just willing him to go.  Mark came in.  "What was all that about?"
I told him.
"He's going" I said "I can't face talking to him again, you can see him off the premises."  I briefly ran through the argument.  I felt quite shaken.  I just wanted him out of the house.  Mark came back 20 mins later and said "he's gone."  "Did he speak to you or say goodbye?" "No, he just left."

I felt relieved, and also rather frightened, in the last few hours I have this fear that he will somehow come back and want to fulfill his booking. I have to keep reminding myself he hasn't got a key.  I thought about his behaviour - he seemed to get so angry.  What was he expecting me to do about the top of the coffee jar? It was a complete non-problem.  His approach was entirely that he had a grievance against us and wanted us to be in the wrong.   For a man who has had a bad allergic attack, he seemed quite well.  When I have a bad allergic attack I have to lie down in a darkened room.  He looked quite normal - I had heard him sneeze a couple of times - but nothing like the 10 or 12 sneeze outbursts I commonly have.   Anyway, he was an astonishingly rude man.  I just hope he wasn't an "AirBnB secret shopper".

I am now worried that he is going to have a big stroppy review of us.  He will probably want a refund too - and so I hope we won't have to have some process with AirBnB.  I fear that he should seek help, the erratic and volatile behaviour combined with his apparent disorientation when he arrived made me wonder whether he was in the early stages of dementia. I am writing this account while it is still fresh in my mind - I was really upset by him, and am frankly delighted he has gone. 

Jeremy Corbyn: A Good Man, but a Bad King?

I've always loved the book 1066 and All That.   Sellars and Yeatman's categorisation of (chiefly medieval) kings into these categories  A Bad Man but a Good King (That must have been Edward I?)  etc always amused me and I've found it useful for political leaders.

When I supported Jeremy Corbyn and voted for him, I felt he was a Good Man and that we needed a change and I disliked all the other candidates.  However, during the Referendum campaign, I kept wondering where he was - he was almost invisible.  Apparently he was travelling the country meeting people and speaking, but apparently he never said anything worthy of quoting etc.   Of course,. this could all be due to the media failing to report anything interesting, and being obsessed with the Tory party's attempts to rend itself.  But I fear that our system, much as we dislike it, thrives on conflict and confrontation. Unless JC was spitting blood and thunder, he would not be covered.   This brings us back to the PMQ's issue.   JC's policy of reading out questions from the public for the PM to answer was interesting, but he seldom seemed to have the invective that made his responses in PMQs very memorable.     I had heard him speak last year and hoped that this quiet measured style would bring people over.  I think to some extent it has, an improvement in the Labour vote in the Local Authority elections in May, and quite good support from the Daily Mirror.  

However, I do not feel in any way inspired by him.  I did sweet FA about the referendum, but frankly, if he'd been loudly urging people to do this, I might have pulled my finger out.  I feel passionately about Europe, the economic side is important, but it's a much more visceral, cultural thing - about social values, open societies, civil societies made up of CITIZENS - this is our contribution to the world.  I wanted to hear that, and I wanted the Brexiteers to hear that most of the decisions they were complaining about, the austerity, the shortage of housing, poorer NHS services were not European decisions, but the Tory government's own, quite independent decisions, and I wanted to hear a strong message that immigration would not change because we have to have freedom of movement to trade with Europe.  SO!   Occasionally we heard this, but not strongly enough, not loudly enough.

There is much to blame the media for.  The papers have their agendas and loyalties, but the BBC has been pretty disgraceful - we are almost going back to the forelock tugging days of the 1950 "thank you very much minister for your gracious granting of an interview" - Brexiteers were given a luidicrously easy ride, their lies left unquestioned.   Most of the BBC staff must have been remain people, but either the journos weren't properly briefed, or else they felt that the arguments were too openly ludicrous to bother to engage with them. Or what?   I'm not a conspiracy theorist.  It is clear that there was insufficient coverage of the LP's campaign during the Referendum, because of the focus on the Tory leadership.

