Tales of Flaxen Hall

Flaxen Hall, in all its majesty

On the 7^th June, I posted about my predicament one year into retirement. I mentioned that I had decided to drink deep from the font of the Airbnb franchise. After 11 weeks of partaking of the scheme, I feel qualified and entitled to comment on this modest money-making opportunity.

Our property has turned out to be remarkably popular. This is probably due to the way we ‘market’ the stay as an opportunity to feed the alpacas and take part in an ‘Archery Experience’. Also, we are on the main route north and south on the North Island of New Zealand. As expected, we have attracted the European backpacker fraternity plus assorted tourists. In less than 3 months, 15 bookings have been amassed at ‘Flaxen Saxon Halls’. On the whole, it has been an interesting and pleasant experience. The folks spending time in our humble abode have been universally engaging and pleasant. I’d just like to share some of the highs and admittedly rare, lows.

Of particular note was a middle-aged German chap (don’t mention the war). He had travelled to NZ for a conference and afterwards decided to spend a few days exploring this fair country. He arrived at 3pm and as the day was sunny I offered the visitor the opportunity to partake in the pursuit of casting a few yard shafts at a suitably placed target. Satiated by our archery experience, we retreated to the inner sanctum to quaff a few foaming flagons of fine ale. My new acquired German friend was ex-army and was currently employed as a munition disposal specialist. His job involved identifying and disposing of caches of explosives deposited off the coast of Belgium and France. After the Great War, French and Belgium fishermen were paid to dump artillery shells and explosives. The plan was to ditch the munitions in deep water far out to sea. However, it seems that some of the fishermen decided that it would be more economically viable to dump the load quickly and therefore a goodly proportion of the munitions ended up in shallow water close to the coast: naughty fisher folk. Tis nice to note that people were just as lazy 100 years ago as people today- warms the cockles of your heart. Anyway, after 100 years, the shells were deteriorating spreading picric acid, and other nasties, unto the waters of the north sea, thus discombobulating fisherfolk of today. Due to the sheer amount of explosives deposited it is likely that my Teutonic visitor will be employed for a while.

As my regular readers know, I have an interest in matters military and so as the beer flowed our conversation veered to war, especially the first and second world war (yes, I did mention the war). My guest was particularly knowledgeable and we discussed matters concerning the merits of various second world war tanks long into the night…….   

My next anecdote concerns a young Dutch couple. They stayed but just one night and I have to say they were truly delightful. But for some reason which will forever remain cloaked in mystery, the young Dutch lady appeared to have a tenuous grasp on her underwear. When Mrs S went to strip and remake the bed (we have a clear demarcation of duties) she found a pair of discarded panties. Not particularly strange to find in a young couple’s bed you say. However, when cleaning their designated bathroom she found another pair of panties on the floor (why is it a pair when the item is singular?) and furthermore a third pair was espied casually discarded in our hallway. To lose one pair is an accident to lose three is just very, very, odd. And before you ask: no I didn’t.

My last story is more gripe than anecdote and related to toilet hygiene. Mrs S has a particular aversion and hate: she abhors males who cannot aim correctly when pissing thus spreading their tepid effluence far and wide. To prevent displeasure, calling on my well apportioned and lovely bonce, I have taken to piss sitting down, like a whipped cur. This unpleasantness has occurred on three separate occasions and Mrs S is nonplussed and not very pleased. Perhaps I could put a humourless plaque in the toilet area reminding guests that urinating on the floor is not particularly nice? I petition my readers to come up with a suitably funny but pointed reminder to our future guests about the importance of keeping their flowing waste strictly in the designated receptacle. The best entry wins a bag of alpaca poo to be collected at the winner's convenience. Toodly pip, for now.    

Mrs S feeding Rowan

Jack waiting for a treat