One of the wonderful things about living in such a beautiful part of the world is the level of smugness you can achieve every time you walk around, even if it’s just a quick visit to the boulangerie. However while we’re secretly smiling to ourselves we start to enter the very dangerous territory of thinking how wonderful it would be if our friends/family/ex-colleagues could see us now. Then we decide how completely brilliant it would be if they were to come over for a holiday, and they could experience our smugness firsthand.

And so we enter the “it seemed a good idea at the time” department. In my experience of living here for four years and having invited a myriad of friends over, it rarely is a good idea, and by the time my guests are ready to leave I am ready to crack open the valium and lie in a dark room covered in a damp flannel, flanked by bottles of gin. I think we do it because we want to show off, we want our friends to see the little boulangerie/patissierie/boucherie that we go to everyday, we want them to see the warm weather and sunshine, to enjoy a slow glass of red wine while slowly munching a fresh baguette and most of all we want them to be jealous and envious of what we’ve achieved.

However, it never works out like that. This is generally how it goes. Guests rarely understand that they are coming into a working home, and not a hotel. They assume you will be able to take a booking for their holiday at their convenience, not yours. They assume because you work in a sunny climate that you can just take time off work as and when needed, and even after a hard days’ work you will still have enough bounce and enthusiasm to sit in a bar drinking before having a meal at a restaurant you’d never go to if you had the choice. They assume you can stay up until 1am and don’t understand why you are up again at 7am preparing the children and getting ready for work.

Most annoyingly they also don’t understand how much their visit costs you. “Don’t mind us” they say “we’ll entertain ourselves”. This soon translates to they want to go to a restaurant on their first night, and second night, third and fourth…and the lunches, coffee stops and the extra glasses of wine. “We’re on holiday!” they cry, “I’m not” you quietly grumble as you peer into the bottom of your purse and try to rummage around for some more euros to pay for their debauchery. You take them to the cheapest bar where they complain at paying 4 euros for half a beer, “it’s cheap for the Riviera!” you reply – they make a face that says they don’t approve of your lifestyle choice to live down here, if that is what beer costs.

Then of course there are the other little expenses guests always seem so unaware of, from the extra electricity used “oh sorry I left the fan on all day” to the things such as the unexpected amount of toilet paper extra guests seem to get through (do they steal it and take it back in their cases?). They break things then say you shouldn’t have put it there in the first place, or when they offer to pay and you tell them the cost you get in trouble for buying something expensive. They offer to wash up then put things in the wrong places, years later you find your favourite utensils lounging around at the back of a cupboard that was only for the best china.

But the worst thing is they drag you to the tourist traps “but we’ve come all this way, we must see the casino/palace/beach etc etc” they cry. You hang your head as you know it’ll be another expensive day out as you are dragged kicking and screaming into touristy tat shops while they ask your opinion on every postcard – I was asked recently by a friend to find a postcard for her that was an animal wearing an amusing hat posing in Monaco – and you are treated as a tourist office for all their shopping requirements. “I want a small tray suitable for the kitchen but with a picture of Monaco on” another friend asked; “I don’t think they sell those I replied”, she looked crestfallen then just demanded that I find one for her anyway. The fact I had to go into work made no difference, her tourist tats needs were more important than me earning a salary to pay for her free hotel accommodation.

You become an onsite tourist guide, translating for them and feeling bad when they complain to you that the cup of tea they ordered was not English Breakfast and came with no milk, and when you do manage to order them some milk it was hot so it made the cup of tea a miserable experience that is ruining their holiday. You feel bad even though your brain is busy worrying about that presentation you are supposed to be doing for your boss instead of sitting in an overpriced café while your friends ask a plethora of stupid questions about the region and are outraged when you don’t know the answers.

So why do we do it? Because we think it will be better next time. Because we get railroaded into it by friends and family who see you as a holiday destination where the hotel lets them stay for free. And because we just can’t but help show off the wonderful place where we live.