However, there is this article http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/jeremy-corbyn-allies-sabotaged-labour-in-campaign-and-fuelled-brexit_uk_576eb1b5e4b0d2571149bb1f which I've only just read.  Is it true?  Since I posted it, it has been removed, but it is suggesting that JC's office removed a lot of the more hearty remain rhetoric from speeches.  I have subsequently heard that none of them ever went to the weekly Remain campaign meetings with Alan Johnson et al.   Some of this stuff is coming out via Laura Kuensberg who is a notorious anti-Corbyn journo, so what do we believe?   If it's true, then it's appalling and frankly he loses my vote.  Membership of the EU is more important to me than his leadership.  I knew he wasn't stretching every sinew to keep us in, I knew he was ambiguous, but this is pretty unacceptable.  

This is where it's a definite disadvantage having all this "integrity" - keeping totally true to yourself is not possible in politics. You need to sway people's emotions, to work them over until they think they agree with you.  Reasoned argument isn't enough, balanced and nuanced arguement are a waste of time when something major, such as EU membership is at stake... If JC won't do it himself, he has to put up a big articulate beast (John McD - Tom Watson - someone...) to make the argument, to sway the country, to slog the message out.  And it would have been helpful if the LP had reminded its members that every vote counted,  We could not rely on the big cities voting for us.  But this is just the benefit of hindsight.

Now what?
There appears to be strong support for JC amongst the LP membership, no doubt there are a few waverers like me.  My vote will depend upon who's standing.  I dread the party falling back into the claws of the Blairites.  But I think JC will tough it out - despite the mass desertion of the shadow cabinet. And then win the popular vote of the members.   Another wave of people are joining - to protect him I suppose.  And I do believe that his tortoise like progress was beginning to make inroads in the popular mind.  If he sticks it out it can only enhance his reputation - although I suppose the Daily Mail will be busy blackening everyone's names.   If he's still leader in 3 months time, what will his approach be to the negotiations for brexit?    However, my gut feeling is, he will have to go.  It's unsustainable.  But a lot of people will leave the party.   And if that milksop Angela Eagle, who's an even less inspiring speaker than JC, wins, I will be horrified.

What I have not blogged about

There are a number of topics I considered blogging about in the last few days.  I haven't had the urge, so I will merely list them.

N's mental health ideas
A weekend in France
"Enhanced security" and its consequences
The banning of the Calais convoy
F's A levels
Father's Day
Terrine des escargots - and why I did not try it.
The Euro referendum, the exchange rate, Brexit etc.
Planet Narnia - by Michael Ward: Book of the Month
My teaching experience in the last 6 months
Writers' Block?
Who is eating our bed linen?
A Single Man - and the joys of grown up films
Marguerite vs Florence Foster Jenkins
The Warehouse and the Jungle
.

Facebook Posts

Almost everyday I find myself deleting an FB response because it will not endear me to the originator of the post. Sometimes these are quite long and thoughtful, and perhaps worth jotting down here.

In response to a post about a survey that discovered "shockingly" that 44% of people were "proud of the British Empire", which is clearly not something you are allowed to say in polite society, because you really need to be lacerating your breast and howling with shame, I posted this:


"I am neither proud nor ashamed, it was what it was, none of us were there to bring our 21stC liberal values into the frame. A few people black and white began to speak about the iniquities of it and gradually it faded away - that's history. So many people judge the past by contemporary values. And we tend to keep to the more recent past - I don't hear people getting all uptight about the feudal system in Europe, yet for centuries, millions of European peasants had to put in backbreaking toil for their feudal overlords in exchange for having a small patch of land on which to subsist...right up to the 19thC in some parts of Europe."

Some notes on a trauma

These are notes I made on the evening of Ned's accident in September 2015.

The worst bit, of so many worst bits, was seeing N with his nose hanging off - hunkered down and very still, not daring to move, bloody lumps of flesh hanging off his face like dark red clots.  And a pool of blood on the floor, endless dripping of blood, trying to get him to sit back.  

Incessant questions from the 999 handler:  "How much blood?"  "Still dripping?"  "Get a pad and hold it in position."   I knew I couldn't do that - I called Katie and Ruth - they came at once and were so good.

