Lovely as it might be to have servants, I'd be bad at it. Winters in Cyprus are the closest we come, with our monthly rent paying for daily cleaning and twice weekly linen change as well as the one bedroom hotel apartment. The cleaning consists of emptying the garbage, providing the toilet paper, sweeping and washing the tile floors and cleaning the bathroom fixtures. If we didn't make the beds the cleaners probably would do, but like all the other (Scandinavian) long stayers in the hotels we've lived in we regard that as our responsibility. (In fact one Swedish woman of our slight acquaintance was the cause of scandalised gossip amongst long stay Scandinavians for leaving the beds for the maids.)
Cleaning has never been problematic in the other places we've stayed - pretty thorough and occurring either six or seven days a week. Here it has always been rather lick and a promise, and on the fourth floor the sisters (in the familial not religious sense) got it down to about three minutes by virtue - though virtue doesn't seem like quite the right word - of never vacuuming. One of the advantages of the move to the first floor was that the floors were all tile so that the sitting room as well as the kitchen and loo got washed daily. At first, that is. Then the odd day of no show, then two, and eventually three. In the end almost a guarantee that if we did not go out there would be no service, possibly with the self-deluding excuse of not disturbing us.
At which point I feel compelled to mention the problem to Kiki, the receptionist, so as not to report Venera the maid, whom I like, to Management, whom I don't much. Putting it as tactfully as possible - has the cleaning schedule perhaps changed? Kiki is clearly appalled at the slackness, and presumably this will solve the problem. The sad thing is that we don't usually tip - for what is the worst housekeeping service we've ever experienced - which may have led to worse service. It's also possible, even probable, that the cleaners are underpaid, but given a fairly hefty rental increase this year we're unenthusiastic about assuming the burden of subsidising the staff. Ah well, servant problem not one I'm blessed with at home.
As we're having lunch, Kiki comes up to the flat with a large bag of oranges. Left for us at reception. By a man - no she doesn't know who - an old man. Mystery solved when Ailsa calls to say that Harry has taken us some oranges (they have a tree). I say we'd been wondering but didn't get far by asking for a description. Ailsa agrees that there would have been no obvious descriptors - he's not tall, short, fat, or excessively thin. Don't feel compelled to mention Kiki having said old. Don't actually think of Harry as old, but suppose that at eighty the description is not completely unfair.