Carolyn and David travelled from the North East, Nigel and I from the South East, and we met up in the Peak District. As usual the agenda for the weekend was long walks, pubs, a bit of culture and a trawl of charity shops.
However, this time our attention was grabbed by the landlord
of our accommodation.
Carolyn had very kindly made the booking, and soon began to receive
very long emails with detailed instructions for the house. Amid the many paragraphs were concealed vital
information like the postcode, keycode and wifi password. It was like a very inconvenient wordsearch
puzzle.
When we entered the (very pleasant) house, the folder which
was left out for visitors did not disappoint.
There was a lengthy screed on how to raise and lower the
(perfectly normal) blinds.
The patio was on two levels and there was a whole page about
not tripping or falling down the four-inch-high step, and outside, an outsize
yellow traffic cone to mark the hazard.
The section on using the wood-burning stove was positively
Dickensian in its detail.
After all this, I saw Nigel hesitating in the hallway, a
frown on his face.
‘Anything the matter?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t find
the instructions for how to walk up the stairs.’
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