At the same time I was trying to sort out our AirBnB guest on the computer.  The paramedics came at last, and took him into the ambulance.  I came too.  They were working on him for hours.  When were we going to leave?  It took 30 minutes to strap him up - put in the cannula.  This was where Ned, who had been ultra calm, became panicky.  He calmed down once the morphine hit him.  Then he became more excitable, wanting to talk.  Mark tapping at the door, standing outside in the rain with an umbrella, wanting to know what was happening.  We are leaving for Ashford. I hadn't thought of this, I had assumed our local hospital.  Will I have to stay the night?  I need my Kindle, paper and pens.

I must be in shock too.  It's claustrophobic in the ambulance, it's like a mobile clinic, drawers, bins, intravenous drips, hooks etc.

It's a long journey - at last we reach the hospital, straight into a group of staff standing by.

Everyone is lovely, the two paramedics, both women, one northern, one southern, and Katie and everyone remarking how calm N is.  No shrieking - they are grateful.

Doctor's questions, nurse sorts N out, He's Turkish.  We also see a max-fax registrar, an older anaesthetist and a younger woman anaesthetist.

It's hard for N to talk - I answer questions.  He goes for a CT scan - his tooth apparently stuck in his lip.  He may have swallowed one, and needs a chest X-ray. They will keep him in over night in the head injury ward and operate in the morning, we hope.  Nil by mouth from 2 am, not that Ned fancies trying to eat or drink.
The nice max-fax doctor wipes his eyes clean, it's just closed with blood.  He can see, his eyes seem OK, thank God.    It's a strange thing that N has had three of these head injuries in his life, all of which have been pretty spectacular, but not serious in any long term way, simply resulting in scars or breakage.   More sound and fury than anything seriously wrong - a bit like N himself at times.

While Ned dozes I sit and listen to the people around me.  A doctor in the next cubicle is asking an old man about his wife.

"Does she smoke?"
"No she used to sing with a band and smoke a bit - but when I met her I said "it's cigarettes or me" and she chose me."
Later he tells the doctor that she's never been to hospital before.  She got Parkinson's but now it looks as though her kidneys have packed up.
"She's not in a good way" a woman says "We have to take more bloods".
She's clearly in pain, a lot of grunts and groans, heavy breathing, the curtain shaking violently.
She probably dying I suspect, but not in a good way.
Her husband jokes gamely with the nurses.  Someone probably told him to keep a smile in his voice when he was young.

Ned looks gruesome - head bandages padded over his mouth.  We haven't washed his hands.  I offered to but he said "No thanks".  They are covered with blood from where he held a succession of kitchen towels and sacrificial tea towels to his nose.  I guess we'll get rid of those now.

The lady next to us is going on a drip  "and we'll take it from there".  It's a sodium bicarb infusion.  It doesn't sound good.
"Let's hope she starts to improve."
"If she doesn't well, there's nothing we can do."
"Thank you very much" says a modest sounding female voice.
The doctor is breaking the death sentence down into manageable chunks.  She is thanking him.  It's nearly midnight.  Does she understand what he is saying?   Or is she just keeping it all under control?
The doctor is suggesting alternative treatment to the nurse.  Hypos? It all sounds grim, but they are still gamely trying to save her.

It's obviously sudden and shocking for her family - they were coping with the Parkinson's, but this sudden collapse is too much.  Suddenly, unable to wee, dehydrated, a build up of salts, perhaps an undiagnosed ulcer.  When I hear that I wonder if it's stomach cancer.

In the other cubicle a young thug of a child called Olly is resisting treatment with shouts and screams and considerable indignation.  I have the impression that he's hitting people.

I am ravenous, I haven't eaten for 10 hours.  One wants to be with the sufferer, but one has one's own adrenalin to cope with.  M will be here soon I suppose.  Its more than 90 minutes since I rang him.

"Let me breathe!" Gasps, whimpers.
A period of harsh breaths.  Is it the death rattle?   No, she recovers again, back to gasps.  A mask is put on, calming her.  Laboured breath, in grunts, laboured like a woman in labour.   The work of dying, the work of giving life.

