When the aliens take over
I believe I have proof that aliens have landed in Tal-y-bont. My mild, considerate and gentle husband has become possessed, acting and looking like the mad chef in the Muppets - or on a par with ego-centric deities in the Norse Legends.
In short, he has been impossible to live with. Simple requests to the kitchen have been greeted with explosions that make Lenny Henry in TV's Chef! appear the most polite, charming individual by comparison.
Perhaps our forthcoming holiday at the end of the financial year will exorcise the invaders. The magical date is 31 October - one that we strive for the whole year.
I have been embroiled for the past two years in the most ghastly difficulties over my late mother's estate. The legal action taken to inject reason into the situation has been very stressful and, in anticipation of the imminent judgment, we have organised a holiday that we both feel we deserve.
All reason has gone by the board - I shall be writing next month from the beach of our friends Tim and Tina Thuells' hotel in Nevis in the British West Indies.
Naturally, our customers are convinced that we are going abroad on the fruits of the money that they have spent with us. If that were the case, Simon and I would probably be having two weeks in Rhyl.
In common with most other small hoteliers, we are delighted to have paid the bills and still remained solvent after another peculiar year of massive highs and lows. I thank our lucky stars that at least we have the compensation of working in the most beautiful part of the UK.
When money is tight the quality of life and the space in this exquisite corner of the country are worth thousands of pounds of salary.
We have been dogged with more minor health irritations this month, with Simon spending five days being deaf ("Ça marche - two veal" "Two meals - what do they want?" "Veal" "Yes, what meal?") and me spending two days laid up with a viral infection.
How I wish for the days when we could ring in sick! However, we have also had good news with our first "Lodge" baby being born: Llinos, the model pregnant employee, has given birth to a baby girl. We had all surreptitiously re-read the first aid manuals, genuinely believing it would be the first recorded kitchen birth in the UK. She didn't have one day off sick in those months and neither was there any variation in her work routine and tasks.
If you had seen the celebrations when she called with the news you would have thought we had all personally delivered!
The joy continued with a celebration at the other end of the scale as we plotted an 80th birthday celebration for a customer who has become an honorary "mum".
The fun of the subterfuge and the look on her face as she walked into the bar was worth the extra stress on "him" and me after a busy Sunday lunch. Aren't these moments and the shared joy the "salary" for us in this business?
PS: No more bunion cures please - we've run out of garlic and fax paper!
