Upon our first meeting, the hosts came across as agreeable - in fact, I would even go as far as saying that they were pleasant.
I was given a tour of the establishment (thinking back, it was slightly odd that the female host insisted on carrying me...), shown to the toilet (which was outside, behind the shed, but we’ll brush over that as well...), and showered with the affection of an old friend (is it considered normal for someone to repeatedly kiss you on the head seconds after meeting for the first time...?).
However, during the night, I required the assistance of the hosts and got up to find them, only to discover that they had locked me in my room! I had no option but to shout to get their attention, which was ignored.
I was left to shout ALL night, until the hosts finally dragged themselves out of bed at 6am. By this point, I was so fed up that I continued to shout in their faces for half an hour, throwing a few wails in there for good measure to fully express my deep contempt.
All the hosts seemed to be able to say in response was, “I know, I know, I know,” while stroking my head in a belittling fashion.
The female owner clearly didn’t read my booking notes, as she continually got my name wrong throughout the entire duration of my stay. I was called ‘Rolling Pin,’ ‘Roly Poly Pudding & Pie,’ and, even more offensively, ‘Sausage Roll.’
My name is Rolo - why was this so hard for her to understand?!
What entertainment?! I was given an old sock (which I actually saw the male host wearing on the first day – disgusting!!), a string of plastic sausages with disturbing facial expressions, and a decrepit garden ornamental mole, and that was as thrilling as it got.
I was that bored, I decided to source my own interests, via the aid of TV cables, shoes and the female host's handbag. Not only was I reprimanded for this, but the female host even cried when I spat out her hideous leather bag strap.
She kept weeping and repeating, "My Michael! My Michael Kors! My Michael!"
Anybody who names their handbag and has such an emotional connection to it has screw loose, in my opinion.
Towards the end of my stay, the hosts started to leave BBC Radio Four on for me at night. Name a worse radio station than BBC Radio Four – I’ll wait.
If I have to listen to one more debate about the current decline of winberries in Outer Mongolia, I will go clinically insane.
On the second night, I was scolded for making my own entertainment by practising my X-Factor audition at 2am. I personally consider myself to be a dead ringer for Kate Bush, so I don’t know what the problem was really.
This is an establishment with too many peculiar rules.
The hosts would claim that the only option on the menu was Dr Johns Chicken Biscuits, and then I would see them greedily tucking into hearty portions of salmon, chilli, and ungodly helpings of blackberry crumble.
When I protested by biting the female host’s toes at the dinner table, I was criticized and chucked into my room (known to the hosts as my ‘crate’).
The other guests seemed a little rough to say the very least. I was bitten by a small, angry Russian for simply saying good morning.
Hosts owned a bizarre amount of cuddly toy octopi, and got really upset when I tried to play with one of them.
Establishment was riddled with bugs. One evening, the garden as invaded by flying ants. Another night, the male host caught me eating a spider and said it made him feel sick. They should thank me – the whole place was starting to resemble a bloody mini-zoo!
Too many stairs – I fell down them, hurt my leg, and was accused of being ‘clumsy.’
2/10 – would not stay again until a better class of guest and a new menu are introduced.
I am a Russian Native, and I found the female host to be very ignorant to the fact that I don’t speak very good English. She would often talk down to me in quite a patronising manner.
An example of this would be the occasion whereby she repeatedly asked me if I was a ‘good boy.’
I’m 73, for god’s sake.
I work for the Russian Federal Security Unit, and often crouch down in dark corners of my room, swapping plots with my colleagues via my invisible headpiece.
Prior to staying at this establishment, I was assured by the travel agent that the hosts would treat my profession with discretion and would further respect my boundaries. This was not the case – every time I even so much as stirred, the female host would insistently tap on my bedroom door and holler ‘Marzi-ppppp!!!’ in an irritatingly high-pitched voice.
She also had a habit of pointing out the obvious, which got increasingly annoying. In the evenings, I sometimes like to relax by doing some gentle exercise in peace.
The female owner would appear out of nowhere and yell, ‘AWWWWW!!! ARE YOU ON YOUR WHEEL?!’
She would then summon over the male owner and they would proceed to stand and stare at me. I found it so off-putting I usually sloped back to bed, which was the only place she couldn’t disturb me.
Talk about an intrusion of privacy!
I am not ashamed to say that on more than one occasion, I actually had to resort to biting the female host, purely so she would give me some space!
My doctor often warns me that Russian Dwarfs are prone to heart disease, diabetes and premature death, so I try to follow a strict diet. (The security services would be lost without my intelligence, put it that way.)
Clearly the hosts ignored my booking notes and dietary requirements, as I was presented with great mounds of yoghurt drops and fruits.
I have been labelled greedy in the past (amongst other things), so it wasn't in my nature to decline the grub offered, but I did notice that my jeans felt tighter.
The overall presentation of the food was poor. More often than not, the female host simply launched handfuls of watercress into my bedroom, before running away in terror, but as this was after the biting incident, I will let this qualm slip.
... If you can call an old toilet roll tube entertainment...
One night, the female host scooped me up in a pint glass (no, I am not joking!) and asked me if I wanted to go to the beach. She walked about three metres across the living room and plonked me into a cardboard box which was laden with sawdust and tin foil.
... I’m not sure what beaches she’s been to in her life...
Utterly traumatising, to be brutally honest.
I tend to sleep a lot of the day as I work nights, but the female owner’s terrible taste in music made it impossible for me to get any sort of shuteye. She would play Ashanti on repeat for hours on end, accompanied by her truly terrible singing voice.
Once, I even caught her performing some sort of strange dance routine in the middle of the living room, without any consideration for other guests.
There was an infuriating German staying at the same time as me, who was even more interfering than the female host!
He had an abnormally large nose, which he constantly poked into my bedroom.
I bit him, and he went crying to the female host, who labelled me a 'bad big brother.'
Just because I share a lengthy hotel stay with somebody, it does NOT make them a part of my family!
0/10 – I am a serial complainer and I hate pretty much everything; this establishment included.
Cara Jasmine Bradley ©