Staying with siblings

After moving out of our house in Hadlow, we were homeless for three weeks; we couldn't leave for our Island home until the end of the school term, and became dependent on relatives and friends for accommodation. They probably sighed when the request came through to put us up; as a family, we’re low maintenance but kind of irritating.

Take our stay with Susie and James, and their 8 year old son, Morgan. They like a very ordered house. Everything is neat and tidy and - well, ordered. They have a fourth member of the house; she’s called Alexa. I wouldn’t say she’s in charge because they tell her what to do; she doesn’t seem to have any initiative at all. Also they aren’t quite as chilled when talking to her. Conversations are a little perfunctory, and if I'm honest they kind of boss her around.

"Alexa, tell me when it's time for me to cut my toe nails," James will bark at her.

I’m not sure they even like her. Alexa, do this, do that, put the heating on, tell me when the oven has heated up, move the house a bit to the left. She seems to run the house, though on the say-so of Susie, James and Morgan. If she ever had to go away to visit a sick relative they’d be really stuck. She’s both active and passive; it’s all very strange.

Overall she’s underappreciated; we were there for Christmas Day and they never even bought her a present. Morgan got a smart watch, a game, some football tops - Alexa - nothing! I was minded to call social services at one point - there was definite neglect going on!

Anyway, aided by this electronic housekeeper, everything is pretty perfect in their Borough Green lair. Throw into that sanctuary of domestic bliss, four homeless idiots who need somewhere to stay before moving to the Isle of Wight, and you have a recipe for fun. They had to put up with our shoes scattered over the hall floor, boxes of our food placed in the kitchen exactly where you might trip over them, cycling stuff on the stairs, coats on the bannister. The five of them were extremely patient and obviously it all worked out. They’re family after all…..

One night, James and I stayed up drinking gin until nearly 4am. Not unsurprisingly, I spilled some at one point, and James took a picture. The picture shows - well a drunk middle aged man clearing up gin. Initially it was on the shortlist of photos to go on the front cover of this book but yet again the editor and I disagreed.

Their shower was fun. Like everything in their house, nothing was left to chance, and after you’d abluted it would inform you how long your shower had been. Thus we learnt that my average shower time was around three minutes. I would have liked more detail here:

“You washed your left armpit for 17 seconds and your perineum for 30 seconds. However you neglected the back of your left knee.”

I loved the fact that as soon as you switched their shower on, the temperature was perfect; most showers seem designed to ensure you are discomforted for 5 minutes or so before achieving some sort of temperature equilibrium - the squawking of showering Brits when the water is too cold and their shrieking when too hot is a sound that resonates up and down the country at 7am every morning. To switch it on you pulled a string. This is the case with all showers. It’s the law. You don’t switch anything else on by this method. Imagine if you had to pull a string every time you wanted to switch the kettle on - and the toaster, the oven, the sodastream (if you’re reading this 30 years ago) and so on. There’d be 20 strings dangling down from your kitchen ceiling!

Talking of kitchens, Susie, James and Alexa are talented cooks, and their amazing meals were created with skill and expertise; they always looked and tasted delicious (the meals, not them). Unfortunately we were all violently sick after every one! (Not really - that just sounded funny in my head - it was only after one or two of them.)

These culinary concoctions made us feel somewhat inferior when compared to our own feeble efforts (“Darling - where’s the tin opener?”). However at one point it came to light that James was one of many people we came across who thought that the Isle of Wight was in a different country - the middle of Africa or darkest Peru or somewhere, so we were able to feel superior about that at least.

Of course we would loved to have stayed in Borough Green for the entirety of our three week itinerance, but thought it best to go before they threw us out - it’s always best to leave people wanting more! I hoped for them to entreat us to stay longer but some people are so selfish.

“Please Fran, do stay for another week! Honestly, we don’t mind that Morgan tripped over your cycling shoes and broke his leg in three places. And James loves having to clean the toilet everytime you guys have used it!”

So we departed Borough Green and like predatory serial killers moved on to our next victims. Eve and Freya stayed for a few days with Alison and Graham in Golden Green. They had a great time though I’m told that Graham spent most of the time criticising our choice of electric car.

“Sounds like he was mansplaining,” I remarked to Eve.

“Mansplaining? What on earth’s that?”

“Mansplaining is when a man explains something to a woman in a patronising way - it’s often something she already knows,” I explained, eager as ever to share my vast knowledge..

I elaborated a little more until Freya piped up.

“Dad - you do realise you’re mansplaining! You're mansplaining to Mum what mansplaining is!”

I think that’s what they call irony!

While Eve and Freya were having things explained to them, Ewan and I stayed in Ashford for a few nights. My elder sister - chief sib, as we call her - lived there with her husband Pete. They may have been incredibly reluctant to host us or thought it a great honour - I’ve no idea which, but they put on a good face and pretended it was more the latter.

Unfortunately Ewan and I chose to go down with a bug at that point which had been passed on to me by colleagues at school. Well we didn’t chose - I imagine if you were given a choice in terms of whether to have an illness, most people would pass up on the offer.

This bug was annoyingly debilitating and the result was I spent most of the time lying on my bedding on their sitting room floor. Ewan at least had their spare bedroom, but I and my bug were both in public view. I imagine this was enormously irritating for them and that they muttered to each other about how annoying it was and that they couldn’t wait to be rid of us.

However they put on a brave face as though it was what they’d always wanted - to have an ill relative idling in their sitting room spreading germs. Their acting knew no bounds!

If I’m honest Clare’s acting was slightly better than her husband's. I could occasionally glimpse behind the facade with him - he was certainly enthusiastic when it came to helping me move my luggage into the car the day we left.

On one evening they had a quiz in their lapa. A lapa is basically a shed, though don’t tell them that. A glorified shed. A shed with seats, a bar, a bar billiard table - a mini pub. They host a weekly quiz there, with neighbours and their married children coming round to answer questions on the capital cities of obscure African countries and the size of Uranus. We Brits love a quiz. It’s a chance to show other people how much we know.

I would have loved to participate because I’m of the opinion that I know a great deal. Ewan knows a great deal without knowing that he knows a great deal and also would have liked to take part. However he stayed in bed and I stayed sprawled on their sitting room floor. Unfortunately their guests had to traipse through me on their way to the lapa, and I had to respond politely to greetings from them. It’s hard to feign politeness when you’re feeling so awful.

“Off you go to your quiz,” I wanted to say. “And when you come back don’t disturb me.”

Instead I was fawningly courteous and encouraging of their efforts, assuring them all they would no doubt triumph in the test of knowledge they were about to embark on.

Unlike Susie and James they didn’t have a family member called Alexa who they told to do things. Instead, Clare used her husband for this purpose. It seemed to work quite well. He wasn’t as precise and obedient as Alexa, occasionally ‘pushing back’ on instructions in a way Alexa would never do. Like her, he did need requests repeated, but unlike her he couldn’t make a series of farting noises on demand. He did make one or too that weren’t on demand, but we’ll leave the comparison there, I think.

So our time with Clare and Pete was less enjoyable than our time with our younger sibling, though this was only because of our being under the weather; I’m sure we’ll be back and in full health to wipe the floor with them all in the weekly quiz!

In the meantime I’m off to wash my left armpit for 17 seconds.