The little lodger is moving in. I chose her after an exhaustive search of twentysomethings looking for accommodation, during which I met a terrifying selection of millennials and members of generation snowflake.
The highlight has to be the 22-year-old engineer who came with his parents. They toured the house and inspected the room on offer. They then fixed me with a withering stare and, as the lad stood by saying nothing, fired at me the most frightening list of questions I can imagine being asked about a prospective lodging situation.
‘And where will we sleep when we come to stay?’ was the first, asked by the mother, a very nice lady — but, you know, not so nice I’d want her in my house every weekend, sitting on my couch, watching Coronation Street on my flat screen.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you look out that window you will see the back of a very nice B&B on the high street that has rooms at extremely reasonable rates.
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