I'M thinking of getting a sign put up outside my house: "Hotel Jamie -- stragglers especially welcome."

I don't begrudge having visitors -- in fact, with having the number of friends I could count on one hand (even if I lost most of my fingers in an industrial accident) -- I actively encourage them. It's just that after a while the novelty can wear off. Especially if they don't want to check out.

These past months have seen a steady stream of visitors to Hotel Jamie. Some of them (family members like the Big Sis and her hubby Billy Boy) arrived through prior-arrangements.

They were the perfect guests, allocated the room on time and in the same state as they found it.

Others, however, have just turned up, mainly as a result of a crisis. The Long Suffering Marjorie's best pal cut short a break in Portugal when it became apparent all was not well with her boyfriend of two years.

Stuck for somewhere to go, she arrived on our doorstep, laden with baggage and tear-stained.

And, despite the frequent sobbing sound from the spare room (aided by me I am ashamed to admit, by constantly playing the haunting Black Sabbath song 'Changes' which includes the line 'I've lost the best friend I ever had'), she too was the model guest.

The LSM and I would come from work to find the house sparkling.

And, without any prompting but very much appreciated nonetheless, we would find her slaving away over a hot stove knocking us up a tea to die for.

Some might say that she was keeping herself occupied as not to think of her situation, but whatever the reason, she can return whenever she likes.

Her stay was in complete contrast to the guest that is currently holed up in my executive (and only) suite.

It is, of course, my good pal Fred the Dread. For those new to this column (you've missed some right crackers by the way) the Dreadster is my my lifelong pal.

He and I are more like brothers than friends, growing up doors away from each other in our native Sunny Rochdale. And if we ever need each others' help, we just have to ask.

As befits a man of his monicker and appearance (think of a white Bob Marley) the Dreadster is very much a free spirit.

Since breaking up for the summer from university, he has been in Israel with his girlfriend and her family.

An odd email here and there informed me of his whereabouts, and after four months he came back home, in readiness for his second year at school.

But after such a long period away -- and a year previous at university -- the thought of living at home with his parents once again, filled him with pure fear.

Understandably too, I might add. At our age (I am 29 and he will follow in October), living at home is something which should only happen due to unforeseen circumstances.

Your own home burning down, partner leaving you etc.

So for Fred the Dread there was only one real option.

Book himself in at Hotel Jamie, where the staff are friendly and welcoming, the food is good and parents are generally banned. Oh, and it's free.

That was exactly a week ago. Unlike his previous guests the Dread does not surprise you by cleaning the house.

And tea has not been on the table once. In fact the only thing that is on the table when I get home, is usually his feet. Unwashed.

Like I say, I think of him as family and I would never turn him out. Plus it's good to have some male company around the house.

But from now on I think another sign in the window is needed.

No Vacancies!