As the first Americans of the season got out of their car I scrunched up my face and groaned. ‘They’re all like that, remember?’ said the builder boyfriend.

‘What if the bed gives way?’ I demanded. ‘How will they even fit in the bed?’

The BB shrugged. ‘Who cares?’ he said, with his usual sunny attitude.

I don’t mean to suggest these people were overweight. I mean they were giants. I’m sure their depth was right for their height. There was just an awful lot of them, and we are not the Premier Inn, with super-king beds that sleep two medium-sized horses.

She was in sportif wear. He was tousle-haired and bearded, dressed in a flowing shirt and baggy trousers.

He came at me like Gulliver, slamming his bags against the hallway walls, gouging chunks out of the paintwork. He didn’t answer when I greeted him – maybe I was so small to him he couldn’t see me at first. I said I was sorry if he’d had a long drive. He grunted and went on smashing walls as he swung bags. He was going to begin by complaining, I knew that.

Americans always hold me responsible for ‘Everything’ with a capital E. When they arrive they question me about their hire car charges, or berate me about the roads.

This one was not happy that there had been no free parking in Cork city. ‘We didn’t see any of it because we couldn’t stop the car. We drove around for hours and then just gave up,’ he said, and his tone suggested we........

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