I click on an Airbnb about 10 minutes from the location of our corporate event. I look at the pictures and cringe at the basement priced at 50 quid per night. What the heck, it doesn't even have an ensuite, and the comments don't paint Mr Marshall, AKA the host, as a sane person I would be comfortable sleeping while in the same house with.
I shudder. Uh, creepy guy coming into my room at night, I think I'll pass.
This is ridiculous, even London is cheaper than this.
"My God, is everything on a 10 mile radius booked?" I practically shout. Poor Jessie's face goes from red to pale.
Why the hell am I looking for accommodation at eight in the evening, you ask? Well, I should focus more on Jessie's guilty face, because God knows I love her to pieces, but this is genuinely all her fault.
Ma
