What a difference a day makes...

It's 5:25am and I've just said goodbye and good ridance to our worst set (yes of two) guests. They literally made my week a living hell. My only escape was when we got out on the mountain.

We hosted for a family of two adult siblings, their partners and numerous horrible children. The siblings were the worst if I'm honest. Both with mid-northern twangs to their voice that grated every time they spoke. I dreaded climbing the steps to the chalet to the shrill of Ella or Georgia with extended endings as if speaking on a rollercoaster. Ellaaaaaaaa..... come here Georgiaaaaaaa. As the mum beconed to her disobedient, messy and down right rude children.

Her brother may have topped the charts for the most glum person alive. Everything and anything we could have done or had done was wrong. I'd like to expand on the matter a little but I'll have to refrain from any expletives as my Grandparents are partial to a dose of Vagabonding Adam! (Hi G + G!)

Not only was the table wine an 'insult' but the bread was stale, the tart au citron too lemony, the choice of 5 cereals not enough, the stairs too steppy and the burnt chalet too burnt. Everytime Kerry and I whipped out our best conversation leading question he'd grunt a closed answer and turn back to shit-united playing on the TV. (Sorry Grumps!)

But of course he was the don on the slope. Stories of him breaking the speed of sound and 'smashing' every black run on the resort (of which there are 3, not very fun black runs) were plentiful. All while he shoved 2 slices of buttered bread in to the hole in his face.

It's a shame really as his wife was a pleasure to cook for. She appreciated every morsel we could have given to her, was a chef herself and gave constructive, appreciated criticism when it warranted it.

Their kids, and the kids of the other family were another question. Everything was 'not for them'. We tried to accommodate with pasta and a tomato sauce with cheese and sausage; but then had to individually dish out their meals as one wouldn't eat cheese, the other sausage. One would have sauce but not too much and all gave their plates back just as we'd given them to them, untouched.

What really got to me though was when they'd ask for decent food, like sausage for breakfast. Having quite a tight quota of 'English' goods like Heinz Baked Beans, sausages and bacon it meant that we could only cook enough for the guests. Any left overs or unwanted food was ours for breakfast, a real gem! So when one brat would ask for a sausage every morning, push it around the plate, stare at it intently and then leave it to cool down, not even trying it, really got up my goat. That was my sausage!

It spoilt the week, not only for us but for them. We payed no attention to their wellbeing, didn't do the finer touches and generally just didnt give a …. (Hey Grandma!) Yes we did the obligatory, we made poxy sausage and bacon sandwiches at 4am this morning because Andrew wanted them. We did everything the company asked of us, just didnt 'shine' as hosts.

So now we have 5 hours to turn the chalet around, all new linen, deep clean the rooms, windows cleaned, carpets hoovered, cake baked and dinner prepped for our new set of guests.

Please god. Don't do that to me again...