Hello again!

Hello again!

Hasn’t it been a long and horrid winter? I don’t know what it’s been like where you live but this end of Davigdor Road in Brighton has felt positively polar for the last five months. I haven’t felt like going outside without at least two thick cardigans, a quilted jacket, winter coat and fur-lined boots. But when I peered out of the kitchen window this morning I noticed five little daffodils, their bright yellow faces beaming at me as if to say, in squeaky but endearing voices, “Here we are again!”

Spring at last! I thought. Time to tackle the cobwebs on the landing, beat the sitting room carpet, change the bed linen and update my blog.

Visitors are coming in and out of Brighton and Hove all year round, of course, but it is at this time in late March/early April that the trickle swells to a steady flow. Before you know it, the summer torrent will be upon us; landladies like me will be in season again and absolutely inundated with demands for our services.

I thought I’d make my spring offering to you a privileged glimpse into the inner workings of a Brighton-and-Hove host family home. An up-close, no-holds-barred view of English hospitality in action. For the first time I am going to allow the world to take a peek into Mrs. Hoover’s Diary, the candid record I have kept, for many years now, of life with my “international family” at Joyles, (number 179 Davigdor Road).

So, here we go with the first installment!

Love,

Joyce x

PS Oh, just in case you are a newcomer to this little corner of the internet where I keep house, perhaps I should explain that Leslie is my husband and Kenneth is my dog.

Wednesday 4th

Hiroko’s been looking glum lately. She didn’t finish her dinner yesterday, although it was faggots, mashed potato and peas — a pleasant change, you’d think, for someone brought up on seaweed soup!

When I asked her what was wrong, a large teardrop ran down her nose and into her raspberry jelly and evaporated milk. Then Ahmet shouts out, “Look – she’s cry! Why you cry? You no like jelly?” I told him to be quiet. “Take no notice, dear,” I said to Hiroko. “If you’re worried about something, you can always talk to me.” I felt sorry for the girl, though I was a bit put out about the wasted faggots. “Japanese people are very shy and sensitive,” I said, looking pointedly at Ahmet.

“You have to approach them politely and indirectly. Now, Hiroko,” I said, putting my hand on hers and giving her a reassuring smile, “ what’s the matter, dear? Come on, spit it out!”

“Probrem is,” she said, dabbing her nose with a corner of the serviette, “when I speak Engrish no one understand me…”

“What was that?” said Leslie, suddenly taking an interest. “Could you say that again?”

At this the poor girl burst into tears and ran upstairs.

“You oaf!” I said to him. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“What do you mean? Did I say something wrong?”

At this point Jean-Pierre gave one of his little disdainful puffs: “Me, ah sink she is ’umsick,” he said.

“Homesick”, I corrected. “Of course she isn’t homesick. None of my students are ever homesick. It’s against the rules.” I had to shout this last sentence because Kenneth had suddenly started barking his head off. He always barks when Jean-Pierre speaks, though whether it’s the accent that bothers him or a dislike of the French in general, I can’t tell. And that in turn set Leslie off: “Shut that dog up, will you, for God’s sake!” Then Ahmet provoked Kenneth even more by barking back at him until I got cross with Ahmet, at which point Heidi stood up and announced she was going to bed because she couldn’t stand it any longer. As she got up she knocked Hiroko’s plate off the table: two uneaten faggots rolled across the carpet gathering fluff. Kenneth leapt to get them, I tried to intercept him (faggots give him terrible wind), and in the process got a nip on my hand. I shouted out, Kenneth bolted the faggots, Leslie hurled his Greyhound Fanciers Gazette across the room, and the whole dinner ended in pandemonium.

“You can clear up!” I said, glaring at Jean-Pierre, then left the room and went upstairs to comfort Hiroko.

When I came back down to the dining room fifteen minutes later, I found Ahmet going from chair to chair finishing off everyone else’s jelly.