Hey love, let me tell you whats been going on with Emily and Thomas and their little cottage out in the Cotswolds.
It was early May, the grass already a deep, fresh green and there was still a bit of dew on the veranda panes each morning. Emily and Thomas finally started to wonder if they should try renting the place themselves, without any agents. The idea had been brewing for weeks friends kept warning them about hefty commissions, online forums were full of grumbles about letting agents, and they both just wanted to know exactly who they were letting into the home theyd tended for the past fifteen summers.
Remember, a cottage isnt just square footage, Thomas said, trimming the dry raspberry canes and glancing over at Emily. Id like people to treat it with respect, not like its a hotel.
Emily wiped her hands on a towel while standing on the porch and nodded. That year they were planning to stay in the city longer because their daughter Lucy was starting a crucial stage of her studies, and Emily needed to be around to help. The cottage would sit empty almost the whole summer, and the upkeep costs wouldnt just disappear. It seemed the logical move.
That evening, after dinner, they walked through the house together the same route they knew by heart, but now with fresh eyes, deciding what needed sprucing up and what to tuck away so guests wouldnt be tempted to take anything unnecessary. They packed books and family photos into boxes, stored them on the loft, left fresh linen folded in a neat stack, and on the kitchen side Emily sorted the dishes, keeping only the essentials.
Lets get everything recorded, Thomas suggested, pulling out his phone. They snapped photos of each room, the garden furniture, even the old bicycle by the shed just in case. Emily jotted down the little details: how many pots, which duvet covers were on the beds, where the spare set of keys was hidden.
Later that day, as a May shower rolled over the garden and puddles formed, they posted an advert on Rightmove. The pictures turned out bright; you could see the tomato vines already stretching up behind the greenhouse and a carpet of dandelions blooming along the path to the gate.
Waiting for the first responses felt a mix of nerves and excitement like getting the house ready for guests and not knowing wholl turn the doorknob. Calls started coming in quickly: some people asked about WiFi and the TV, others wanted to know if dogs or children were okay. Emily answered honestly and in detail shed been a renter herself once and knew how the little things mattered.
The first tenants arrived at the end of May: a young couple with a sevenyearold and a mediumsized Labrador who, over the phone, had assured them the dog was totally quiet. They signed a simple paper with their ID details and payment terms right then on the spot. Emily felt a flutter of nerves the contract wasnt officially registered, but that seemed fine for a seasonal let.
In the first few days everything ran smoothly. Emily dropped by once a week to check the garden and water the tomatoes, bringing fresh towels or a loaf of bread from town. The tenants were friendly the child waved from the kitchen window, the dog greeted them at the gate.
But after three weeks the rent started slipping. At first they blamed forgetfulness or a bank error, then they started inventing unexpected expenses.
Just what we need, another headache, Thomas muttered, scrolling through their messages in the kitchen as the sun set behind the apple trees, painting golden strips on the floor.
Emily tried to keep things cordial, sending gentle reminders and offering to split the payment later. Still, the tension kept building every conversation left a feeling of awkwardness and a kind of brainfatigue.
By midJune it became clear the couple were planning to leave early and still owed part of the rent. When they finally moved out, the cottage smelled faintly of cigarettes on the porch (despite the nosmoking request), there was rubbish under the veranda and paint splatters on the kitchen table.
Yeah, that totally quiet dog, Thomas said, eyeing the scratched pantry door.
They spent most of that day cleaning up: taking out the trash, scrubbing the stove, washing the old towels. The strawberry patch along the fence was already turning a lovely red; Emily snatched a handful of berries straight from the rows sweet and still warm from the rain.
After that they talked at length: should they keep trying themselves, or finally hand the whole thing to an agency? The idea of strangers handling their home and taking a cut for just handing over the keys felt wrong.
By midsummer they tried again, this time being much pickier about tenants, asking for a months rent up front and spelling out their house rules in more detail.
But luck didnt improve. A family of two adults and a teenage son turned up on a Saturday evening and immediately invited friends for a couple of days. The visitors turned the place into a noisy party hub for almost a week, grilling barbecues late into the night and laughing loudly in the yard.
Emily called several times, asking them to keep it down after eleven. Thomas checked the garden and found empty bottles beneath the lilac bushes.
When the family finally left, the cottage looked exhausted: the sofa was stained with what looked like wine, rubbish bags were left by the shed, and cigarette butts littered the apple tree base.
How long are we supposed to put up with this? Thomas complained quietly as he cleared the leftover BBQ bits.
Emily felt a growing disappointment, thinking it unfair that people treated a home that wasnt theirs with such disregard.
Maybe its our fault for being too soft on the rules, she mused.
In August another inquiry came through a young couple without kids wanting the cottage for a week. After the previous dramas Emily was extra careful: she laid out all the conditions on the phone, insisted on a photo inventory at checkin and a security deposit.
