How the house guests from hell trolled my home with online reviews

As somebody who lets out her home for short stays, Anne Atkins tries to provide the best experience possible for her guests. But what do you do when the people you allow into your home take advantage of your hospitality?

You can usually tell rare troublemakers immediately (Getty Images)

Seldom have I felt such an instant rapport with a stranger.

Matt Powell and his partner Naomi run a tiny restaurant in Pembrokeshire – Michelin-starred, listed in The Good Food Guide – and their usual review is five stars.

Not any more (briefly, anyway). “Send me £50,” Mr Powell was told, “or I’ll review your restaurant.” On blocking his blackmailer (who had never eaten there) he was inundated with one-star reviews, with fake photos of fried rat and stuffed hamster. The time Google took to remove these may have cost the Powells far more than £50.

We bought our first and only home when we had five children (four grown up), my parents and an au pair living with us. It’s large, Georgian, and mostly mortgaged (interest only). We love it. But we can only keep it by letting it out: weekend house parties, work stays away, university reunions, church groups. Predominantly, classy hen parties. We adore almost all of it, except for the ubiquitous reviews system. Which sometimes feels very much like blackmail.

Our new cleaner spotted numerous damning one-star write-ups.

“Really?!” Like the Powells, we usually rate five stars.

“The PE teachers?” our outgoing cleaner suggested.

I groaned. Of course. Yet again, we were over a barrel in our own home.

The vast majority of our guests are fun, courteous, and charmingly grateful. You can usually tell rare troublemakers immediately. Within minutes I knew one hen party should have booked a cheap hotel where they could drink themselves witless (even more witless) and throw up. It is for such scenarios that I stipulate, after our son’s experiences, “No member of your host family is romantically available: please do not treat a man as you would not wish to be treated by one.”

So, Monday morning was no surprise. Over 50 complaints. They’d snooped on a private memo to my husband that something needed mending; objected to “faeces on the swimming pool cover” (we have beautiful white doves, which, yes, poop sometimes); claimed I’d kicked them out early (after my 100-year-old father had waited patiently, outside, for 10 minutes, unable to leave for church because his carer couldn’t get his wheelchair past their cars... till I respectfully pointed out that they could park free on the street on a Sunday).

A full refund or else.

When I reminded them that any dissatisfaction must be raised during the stay, they posted it all. I was advised by the booking forum to respond point by point, which two of my offspring said makes it worse. So I restricted myself to saying that there are very few groups to whom we would refuse a return visit, and a new guest commented snidely, “No getting the wrong side of you, then...”

It’s not primarily the loss of business. They say burglary is about violation, and it’s deeply distressing to welcome guests into the home you love, do everything you can to make it special (we provide free prosecco, flowers, smelly soaps), and then have to read this stuff.

So you avoid it at all costs. This is also insupportable, because guests can occasionally behave appallingly.

I glanced in the dining room and saw they’d helped themselves to candles from a locked cupboard and – in clear contravention of fire regs they’d signed hours earlier – lit them all.

“I’m sorry,” I said politely, “but I’m going to have to remove these.”

One turned on me. “Have you replaced my mattress?”

“I’ve not bought another since this morning, no.”

The guest in charge intervened. “Shall we agree no reviews either side?” He could do far more damage with his pen than two dozen expensive candles were likely to. And he knew it.

And the PE teachers? They were advised they would need to supply their own firewood: three times in writing beforehand; twice more in person when they helped themselves to ours. So they waited until I’d gone to bed (also against fire regs) and took ours anyway. They broke furniture, left the place a mess, and disturbed neighbours. This last of which, we state repeatedly, means the loss of their deposit. Out of kindness, I retained only 20 per cent.

When they threatened legal action, I said they were welcome. My last letter (which silenced their lawyer) was 2,500 words long. I enjoy writing, but if you offered me that sum to write an article of that length, I’d have to walk away.

Already, it hadn’t been worth my time.

So it wasn’t hard to guess where half a dozen spiteful reviews had come from. Each with half a dozen “likes”.

I contacted the company that publishes this tosh, which took another half of a working day. I was invited to respond. To every review. And each point.

One of which was that our house was so moth-infested that a T-shirt draped over a chair in the afternoon was eaten into holes by evening. Clearly, PE rather than biology teachers...

Another one was that my husband had interrupted their enjoyment in his night clothes. Yes, the law stipulates no disturbances after 11pm.

I could cite many such points if I could face reading them. But I’d rather lose bookings than subject myself to it.

Sooner or later I’ll delete that listing. We have plenty of guests. Almost all of them love us.

Anne’s home is observatoryhousebedford.co.uk (and still available for New Year!)