It’s funny how things change. Hospitality used to be a personal thing. Now it’s an industry. A career for which you train, perhaps in the hope of becoming manager of one of those whoop-di-doo resorts where people play golf, drink cocktails by the pool, eat cake, see and be seen.
Those places have never appealed to me, fortunately. Polished luxury makes me uneasy – like the parlour maid caught in the parlour when the guests arrive. I could wind myself up to it if I had to, I guess. I was taught which cutlery to use, how to smile and nod convincingly, how to sweep on through instead of scuttling.
But I wouldn’t enjoy it, with or without the luxury. Resorts, cruises, boarding schools, prisons… All places where they decide what’s suitable to the occasion. The big difference is that I could afford prison – they provide the uniforms – which is why it’s fortunate I’m not beguiled by the other three.