UNREST AT FENNIE'S HOUSE

Now here's a conundrum. How should one entertain house-guests? It ought to be a simple matter - people, let's hope they are friends, come to stay for a few days. Then they depart, without, it's to be hoped, taken overmuch of the family silver with them. In between you 'entertain' them and perhaps also 'feed' them. Various folk are kind enough to offer me board and lodging and from time to time I reciprocate. What is my problem?

Well, it is this. Simply put, I seem to expend a great deal more angst over my guests than they do over me. I don't wish to expend angst - but it sort of takes me over, if you know what I mean.

Before they come I am rushing around doing this and fixing that as if I were being subject to a species of inspection. When they are here I feel I have to spend every minute entertaining them, cooking for them, plying them with drinks, taking them on trips. And when they go it takes me a week to get the house back into its normal comfortably dishevelled state and to catch up on all the chores I didn't do when they were here. What is worse, all of us seem fit for collapse after a couple of days of the Fennie hectic schedule first class visiting experience.

By contrast, when I go to visit other people they seem remarkably laid back. If they prepare a hectic schedule then I don't notice it. I have arrived at houses as far apart as Brussels and Suffolk to find them in total darkness and my hosts fast asleep. I have blundered in the dark, tripping over cats and wrestling with unfamiliar latches while trying to remember where the bathroom lay when last I visited.

In Cuba, staying with a diplomatic relative, I awoke to find my hosts departed and a small army of servants eager to do my bidding - the only problem being that never a word of the English language had passed their lips. I can only say it is quite remarkable how quickly one seems to learn a language when breakfast depends on it.

I should say that personally I am relaxed about being treated in this cavalier style and left to my own devices. It doesn't worry me. Why then would I sooner die (well almost) than leave my own guests in a similar position, not that, you understand, I keep a small army of servants, or even one servant or even (may he rest in peace) a Loic.

To my sister the idea that she should entertain me would seem outrageous. Should I be so minded she will do me the kindness of letting me accompany her on the forty-five minute route march she makes each morning and evening with the dogs. But otherwise I should amuse myself. There are plenty of books to be read if it's wet, and, if it's dry, farm animals in various sizes to attend to, most of whom relish their backs being scratched by idle visitors and an occasional sugar lump with which to pass the time. If I feel energetic I can throw a Frisby for the sheepdog to retrieve. That is it.

When I visit friends in France, we may make a short trip here or there but in the main we sit in the house and talk and read. I have the impression that no great preparations are ever made, I come and go almost ethereally, like a mouse or spider.

Whence therefore comes my atavistic desire to grind my guests into the ground by filling their day with one experience after another. The diary planned, if not quite to the minute, then certainly to the nearest hour, and as if one set of guests were not enough, why do I feel the compunction to invite other friends to a dinner party as well?

It occurred to me the other day after our Normandy friends had left that I really must stop being so attentive if only for the sake of global warming. The dishwasher and washing machine, the freezer, vacuum cleaner, car all were working overtime. The washing up that six people can generate over three or four courses with a couple of different wines and water is nobody's business. I don't complain if I just get given one glass, or one plate for that matter.

I suppose I must feel that as far as guests are concerned they like bicycles - only able to stay on the premises, as it were, if kept moving and 'entertained.' But the more I think about it the more I realise that other people do not do this and the guests seem not to complain. I conclude I am trying too hard. That really people would rather have too little to do than too much.

Come to think of it the only woman who resembled me in this respect was an elderly aunt by marriage who lived in Ottawa and ricocheted around the house ticking off the minutes. "If you can finish that toast in the next three minutes we can be downstairs by 9.15. It will take us seven minutes to get to the museum where you can stay for a hour an a half which will give us 42 minutes to get up country to the lake etc…."

So I have made a resolution. No more Aunt Louise-ing! In the future I shall make no special effort for guests. They can take pot-luck and entertain themselves. As this involves doing absolutely nothing, it should be easy to adhere to. However, something tells me that it won't and that I shall still be driving my guests to despair long into the future. Any tips you may have to avoid this sorry obsession will be gratefully received.