Trying to Retire by Liz Hirstle

Changing Direction

My name is Liz Hirstle, and I live in the Adelaide Hills. I am an artist, trying to retire, but things keep cropping up to keep me busy. Recently I stopped holding art classes and painting after losing sight in my left eye. Two operations later, I can see again but have a distortion, and painting is difficult.

While the Bed and Breakfast part of my business is going strong — something that lets me engage with people from every corner of the world, which I love — life moves on.

Our house is all but sold, and we plan to move to France, where I lived as a teenager. The draw of Europe is strong, and I need to answer the call before I grow too old to care.

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Before we depart, I want to share a story or two about some strange B&B guests who will remain in my thoughts. I now write novels and film scripts, which is rewarding, and I’ve written a whole series of stories about the oddest people we’ve had to stay. While 99% of guests are lovely and charming, it is the odd few who make for wonderful stories.

There’s Bed; Then There’s Breakfast

B&B guests often turn up looking a little bedraggled, having had a long flight, or car journey. We have catered for aunts, uncles, sisters and brothers, best men and their wives and bridesmaids.

I don’t eat a cooked breakfast because I’ve cooked so many that they lost their appeal long ago. Breakfast might seem to be a simple meal to fill your tummy and send you off for the day to work or play. But, not at a B&B.

Gone are the days of offering a full English breakfast. Over the years, our menu has changed to keep pace with new fads and fancies. By that, I mean gluten-free, dairy-free, meat-free, nut-free, in fact, any ‘free’ you care to mention.

I have this conversation regularly —

            ‘I can’t eat eggs, fish, meat, or fruit, or grains, or real food really.’

            ‘What would you like us to make for you today?’

We now have a comprehensive menu that caters for everyone. Or, almost everyone.

Meet Alisa, Nate and the Splitty

This time we welcomed Alisa and Nate, a young couple who stayed at our B&B because they were guests at a wedding in a nearby winery. The couple lived eight hours drive to the north of South Australia, and they wandered into the breakfast room the next morning, looking a little under the weather. They lived in the hope that I had a cure that would make them look and feel lively for the big event.

Alisa and Nate were not posh by any stretch of the imagination. Alisa called everyone ‘darl’ and had an odd way of communicating by abbreviating practically every word she uttered. We took it upon ourselves to try and translate, and I became quite an expert by the time they left. Here’s an example of Alisa speaking to me.

 ‘Darl, Nate’s fixed yer splitty I S, Nate’s a splitty expert, ain’t you darl?’ Nate nodded which left me wondering if he understood Alisa’s turn of phrase.

‘Thank you, Nate. That was most thoughtful of you,’ was my reply. I mustered as much enthusiasm as the statement warranted. The word ‘splitty’ kept whirring through my brain, but as yet, the translation was missing. It sounded slightly rude.

Dressed for the Wedding

The next time I bumped into the pair, they were heading off to the wedding. Okay, I admit it. I must be a snob. When I looked at the outfit Alisa had chosen, I shivered.

Let me be slightly charitable here and say that Alisa was not the skinny model type, more the hippopotamus type, and I’m restraining myself here. Her gold, off-the-shoulder, figure-hugging minidress was a disaster. She’d piled her bleached blonde hair haphazardly atop her head on top of which sat a feather creation that looked like it would topple off at any moment. Her bare plump legs ended in monstrous high heels of bright purple, with orange bows, front and back, and to complete this ensemble was a luminous green necklace with matching earrings.

Nate glowed with pride.

‘I just P D’d it.’ Alisa said as if an explanation was necessary. I’m none the wiser.

Nate wore a pair of bright green trousers, a Hawaiian shirt and thongs to complete his outfit.

He’d combed his hair back, ‘Elvis’ style with masses of gel. Alisa blinked her over-blackened eyes and cast a lascivious look in his direction.

‘Back at M darl.’ Alisa informed me as they swept out of the driveway in their Ute.

The Morning After

The following morning the pair staggered in for a late breakfast, I suspected, still drunk. Alisa announced in her charming way that the wedding had been wonderful, and they had had the best time catching up with friends and relatives. Or as Alisa put it ‘F’s and R’s.’

You see, I was getting the hang of this odd form of speech.

Nate informed me, with pride that his beloved had drunk the place dry. No argument there!

As I waved them goodbye, Alisa shouted that if ever we were in the A P we must visit them.

I went to clean the little cottage and found a massive knot of bleached hair on the bathroom floor. I assumed it had been yanked from Alisa’s hair during a fight to remove the feathered thing. I found one green earring, one orange bow and an object that is still puzzling me. It is fifteen centimetres long, with a tab at one end and a split at the other.

‘Well, they were fun.’ my husband grinned. Fancy a trip to the A P?

And ‘splitty’? Well, that meant air conditioner, for heating and cooling, and yes, it does work much more efficiently. Thank you, Nate.

Open Garden

I run an annual open garden to raise money for a charity close to my heart. We make afternoon teas and generally have a busy but rewarding time. Once, a few hours after we closed the garden gates, we received a phone call from a couple who had been for the tea and flowers.

Let me introduce Mr and Mrs Filcraft who asked if they could book the B&B for a night, in two weeks. They loved the panoramic views. We agreed on dates.

The Filcrafts arrived after lunch, and I took them over to the little cottage. They loved the accommodation and were very happy with the cheese platter and wine. I left them to it and went to visit a sick friend.

On my return, the Filcraft’s car was gone, and I assumed they had gone out to explore the area. However, the expression on my husband’s face was odd.

‘Are you alright?’

‘No, I am not alright. I am all wrong,’ my husband answered.

‘Wrong?’

‘Apparently, the whole property is wrong.’

I was confused. ‘I’m sorry. What do you mean?’

‘It’s the Filcrafts. They left.’

‘Yes. I saw the car was gone. When will they be back?’

My husband scowled. ‘Never.’ I was confused and asked what had happened. The couple had asked for a refund. The Filcrafts had complained that the scenery was not the same from the cottage as it was from the cafe.

‘Did you give them their money back?’ I asked, still perplexed.

‘I did. I was just happy to get rid of them. Weirdos.’

Dismayed I went to retrieve the platter and wine only to discover that they had polished off the lot. They had rested on the bed and used the bathroom. The situation was infuriating.

The couple had taken advantage of our good nature and thought nothing of abusing our hospitality.

A month later, when I bumped into another B&B owner while shopping at the farmers’ market. I told her the story of the Filcrafts.

‘Oh, you’ve met them, have you?’ She beamed with knowledge I did not possess.

‘They do it to all the B&B owners in the district where they get fruit, or cheese or other treats. They turn up as if butter wouldn’t melt and you know the rest.’

Ah well, you live and learn!

Author Bio

You’ll find Liz’s B&B here http://www.jac.net.au/bandb/index.html