The Landlady considers creatures and comforts
In some of the hotels and lodges I’ve stayed in West Africa, the everyday items which one absolutely takes for granted in the West can be sporadic, to say the least. For example, in most places there might be running water, but no toilet roll. In another, there might be toilet roll but no running water or electricity. In another, there will be none of the above and, when one occasionally discovers a place with all three, one feels absolutely blessed. Just imagine if you woke up one morning and you couldn’t flush the toilet in your en-suite, nor charge your mobile in order to shout at the water company to come and fix it. The horror!
“I don’t even mind the creepy crawlies, scurrying around, blissfully unaware that the utilities are lacking”
Fortunately, I am a tough old bird and can happily survive without running water and electricity. I don’t even mind the plethora of creepy crawlies who happily share your room space, scurrying busily around, blissfully unaware that the utilities are lacking. The Boyfriend, who grew up largely in the Bush without any creature comforts, constantly moans about being bitten by creepy crawlies and often refuses to stay in places without at least one of the utilities. I think he’s gone soft in his old age.
The piece of land we are buying is quite remote, but has sea views and, as yet, has no running water or electricity, or even a proper road leading to it. There are many reasons why the land is worth buying, the most important being that the biggest hotel owner in the country is currently building a huge luxury eco-resort a few metres away. The thought of staying on our land in a tent fills me with glee and The Boyfriend with absolute horror, as he simply cannot survive without a constant supply of 50 decibel music. On my recent visit, we went to measure the land with the guy we’re buying it off and, in the absence of any formal measuring equipment, paced the measurements out, each of us coming to differing conclusions. We’re hoping to complete the sale by June, once we can agree on borders.
Meanwhile, unwelcome news from Blighty. I have been receiving various texts from my female offspring – it would take pestilence and death for The Big Son to get in touch – complaining about the state of Landlady Towers in my absence. The Small Daughter Skyped to tell me that there was rotten food – including a mouldy green cake (it was chocolate when I left) – in the kitchen.
The Big Daughter was furious to find that, on coming home from work, my Thai lodger was having a dinner party and that the sofa was full of Italian students. I shall have sharp words when I return, but in the meantime, am thinking about growing a beard and moving permanently to our new land.
