B&B and Nasty Habits

Bed and breakfast? Basic and banal? Boutique and beautiful? What’s your take on the ever so English in its origins B&B? Well I’m undecided. I think any of the above can hit he mark depending on the day of the week, the accommodation, the guests, the weather and the proprietors. We were recommended a book called Boutique Lodgings, which outlines some of the more quirky places to stay in New Zealand, ranging from ridiculously expensive to the very reasonable. The only thing they all have in common is their own brand of unique and the NZ Qualmark. A kind of AA recommended, but with a little more panache. So far we’ve stayed at two B&Bs from the book with very differing results.

The first was in Christchurch, I won’t mention the name of the establishment as I don’t want to be dragged through their courts by cahoonas. It was a lovely old building, well old by New Zealand standards. That’s anything over fifty years. You have to remember, the Maoris have only been here for a thousand years and Europeans just the last hundred and fifty, so old is a very relative term. Jane’s old by New Zealand standards, but I’m still just a spring lamb. Anyway, the accommodation was lovely, the location was great but the owner, who we’ll call Pete for the purposes of this blog was a bit of a cold fish. Now my gaydar is usually much better than Jane’s, but even she said “I think he might be a merry queen”. Was it the handlebar waxed moustache? The immaculate, starched, pastel appearance? The absence of a significant other? Or the way he minced around the breakfast room in his pinny? “I think it’s a safe bet love, he’s as camp as a chiffon tent” I said. “But I think he has children” she said. I slapped her, and she said no more on the subject.

I don’t know what it was. We just didn’t warm to him and I’m not sure he did to us either. Obviously it wasn’t anything to do with his sexuality as we both know and like a number of the afore mentioned stereotypes. You know who you are! The comfortable shoes and dungaree brigade too.

Whatever it was, it was compounded by the one thing that is really special about B&Bs. The clue is in the title. Breakfast. Not the food, which is usually pretty good. Let’s face it, why would you open a B&B if you didn’t like or weren’t able to knock up a good fry or continental buffet? It’s the communal table or the table of death as I like to call it. It is a very special place. Occupied by embarrassed people, who would rather die than strike up a conversation with someone they’ll never meet again. Or is that just me? Why do I think that everybody is thinking “I bet they shagged last night”. You can see it in their faces. I really struggle with it. Why do they feel the need to strike up a conversation with you? If I was more honest I would get up and say;
“I don’t care where you’ve been so far. I’m not interested in your recommendations I don’t know you, but from first impressions I don’t like what I’ve seen. Have the good bloody manners to sit quietly. You don’t need to know what we do. You don’t need to know how long we’ve been here or where we’re going. Mind your own bloody business.” But then the other option is to sit in silence. Mind this was the only option our first night there, because all the guests were Japanese. So obviously they spoke about us without our knowing and ear wigged our conversation. Bastards!

The second one was completely different. Te Anau Lodge in Te Anau. Again, a lovely old building, which used to be a convent and still retains many of its original features. I smiled as soon as I found that out as the Nun jokes from my teens came flooding back;

Sister Maria and Agnes in the bath. Sister Maria says ”Where’s the soap”, to which Sister Agnes replies “Yes it does, doesn’t it”.

It had stained glass windows and an old pedal organ in the dining room. A well stocked library/communal area with a fabulous old boxed gramophone and chesterfield sofas to relax in. Beautiful wooden interiors throughout and excellent views of the mountains and lake. Last but not least, an enormously welcoming couple, George and Margaret who literally couldn’t do enough to make us feel at home and who brimmed with a childlike, infectious excitement about their home and surroundings.

After a wander round the town and a bite to eat we popped back and sat in the library where we were joined one by one by a number of people, who all had a story to tell and who were all pretty interesting. I won’t go into detail, but we had a bit of a laugh, assisted I’m sure by the complimentary wine and beer. I don’t think it was supposed to last all night, but Jane found the cupboard it was kept in, so we helped ourselves. Obviously we didn’t take the pee as that would be rude, but we had enough to oil the wheels of conversation.

Anyway, long story short, it was a hugely different experience. Breakfast as always, was a little uncomfortable, but Jane said it was fine for her. I think what she’s trying to say is I’m an unsociable bugger.

I think she’s right. But I’m no nearer to solving the riddle of the B&B.