I’ll be honest – I wasn’t looking forward to it. But as the weeks peeled away from the calendar and the arrival date edged ever-closer, I steeled myself for the inevitable imposition that was to come. It wouldn’t be easy. I’d need to prepare myself for the disruption to my routine and the burden that is making people feel comfortable, although not so comfortable that they forget to leave. I’ve never been fond of house guests.
I do my best to be a good host. But if I’m being honest, the entire time they’re here, I’ll be thinking about how relieved I’m going to feel when they finally call an Uber and head out to Tullamarine. That moment can’t come soon enough. If it sounds like I’m lacking generosity towards my guests, it’s not as though I asked to be put in this position. These people weren’t invited. Rather, they have been imposed upon me. Truth is, I hardly know Charles and Camilla at all.
It’s the fault of a ridiculous loophole. Back when Melbourne hosted the Olympics in 1956, a large billeting program was proposed by which ordinary Melburnians would open their doors to international athletes and visitors. The people of Melbourne, a somewhat suspicious lot, resisted the invitation. This resulted in the ‘Home Billet (Olympics) Act’ of 1956, which saw international interlopers imposed on locals against their will. The anger associated with the program was largely forgotten in the Olympic afterglow but, as it turns out, the ‘Billet Act’ was never revoked and it remains the case that any one can be required to play host with fourteen days’ notice.
When I was told that I’d need to clear out the spare room for the King and Queen of England, I felt royally put out. The spare room is the one I use to dry my laundry and I’m not inclined to pack up the clothes horse just to make them feel more comfortable. Indeed, the guests should make themselves useful and pair the socks.
I gave the lawn a quick mow and the floor a vacuum – which I understand is more or less expected when you’re hosting royalty. When the doorbell rang, my heart sank. As I pulled back the door, there they were, all smiles. Charles had already made the most of the retail opportunities at the airport and was wearing a Ken Done koala t-shirt. Camilla had bought a box of spicy wings from the KFC drive-through. She tipped the box in my direction by way of a greeting, but I declined.
I bundled them inside before the neighbours could see and put the kettle on. They were, naturally enough, tired from the journey. They had a lot of baggage – both physical and emotional – and I’ll admit that I tuned out when Charles told me how worried he was about one of his kids.
I moved the bags into the spare room. It was a tight fit – so much so that the Royal couple had to crawl over their own suitcases to get to the bed. I almost felt bad for not moving the clothes horse into another room. Almost. For a moment, I feared Camilla might drop her box of spicy wings but she soon steadied and propped herself on the bed. I can’t say I was thrilled to see her getting crumbs on the doona and I made my point by offering to her a plate, a serviette and a mop and bucket, but there was nothing I could to deter her.
It’s been a rough couple of days since. I’ve lost control of the television. Charles, as it turns out, is a big fan of ‘Are You Being Served?’ It’s ruining my algorithm on Netflix. I tried to persuade him to give ‘Kath and Kim’ a go, but he told me sternly that he didn’t like documentaries.
I took them for a counter meal at the pub. Camilla was intrigued by the idea of a ‘chicken shnitty’ and, on arrival, she immediately put her name down for the darts tournament. We were having a great time until the conversation took an unexpectedly dark turn. I made the mistake of asking them why they’d come to Australia and the atmosphere turned instantly chilly. Charles leaned in, bearing his teeth and said, ‘Why do you ask? Don’t you want us here?’ In retrospect, shrugging my shoulders may not have been the best response. As they reeled from the impact of my indifference, I made things worse by asking Camilla whether she was going to eat her chips to which she responded by covered them with her hands and turning slightly away. It was super awkward.
Things still felt tense when I dropped them off at the airport shuttle bus. Although I was relieved to see them leave, I’ll admit that I (mostly) enjoyed their visit. But that said, I wouldn’t want them to stay. I’d never get my washing dried if they did. As the bus pulled away and the faces of Charles and Camilla were pressed against the glass of the rear window, it occurred to me that the way I felt about them as houseguests is how I feel about them more generally. It’s nice to see them, but I don’t need to see them all the time. It is, perhaps, time for us to have the house to ourselves.