Open Writing

I saw and article in the Advertiser, Adelaide, describing how it all worked. As I understood it, young couples could be housed free of charge for indefinite periods by moving from house-sit to house-sit; and we of more senior years could travel the country sampling various towns, villages, and cities, in two-week to six months sips while doing nothing more onerous than feeding a few cats or dogs, and watering the garden.

What a good idea, I thought. I rushed to put my name down at a cost of $180.

At first nothing happened, and I thought oh well, that's another $180 down the drain—not the first I've lost, won't be the last.

But then the phone calls started.

Three months near the hot springs in Queensland in the middle of summer.

Way out in the country for a year in Victoria.

A couple of acres with two cows and a donkey for six weeks.

A unit in Broken Hill with six cats for a month in February.

A cottage in Woop-Woop with one Weimaraner, two bull-terriers, and ten chooks.

Even a widower in his eighties who wanted a permanent house-sitter.

Very disappointing, when what I really had in mind was an apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour, or, at a pinch, a ski lodge in winter in the Blue Mountains for a few days.

There were lots and lots of enquiries. So eventually I felt honour bound to accept one—not too far from home, and not for too long.(for fear of transgressing any privacy laws. No names, no pack-drill, no identifiable details)

But first, I had to make arrangements for someone to collect my mail, feed MY goldfish, and water MY plants. There was lots of grumbling from my daughters and grandchildren—such as 'Why didn't you arrange for your mail to be forwarded?' And of course, nobody had any time. Turned out, that I really needed a house-sitter before I could go away.

Eventually, with a car loaded with books to read, paper to write on, sewing machine in case the mood took me, sleeping bag in case of hold-ups on the road, million candle-power torch, loads of clothes, just in case, I took off.

After one night, I wanted to come home—but my children said that I could not renege on my obligations. I really regretted having brought them up to hold such fine principles so strongly. Other people's children would have said 'Okay, Ma. So just pack up and leave.'

OK. So I did get to see a bit of the surrounding country and the bits that I passed through. I did get to play Bingo at the local hotel. I did get to eat a lot of fish and chips in a nice little fish and chip shop.

But I spent most of the time 'playing' on the computers in the local Community Library.

And counting the hours to the time to come home.

And I am still getting phone calls. Beginning to feel desperate. I'm getting beyond being polite. I feel like threatening the next person who calls wanting a house-sitter. 'Listen,' I'll say, 'If you people don't stop phoning me I shall have to call the police.'

Only kidding. Just wanted to warn there are pitfalls.

But I have heard of a lot of people doing this, and clocking up huge numbers of 'sits'. So maybe it's only me who is 'unsuitable'.

I really think, though, that to do this effectively, you should be a couple, not single; put all your personal goods in storage; find new homes for your pets, and invest in a caravan.

Then, if the worse comes to the worst, you can always sleep in the caravan. (I mean in the case of encountering haunted houses or other little problems)

Good luck.
Give it a go.
One man's poison is another man's meat.

© Betty Collins