Taken for granted

I'm bemused by those tourists who seem to have no respect or consideration for the places they're visiting and the local people. They charge into a place, have their fun and charge out again, not caring if the residents have been inconvenienced, annoyed or generally taken for granted.

Over-tourism has been a problem for a while, but the virus pandemic has made things even worse because so many Brits have now opted for staycations rather than risking foreign holidays.

Thousands of tourists are overwhelming seaside resorts to the extent that some of the locals are scared to walk along the busiest streets or go food shopping, in case they catch the virus.

When Jenny and I go on holiday, we see ourselves as guests of the country we're in. We're respectful, considerate, unassuming. We try not to be over-demanding or impatient or arrogant. We don't want the locals to get a bad impression of our own country from the way we behave. We don't expect them to be fawning all over us, nervous we might complain or be abusive.

We leave generous tips where tips are expected. We don't hassle hotel staff in the middle of the night. We don't leave our hotel room looking like a bombsite. We don't demand huge discounts on souvenirs. We don't expect to jump queues ahead of the locals. We don't shout drunken insults at everyone. We don't moan that everything's better at home. We don't under-dress. In short, we don't behave like spoilt arseholes.

I also try to find out more about the country I'm in, rather than just trundling round the well-known tourist attractions. I want to know something about its history, its economy, its culture, whatever is distinctive about it.

Is it really that hard to behave decently?

And so to bed

The meaning of the bed has changed drastically over the centuries. Nowadays beds are just something for sleeping, having sex or recov-ering from illness. But during the Middle Ages they were mainly a sign of social status.

While the poor had tiny beds made of canvas and straw, often slept in by an entire family, the rich had large and elaborate beds with canopies and curtains and lots of pillows. Some of them were so luxurious and worth so much they would be bequeathed in a person's will.

When bedside tables were invented, they too became a symbol of wealth and social status. As did the number of beds in the household, Louis the 14th having more than 400.

A rich person's bed was so impressive that they would often receive guests or preside over meetings while in bed. A big contrast to today, when receiving guests in your bed is seen as totally disreputable and degenerate.

The poor of course would justify their spartan bedding by saying that anything more extravagant was just a sign of self-indulgent pampering. Pillows, they insisted, were only necessary for sick women and invalids.

It was only in the 19th century that beds started to lose their social status to other possessions, and comfort became more important than how fancy your bed was. All people want to know today is whether they will sleep soundly or toss and turn all night. Or whether the bed springs will squeak embarrassingly as they pleasure a new lover. Or whether the bed's so narrow you and your loved one will be rather too intimately entwined.

In a hotel bedroom, I also want to know that the bed is clean and bug-free and not bearing traces of the previous occupant's frolics or nausea or greasy takeaway. And that the bed linen isn't threadbare from a thousand washes. And that the bed won't collapse in the middle of the night.

If I could also have a bed that guaranteed blissful and beautiful dreams, instead of the anxious and scary ones I usually have, that would be an added bonus. But I don't think the neuroscientists have cracked that one yet.

Winning formula

Zadie Smith, in an interview with John Self, asks an interesting question about what we expect when someone invites us round. "Once you're invited, what kind of hospitality is ideal?"

I guess we all have our own ideas about what makes for an enjoyable evening and what doesn't. I've been to a few agonisingly tedious get-togethers in my time but also plenty of witty, exhilarating ones I had to drag myself away from. So what's the difference, I wonder? Here's a few suggestions for the ideal formula:

1) A relaxed, informal atmosphere. As opposed to that uncomfortable feeling that the place has been specially cleaned and tidied, there'll be a big frost if you accidentally spill wine on the priceless Persian rug, and too many subjects are taboo in case they embarrass or offend the assembled company.

2) Original ideas and witty comments. As opposed to hours and hours of banal, predictable, deadpan conversation about property prices, childcare, the weather, holiday cottages and the price of heating oil.

3) Disarming personal confessions. There's nothing so riveting and touching as someone unexpectedly revealing that they get awful panic attacks, or they're terrified of the dark, or they used to go shoplifting, or they talk to themselves.

4) The other guests being genuinely intrigued by my own life and interests. As opposed to asking me a few polite, indifferent questions and then continuing to hold forth about themselves. Or ignoring me completely while finding someone else utterly fascinating.

5) Following from 4, an absence of those self-absorbed individuals who find their own lives totally mesmerising and could talk about themselves till dawn the next morning unless you forcefully shut them up or show them the door. If allowed a free run, they kill the conversation stone dead.

6) Positive, optimistic people who enjoy their lives. As opposed to the permanently-depressed moaners and whingers who never stop complaining about their bad luck, their overwhelming problems and burdens, and how everyone else is sabotaging them and undermining them.

It's not often that these things come together and you go home feeling quite deliriously entertained and inspired. But it does happen sometimes. And when it does, it's worth all the dreary, interminable occasions that preceded it.

Be my guest

Short of guests for that all-important social event? Racking your brains for remote acquaintances you can barely remember? Easy - just hire some fake friends to plug the gap.

If you live in Tokyo, there's a company that does exactly that - hires out "friends" to make your birthday party or wedding go with a swing.

Simply attending costs £127, while there's an extra charge for making a speech, singing or dancing. They can pretend to be anything you want - a lover, a secretary or a distant relative. In fact whatever you think will impress the genuine guests.

But who on earth would be sufficiently devious or insecure or pretentious to go to such lengths? Are there that many people who're so desperate to keep up appearances and pretend they've got a huge social circle?

Surely they'd be found out pretty quickly when one of the bogus guests failed to know some elementary fact about the person throwing the party or housewarming? That's funny, they never heard about the car accident. Or the overdose....

Mind you, recollecting some of the dismal social events and vacuous conversations I've had to endure in the past, maybe a few fake guests would have livened them up a bit and sent me home pleasantly happy rather than wanting to shoot myself.
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Now we've moved to the other side of Belfast, Jenny has relaunched her blog as East Belfast Diary to write about her new neighbourhood.