“I have to say the level of cleanliness at Woodhouse has really gone downhill since I first arrived.”
Don’t be fooled by the pictures of Woodhouse; the quirky charm has finally worn out after staying there for the past twelve months. When I approached the property, the path was littered with cigarette butts, giving a poor first impression. In the communal room the curtains looked ragged, were poorly fitted, and wouldn’t even open. A running machine on the floor appeared to belong to the host, a kind man who lives on site. Over the year I stayed in every room, and every en‑suite shower door was covered in limescale, some so thick you could barely see through the glass, indicating poor cleaning. In one room the bed was so uncomfortable I slept on top of the duvet; the radiator cover was badly fitted and hanging off; the fire door squeaked so loudly that I had to apply WD‑40 to avoid disturbing other guests. Once, when I opened the curtains to let in light, they fell down because of poor fitting; I told the host, but he had no proper tools, so with my help we managed to secure them. The last time I stayed, the first‑floor kitchen was filthy; the sink was blocked, but by the morning when I made tea before leaving for work, the water had drained and I could see it was full of food and fat. I turned on the oven to cook, pulled out the tray, and was shocked to find it full of burnt chips and grease, which I set aside to inform the host. I kept heating the oven, but within minutes smoke billowed out, so I turned it off, switched on the extractor, opened the kitchen window, and closed the door; I could still smell the smoke later that evening. Additionally, the sink was stacked with poorly cleaned pots and pans; in the cupboard there were plates still with food residue; the work surface was covered in butter; the fridge door was greasy and grimy; and there were never any tea towels available for some reason.
PurtillIl y a 3 semaines