The first hour in a rented cottage decides how the rest of the week goes, and I have spent too many of them on my knees hunting for a stopcock while the bags stood open in the doorway. I arrive with a short list now, and I do not sit down until it is finished.
Before I leave home
Three things get written on paper before I close my own front door, because phone batteries die at the wrong moment and cottage signal is never what the listing promised.
- The owner's number, the arrival window and the key location, copied into a notebook that stays in my coat pocket.
- The address in the local language, spelled out, so a driver can read it instead of listening to me pronounce it.
- A photo of the booking on my phone and a printout in the bag, plus the agency's out-of-hours number.
I also read the forecast for the whole week while I am still at home, not because I can change it, but because rain from Wednesday onwards changes what I carry in first when I get there.
The outside loop
The bags stay in the car for the first ten minutes. I walk around the building once, in daylight when I have it, looking for the things that turn into arguments at the end of a stay.
- Where the parking really is, whether the gate needs a remote, and whether a neighbour parks across it.
- The meter box and its reading, photographed, along with any oil tank gauge and the state of the wood pile.
- Windows, doors and balcony latches from outside, including the ones that look bolted and are not.
- The bins, and which day they go out, usually scrawled on a lid by whoever was here before me.
Photographing the meter has saved me twice, both times when an owner quoted a closing number that nobody could argue with. Thirty seconds on arrival settles a question that would otherwise cost money.
Heat, water and the smell test
Back inside, the boiler comes first. I find the thermostat, the immersion switch and the stopcock in that order, then run both taps until the water runs clear and then hot, because a cottage that has stood empty for a month tastes of its own plumbing.
Then I stand still and smell the rooms. Damp reads as a flat, sweet note behind curtains and under the stairs, and it is far cheaper to report on the first evening than to sleep beside it for a week. Radiators get touched rather than trusted: warm at the top and cold at the bottom means air, warm nowhere means I ring the number on the paper before dinner.
Every window gets opened for ten minutes whatever the weather outside, if only to prove that it opens, closes and locks again.
Bedding, kitchen and the first shop
I unpack nothing until the beds are settled in my head: towels for the count of people, sheets that match the mattresses in front of me rather than the ones in the listing photo, and a duvet heavy enough for the season I am actually in.
- Fridge and freezer on, with the dial not left on whatever the last guest chose.
- Kettle boiled once and poured away, mugs counted, and one sharp knife located before I need it.
- Every ring on the hob lit, and the extractor tested if the kitchen has one.
- The wifi password tried from the sofa and from the bedroom, because one of the two always fails.
The first shop stays small: milk, bread, coffee, something for dinner and enough for breakfast until I have found the bakery. Buying the same five things everywhere is a habit, and having them on the counter is what makes the rooms feel like mine by the evening.
Paperwork before the first night
The inventory sheet gets read against the room rather than from the armchair, and anything already broken gets photographed with the sheet in the same frame. Damage I did not cause is only awkward to explain if I say nothing on arrival, and every owner I have dealt with has preferred a message on day one to one on the morning I leave.
Meter readings, wifi code, bin day and checkout time go on the first page of the notebook, so the last morning involves no searching. Then I send one short message to say I am inside, and after that the phone stays away for the evening.
When I run the list
The outside loop and the boiler check happen within an hour of arrival, every time, even when it is dark and sitting down is the only thing I want. The shop and the paperwork wait for daylight. The routine takes about forty minutes, and the only times I have regretted it are the times I skipped it after a late arrival and spent the next morning looking for a stopcock instead of walking.