The house had a very relaxed beachy vibe; underpants slung over an open wardrobe door, that sort of thing.
Under one of the upstairs beds was most of a doughnut, in the bottom shelf of the fridge door were three tall glasses of what could only be described as dark liquid and on the living room coffee table was most of a Snickers bar, still safely cocooned in its wrapper.
The television didn't work and there were no keys to lock the place up if we went out. The bedroom was not vacuumed so that added to the relaxed, holiday vibe.
But the good news was that this was better than what we had just walked out of. Well, in some ways.
What we had walked out of was spotlessly clean but we had to share the accommodation with a strange and antagonistic man who clearly resented our presence.
And the key system did not work, part of which was attributable to language issues. We did phone the landlady but believe she may well have been on another continent so couldn't exactly come running to our aid.
My son had one key and I had another and we were in different locations. It turned out, one was for the exterior door and one was for the internal door. I scored the interior one which meant that when I returned the first time I could not gain access.
It was then that I encountered the man sharing our accommodation. He watched, or rather stared at me through the glass door as I struggled to make my key open the door.
But he would not come to my aid. He just kept staring, glaring through the glass. It was unnerving.
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When he finally stopped staring and decided to help, he let fly a volley of abuse that would have sat comfortably in a Hammer film set in Transylvania.
I knew I could not stay there. I needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Which is why the nibbled doughnut seemed like a positive.
So, there I was, working away on my laptop in the second venue when a young girl walked in the back door. I was pleasant and asked who she was and she was pleasant back. She was staying there with her mum and sister.
Perhaps that explained the doughnut and the Snickers. Even the three tall glasses of dark beverage.
We were sharing again but hadn't been aware of that. Both venues had, via the internet, presented themselves more as motel rooms.
I should explain at this point that we were in a quite significant city which, unbeknown to us, was hosting an important event that weekend. We were, I accept, dredging the bottom of the accommodation barrel.
Whoa, the plot thickens! Another family of four just walked in as I typed that last sentence.
Soon after, I found that the 2 button on the microwave didn't work. You could heat things for 1 or 3 minutes. But not 2.
The handle to our toilet door was, for our convenience, located on the floor as was the toilet roll dispenser. But there was no toilet paper.
So, while I have tried to be a bit flippant, the issue this all raises is surely an important one.
Accommodation has to be regulated more than it is. Online feedback is not enough.
It seems that now it is all open slather; anyone can bid for the accommodation dollar and to whom are they answerable?
There have to be cleanliness standards. There have to be rules about online presentations so that you know what you are walking into.
What we experienced was simply not good enough. Be warned.
• Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.