Not all in the garden is always rosy

Anonymous House Sitter Contribution

We’ve focused a lot in this issue on the positivity that has risen from within the house sitting community during this pandemic. But many of us have also had moments of uncertainty, worries about the future, or for the health of our family and friends. Whilst we try and stay positive I don't think anyone can deny that we are all having to make adjustments to create our own versions of the "new normal".

For some the experience has been even less certain. It's hit some full-timers hard, especially those without a base to call home. Many travelers and nomads rent their homes out long-term and so haven't been able to return, even if they do still have a property.

It's so important to remember that we are all in different spaces that fluctuate as Covid continues to wreak havoc around the world. Supporting and having patience with each other is more important than ever.

For our final contribution, our writer would like to remain anonymous. Her time through lockdown wasn't a bed of roses, but she tells us she has come out of the other side stronger and happier.

Here's her story.

Back in 2016 my (then) partner, myself and my dog, shoved our entire lives into my attic, the rest into a VW Passatt, and headed to the Valencian campo in Spain on a 6 month, off-grid house sit where we soon also acquired a cat!

Four and a half years and 49 or so house sits on, we still haven’t been home. A year here, 2 nights there, a year somewhere else, back-to-back house sitting became a way of life to us, an addiction that we just couldn’t seem to kick. I was forever seeking our next adventure on the house sitting platforms. I loved dovetailing sits together. It had become an art form that I took great pride in – as were our succession of 5 star reviews from very happy home owners.

A red herring move

Brexit brought us back to the UK from Portugal bang on the deadline date in March 2019 with a loud and resounding bump. Of course, that was a red herring that needn’t have yanked us away from the life we so loved so unnecessarily soon. Regardless, we cheerfully housesat around the UK, eventually settling to a repeat sit at an out of season B&B and Glamping Site on the border between England and Wales.

The sit was booked for a month but we had a verbal agreement to stay until spring as long as we would meet and greet the occasional B&B guest. As there were no animals to care for, I decided to have a bash at setting up a little pet drop-in/house sitting service in and around the area and began drumming up a bit of interest.

It was on my final day of a 3 week house sit through my little business, that the first Covid lockdown was brought into place. I had never been so pleased to see Jack as he collected me that morning – he whizzed me out of the city in the nick of time.

The weeks to follow were so lovely. With the HO’s unable to come back as planned - we watched the grounds and forest spring to life with flora and fauna and walked or cycled the forest every day without seeing a soul. I worked on building a basic website and a friend remotely designed some banners and logos for me.

Adjusting to lockdown

But then things started to change. The HO’s expectations of us began to ring alarm bells. While they were safe from the pandemic in Hampshire – they began accepting bookings for the B&B that we were expected to host. Despite the country being locked down, hotels and guest houses were allowed to host keys workers, though I’m pretty sure had an inspector seen the layout of the premises, it wouldn’t have qualified. One B&B room being right next to our room on the first floor. No-one was wearing masks back then and no health and safety measures had been put in place. Guests, mostly factory workers (though one couple had come to visit family) shared our front door, tiny lounge and narrow stairwell.

The paranoia of Covid during these early days started to get to me and my mental health began to plummet. Fight or flight anxiety attacks blighted my nights and things started to go downhill between myself and Jack.

I wanted to run... but where?

My own home in Wales has a tenant in place. I would never have been so heartless as to serve her a two month notice period.

Gradually, as lockdown was lifting for the hospitality sector, the owners announced their return. They intended to move Jack, myself, our cat and all our stuff, out of the main house into the damp camp site while they prepared the glamping site for business. I found a room on Spareroom.com, but Jack wasn’t interested in spending money on rented accommodation and stubbornly stayed put. I bought myself a little car and moved out.

The horrors of returning to shared accommodation

The rent at the farmhouse was crippling. Here I was, almost 49 years old and back in shared accommodation. It was technically an unofficial "House in Multiple Occupation" (HMO) run by a neurotic control freak who monitored my every move with passive-aggressive, sticky notes.

The fridge for my use was in a cold dark cellar, which meant carrying a tray of food up two flights of stairs to prep in my make-shift lock-down-kitchen in my room. By the time I would hurry straight back down one flight to close the cellar door after me, there would be a note stuck on saying SHUT THE CELLAR DOOR. The same applied for not switching off the hot water quick enough.

My room was above hers and she didn’t like me moving around once she went to bed at 8.30 each night. The internet was really intermittent too so my hopes of online teaching were somewhat dashed.

The “shared” dining area was piled up with boxes and car-boot sale paraphernalia - so was unusable. There wasn’t a window in the lounge. By that I mean there was a gaping hole where it had been taken out by the frame for painting 4 weeks before and not yet replaced.

The hilarity of this was that at 8.30pm she bolted the front door (unless you texted her to let her know you’d be later). When this happened, I just climbed in through the window-that-wasn’t-there via a ladder that was always conveniently in place and simply hopped in.

The long term lodger above the lounge didn’t tolerate any kind of noise. Ever. This meant watching TV in the lounge was not allowed. The other lodger cheerfully used to tell me about her conversations with a friend called Harold – a soldier who had died at the Somme. I began sleeping with a chair against my bedroom door.

The promise that I could bring my cat had been broken, I was paying 450 pounds pcm (which was a discounted rate as long as I mowed 2 huge lawns once a week and helped with cleaning). I decided enough was enough and, as she liked notes so much, penned her some details of my imminent departure!

Tail between my legs ...

So, to the glampsite I returned with my tail between my legs to a damp tent, my cat and the chaos and stress that was the prep for a full on glamping season during a covid pandemic.

We were asked to stay on and run things.

Families came from far and wide. Children climbed over the outdoor dining furniture I endlessly sanitised. People sat close together around the fire and we were on call 24/7. Eventually the pressure and disorder began to take their toll.

Perimenopause in full swing, along with managing a badly organised business for ethically incorrect owners, chipped away at my general well being. Wildlife crimes had been committed to make way for paying guests at this ‘Eco’ site which for me was the last straw. I felt exhausted, unsupported and unheard on so many levels. I begged Jack to leave with me but he was hooked on their promises of staying the winter again. Then came the issue of unfair pay.

As a matter of integrity, I left – AGAIN – though, rather spectacularly this time. For the first week I slept in a kid’s tent in the tiny back yard of a friend. Her disabled son was shielding so I couldn’t go inside.

The weather got bad and a friend in Newport offered her empty house. It was unfurnished and though I was grateful, spent the most lonely, miserable time there,on a thin futon mattress with my broken heart. One of my oldest and closest friends nearby had tested positive for Covid, so I had to test and quarantine.

On the up again

It felt nothing short of a miracle when a last minute house sit came up. My covid test had come back negative and the devastatingly beautiful drive back through my beloved Wye Valley raised my spirits so high. I also met a lovely lady through Spareroom.com who, when hearing my story, let me stay for free for a week in her beautiful cottage in the Forest of Dean in return for minding her dogs. We have become very good friends.

I have since stitched together three consecutive TrustedHousesitter sits in and around the area and some short paid gigs through my little business. All of which have been a total delight. As one 3 week sit through Pawshake cancelled – a beautiful 4 week TrustedHousesitter sit landed in my lap to take me into mid November.

House sitting on the whole picked up again but is incredibly competitive. As a newly solo sitter, it feels a lot more life or death to keep a roof over my head than a fun travel experience but I’m embracing it.

As for 2021, I have good news - my lovely tenant has put an offer on buying a house. to be back in my own home well before Christmas to start all over again. I hope