David Hill: Basil Fawlty could learn a bit at this Kiwi establishment

Getting away from it all this summer? Staying at some friendly B&B? If you plan to get away from courtesy and service as well as other things, let me recommend the Stumble Inn.

Bryan opened the Stumble Inn's door as I rang the bell. "Three nights," he was snorting into his cellphone. "You're joking. It's that arty-farty Festival Week here."

He amputated his caller in mid-sentence, and thrust the guest register at me. "Some people think they can just ring up and expect to walk in here." I hesitated over where to sign, and Bryan stabbed a finger at the page. "There. See?"

Beth and I don't usually stay at B&Bs. But the Stumble Inn looked central and cheap, and was AA Recommended. Later we speculated that this probably meant it drove you to drink.

The Automobile Association listing also mentioned extensive renovations. They were indeed extensive - and still in progress. Our window looked out on a yard fetchingly landscaped in builders' rubble.

We passed a comfortable enough night, if you disregard the fact that when Beth got into bed the unattached headboard fell on her.

At 7am I tiptoed to the dining room to make tea. The jug had just boiled when Bryan appeared. He gestured to the door I'd entered by, through which a 2cm crack of light showed. "You know how to close doors? Other people are trying to sleep."

Twenty minutes later I slunk back for more tea and punishment. I went to switch the jug on again. "It's already boiled, remember?" grunted Bryan, dispensing butter on to saucers with a measuring spoon. "I don't want to have to buy another one, okay?"

Beth, the brave half of our marriage, carried our early morning cups into breakfast. "How am I supposed to have enough crockery for mealtimes if you keep taking it?" Bryan greeted her. Beth suggested disposable cups might help. "Whaddaya think this is?" went Bryan. "A backpackers?"

We had things easy. "Got told off three times last night," another inmate confided at breakfast. "I asked if he had any envelopes, I left a teabag in the sink, and I came in late - 9.45."

Bryan was an egalitarian. He treated workers and guests alike. "Bring them back the same colour this time," we heard him tell the laundry service.

And when one of the builders came in for a coffee as breakfast ended, mine host snapped: "I suppose you'll expect another one this afternoon."

Near the end of our term of imprisonment, I told the builders I was thinking of writing something about Bryan. They instantly promised me a 30 per cent discount on any work by their firm.

On our last morning at the Stumble Inn, two tables of guests who'd found they shared the same profession sat for five minutes sharing trade talk.

"That's what I love about school holidays," Bryan suddenly announced from the servery. "Teachers sitting and yakking while I'm waiting to get a day's work started."

Our release time came. Bryan checked to make sure we hadn't stolen the ring off the door-key, thrust the register at us again, and indicated the "Comments" column.

I wrote "Memorable". Beth wrote "Incomparable".

Builders must be a loose-lipped lot. A week after we came home, a letter arrived with the Stumble Inn logo. Under the heading "A Warm Welcome Assured", it got straight to the point.

"It has been brought to my notice that you're planning to write some drivel about my place." Panic swept me. How had he discovered my writing is drivel?

The letter continued with equal clarity: "If there is any mention of my name, or that of my establishment, legal action will follow."

I was totally cowed. I decided immediately to heed his warning. So I've called him Bryan instead.