Why You Should Stop Inviting Guests Over: Lessons from My Own Experience

28October2025

Dear Diary,

I’ve come to the conclusion that I simply will not be inviting anyone to my home any longer. It isnt because Im trying to skimp on hospitality I own a modest semidetached in a leafy suburb of Oxfordshire, I have a garden, a decent set of crockery and plenty of space to set a plate down. Yet the decision feels right.

What drives me is the sheer amount of time spent not only cooking for guests but also tidying up afterwards. I can manage a roast, a Victoria sponge and a proper bubbleandsqueak, but I cannot claim it gives me any pleasure to spend half the day hovering over the hob. For my husband James and our two little ones, Lily and Oliver, Im happy to experiment and whip up something new. When it comes to friends or relatives, though, Im reluctant to waste my energy trying to keep everyone satisfied. Their visits invariably mean a marathon in the kitchen, and it irritates me that while they lounge and chat, Im the one glued to the stove. Of course they dont offer a hand theyre there to relax, not to labour.

When they finally pack up and leave, Im left with another few hours of cleaning up the mess they left behind. Ive learned to tidy as theyre still inside, but that only delays the inevitable. They dont fling crumpled packets onto the floor, and the house never resembles a rubbish tip once theyre gone, but order is still disrupted. Chairs are moved, toys are scattered, and the linen has to be changed. Ive found sticky fingerprints on the tablecloth, smudges on the curtains, and even a broken vase on the windowsill after a child knocked it over which meant scooping up soil, washing the sill and replanting the flower. On occasion, they manage to jam door handles or loosen cabinet hinges.

The kids are a handful, and I cant keep an eye on every one of them, nor can I punish children who arent my own. Their parents are often engrossed in conversation with other guests, leaving the youngsters to run amok. So Im not only the cook but also the defacto housekeeper and repair person.

Visitors also seem to take a keen interest in our private life. I make a point of not doing any laundry especially not the underwear when I know company is on the way. I stash away any personal items in cupboards, but inevitably theyll ask to see inside, opening doors to the very spaces Im trying to keep hidden. Some even feel compelled to inspect the kitchen to the point of poking around the pantry, which feels like an intrusion into my personal sphere. Our flat is small, packed with furniture, vases and hanging plants, and I hear guests plucking a stem here and there to take home as a souvenir.

At times I wondered whether I was the problem perhaps Im simply a poor host, unwelcoming by nature. Yet after counting the number of visits and the endless cycle of cooking and cleaning, I realised I have no desire to squander my energy on these chores again. Id rather meet friends for a coffee at the local café, take a stroll along the Thames, and return to a tidy house where the only thing waiting for me is a quiet evening.

So, from now on, Ill keep the door closed to visitors and let my home remain a sanctuary for James, Lily, Oliver and me.