The thing about housesitting is that despite your best intentions at the beginning, as the days go by you start to relax. As you relax, things get spread around and you start to forget where they came from. That blanket was from the chair upstairs, that puzzle was in the playroom – where did that deck of cards come from? In addition, there’s our food. It sits in bags on the kitchen floor and on the bench. Being coeliac, we have to bring all our own food and when, like I did, you forget your bread board, you cut up everything on the largest plate you can find – plates don’t harbour stray gluten crumbs.
We have been here for three nights. It’s always a punt – I had no idea if this house was going to be an uninsulated faux brick McMansion monstrosity or a bungalow at the back of someone’s property. As it turns out – it’s neither. We are on an acre of beautiful big trees – oak, eucalyptus, mulberry, plum, apple, liquid amber – all in amongst a garden that was obviously planted many years ago, with stone steps, raspberry canes, a beautiful chook home and two lovely chooks.
Quite honestly, if the owner called me and said she was going to stay away another six weeks, I would be perfectly happy. The house is old-school – many rooms – a playroom, artroom, dining room, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an upstairs (always a bonus), a huge loungeroom – it really is like someone threw us the perfect place to visit.
We have been given free rein in the artroom, which is full of pencils, paper, pastels, paints, kinetic sand, wooden toys, a dollshouse – the view out the window is sublime – five minutes ago a huge white cockatoo came down to drink some water we’ve left out for the birds.
For all these reasons, I would prefer not to go anywhere! I didn’t know, when I made a doctor’s appointment a few weeks ago, that by the time it came around I would be somewhere I didn’t want to move from.