The couple agreed without argument, meeting Thomas at the gate on a scorching noon. The air shimmered over the path to the shed, and the hum of insects drifted out of the open windows.
When they left, the microwave was ruined theyd tried heating foil and they refused to pay for it.
We barely broke anything! It was an accident, the woman protested.
Emily felt anger rise for the first time all summer, but she held back sharp words.
Lets sort this calmly. Accidents happen. We can agree on a fair compensation, she suggested.
After a brief chat they settled on keeping part of the deposit to cover the repair, and the couple left without a scene.
When the gate slammed shut and the only sounds were the heat and the buzz of bees under the terrace roof, Thomas and Emily felt a strange mix of relief and weariness. They both realised they couldnt keep going like this.
That same evening, as the heat lingered and the long shadows of the apple tree stretched across the garden, they sat on the veranda with a notebook. The scent of fresh grass and apples filled the air the orchard fruits were almost touching the ground. Emily flipped through the latest photos from the last tenants and silently ticked off everything that now needed attention.
We need a detailed checklist, she said without looking up. So everyone knows exactly what to leave behind dishes, appliances, linen, rubbish.
Thomas nodded, exhausted by the endless talks but knowing it was the only way to break the cycle. They wrote down that photos should be taken together with the guests at both arrival and departure, added a point about the deposit, clarified the key handover procedure, listed how to use the appliances, and what to do if something breaks.
They spent ages polishing the wording wanting it to be friendly, not hostile, so people felt like guests, not suspects. Every line left room for trust, but also set clear boundaries. Emily insisted the contract include a phone number for immediate contact if anything went wrong.
Later, as the night grew cooler and the veranda cloth was damp with evening dew, they werent arguing any more. The new checklist was copied neatly into a notebook, then typed into a spreadsheet on the laptop. The photo archive was sorted into folders: before, after, movein, moveout. It felt like theyd cleaned not just the kitchen table but a part of themselves.
The first real test came almost straight away. Early August a woman called to ask about the rules, listened carefully about the photo record and deposit, and booked a stay with her husband and teenage daughter. The family seemed calm from the start they asked where the gardening tools were kept, if they could use the bike, and when to water the flowers by the porch.
Wed love to stay two weeks if thats okay, the lady said, signing the agreement without a hitch.
Together they walked through the cottage, noting the condition of the furniture and appliances. Emily showed where spare bulbs were, how the irrigation pump worked. The family listened, took photos, and asked where to put their rubbish.
Will we be a bother if we swing by for the harvest? the husband asked, holding the gate open.
Not at all just give us a headsup, Emily replied with a smile.
This time everything ran smoothly. In two weeks there were no complaints. When Emily checked the greenhouse, the kitchen was spotless, and on the table sat a bowl of freshly picked strawberries with a note: Thanks for the trust. Alls well.
Thomas peeked into the shed the bikes were still there, tools neatly stacked, no bottles or cigarette ends around. Even the microwave was wiped clean.
On the day they left, the family met them at the gate. They walked through the house together, checking the checklist: no new scratches on the furniture, linen washed and folded.
Thank you for the clear instructions, the lady said as they said goodbye. It made everything easier for us and for you.
Emily gave a restrained smile the caution was still there, but her chest felt lighter. They returned the deposit without fuss. The contract and checklist went back into the folder, ready for the next season.
August was winding down, days getting shorter and mornings misty over the beds. Emily and Thomas cleared the last courgettes and peppers, trimmed the blackcurrant branches. The house smelled of apples and fresh laundry.
That summer they learned to say no without feeling guilty and to explain the rules without irritation. Each point on the new checklist now sounded more like care for the home and for the people staying there.
Its calmer now, Thomas confessed one evening, standing by the window watching the garden turn dusky. I used to think if I set too many conditions nobody would rent. Now I see honest folks appreciate clarity.
Emily smiled from the hall, a basket of apples in her arms. She knew trust hadnt vanished itd just become a bit more seasoned, a touch warier but still alive.
In September they posted a new advert, this time with confidence, detailing every rule and adding photos of the cottage, the garden, and the checklist on the kitchen table.
Responses came quickly. People asked practical questions about water, heating, transport. One young man wrote: Thanks for the honesty and detail its rare these days.
Emily and Thomas chatted about the coming season without the old fatigue. They knew peace was possible; they just had to stay attentive to themselves and to anyone who stepped into their little haven.
The final night before they closed the cottage for the year was especially quiet. A gentle breeze swept the garden, a distant dog barked, and Thomas locked the shed with a new padlock before joining Emily on the veranda.
Think we need anything else in the rules? he asked.
No, I think weve got the basics covered. Just remember to stay human, Emily replied.
They sat together, watching the apple trees cast long shadows over the yard. A new season lay ahead, full of fresh faces this time, without the fear of losing what mattered most.