Olly's cutting up rough again, screaming and kicking.
"No!"
I think they are trying to take blood or put a cannula in.  Or give an injection?
Whatever happened to tranquilliser darts?
The child is now shouting
"I want it in my other one!"
What?  Hand - arm - leg?
His shouts are making N agitated.

Then it's quiet for a while.  The woman's family have gone for a break.  There's bleeping from her cubicle.  The curtains are open and I see a tiny old woman curled up in bed,.Is she calmer because she doesn't have an audience, or have some drugs kicked in?
It's quiet - still no sign of M.  

The three stories of the evening could provide an episode of Casualty, suitably sexed up..

Brussels

Last Tuesday Finn set off for Brussels with a group of 6th Formers from his school.   They left very early in the morning, and I got a bit upset when I heard on the 3 pm news that there'd been a "shooting incident" in Brussels - so I went onto Facebook (the fourth emergency service) to find out what anyone knew.  The answer, of course, was that they were all fine and quite a way away from the shooting.  Finn reported that he didn't find out about it until after dinner and that the city was full of heavily armed men, military rather than police.

This morning, exactly one week later, we woke to the news of the multiple bombs on the metro and at the airport.  People are going to say all over again "Why don't we make this fuss about Burkina Faso or Ankara?" and I'm going to say again, because we haven't been there, we may only know one person, if any, who has been there; because Brussels is local - I could drive there in a couple of hours once I crossed the Channel... it's easier to get to than Birmingham (although I've never been of course - to Brussels).  And of course all the Brexit types are going to say "YOU SEE!  This is all because of immigration".   I am disgusted, saddened and, although it's frivolous to say it, bored, with all this.  Round and round it goes, there are a few initiatives that make things better, but over all 'they' do this shit to divide 'us' and make us argue with each other - and we fall for it. They do it for other reasons of course, but you would have to be a bit blinkered to think that religious faith, rather than political expedience was the real mover.  It is difficult to discern because Islam is a much more potentially theocratic religion than Christianity - we rather gave up on that idea by the 17thC (and earlier in a lot of places). ISIS are of course proclaiming their caliphate and the glory of sharia law, while we have to settle for dreary old man made law and precedent and living in a society where you get to vote on the government occasionally, but at least the Pope or Justin Welby doesn't make undemocratic pronouncements of what we can and can't do which have the force of law, and we no longer have to almost worship our royal families as though they were God's spokespeople.

Meanwhile...
The new IDS substitute turns out to be another right wing Christian who thinks homosexuality can be cured.  I just wish Toryism could be cured and they could all settle down and become collectively minded lefties.  He's called Stephen Crabb - I wonder if he's descended from Lionel "Buster" Crabb - the notorious spy frogman...who disappeared.  Probably not, L Crabb was gay I suspect - married late, divorced after 2 years, no kids and clearly more at ease in male company (yes, I know, only circumstantial evidence, but good enough for me at this time of night).

katehamlyn.com

I have finally created a website for myself, chiefly to promote my literary efforts, which are more fully discussed in the other blog "Only writing"  katehamlyn.blogspot.co.uk.

I bought a domain name in late December, having been told by a number of people that I must get myself out there a bit more.  I also bought a very cheap bit of software called Website Builder that only cost about £3 or something.   I then looked at it and despaired.  Eventually, I called my friend Ruth, who designs websites for a living, to come and help me.  It was actually pretty straightforward, this is because it is limited in what it can do for you.  However, it doesn't look too bad and after Ruth and I had put it through its paces I spent parts of yesterday afternoon and this morning writing and straightening it up.  Remarkably I had plenty of pics to put on it, although Finn complained that the one of me was poor quality and cropped oddly.  However, there aren't many really nice pix of me (yes, I have residual vanity).

It was very exciting though to find that, having started the website on Friday that I had something simple and workwomanlike available to view on Sunday, and although there is a bit of a template, it's very flexible and effectively I designed it myself!   So, I am now competent to knock up websites for anyone, any time any where... as long as they are based on that simple model.

katehamlyn.com