As usual, can also be read (and subscribed to) over on substack - HERE
My Mum never goes away because like me, she’s completely neurotic. It’s probably what I’ve most inherited from her. From my dad I got my face and eyes, perhaps a sense of business? Love of reading and film, though very fortunately not his hairline. From my mum I’ve picked up neurosis, my temper and military precision time keeping that in the long run, could probably destroy any interpersonal relationships with anyone prone to even running a few minute behind.
She’d recently been through some personal upheaval, so I’d offered to housesit and look after her elderly cat Sabrina, If she ever needed me to. Like I am also completely predisposed to, my mum is convinced that unless something is under constant supervision and carefully controlled - it will simply just catch on fire, or if it’s living - die. No flames or illness need have been the cause, but the simple act of not being watched will mean it will collapse and everything you’ve ever loved will wither and leave this mortal coil.
I didn’t expect her to really take me up on the offer, though the offer was very much genuine.
So it did come as a surprise when she gave me dates to come guard her Portsmouth council estate flat. Portsmouth, for those unaware - is a naval town on the south coast of England. Probably most famous for boats? Maybe also for fighting. It is also where I am from and was born and grew up. It’s absolutely somewhere that has now benefitted from a little gentrification, though that could just be through my adult eyes after my hangups of growing up there have faded away. It was an amazing place to begin the journey to where I am now. The ability to be a bizarre fish In a small pond and given that space to grow and experiment and somehow flourish from being so completely out there against the backdrop of the culture of the city itself, that it worked to my benefit. My advice to anyone wanting to get into the performing arts and you live in a small town or city? Become infamous and then get good later. Becoming locally known for being the man who plays accordion outside boots in the city centre just buys you time to get better. Trust me.
I guessed my Mum would have booked somewhere mildly fancy for her getaway, but in a her kind of way? A women who could be utterly blown away by the concept of salmon being in a breakfast buffet. Though of course she wouldn’t eat it, because she fears she’d get mercury poisoning like an old time hat maker. Where would she go!? it was her big time away! She doesn’t usually do this! It’s an OCCASION. But the reality of her trip away was something far more typically her. She booked her and my cousin Louise to stay in a 3 star hotel in Eastbourne on the seafront- with lunch, dinner and breakfast included. She wouldn’t have to think beyond getting herself down to the pier to play on the penny machines. Which she absolutely could have done at home, but in some twisted universe - Eastbourne was just that bit more exotic.
I’ve only been to Eastbourne once, when my train to Bexhill to see St Vincent suddenly terminated there and due to issues on the tracks, my next connection wasn’t for 90 minutes. So I took myself to the closest place to the station that had any semblance of a gluten free option. I found an Italian restaurant, which turned out to be an absolutely huge place where I was now the only customer. Towards the end of my meal a couple came in and the lady approached me as she’d recognised me. With tears filling her eyes, she gave me a beautifully passionate speech asking me to be a patron of her pigeon charity. That was my Eastbourne.
My mum had required I’d arrive the night before her trip, as she wanted to do her usual thing of explain to me how doors work, the concept of electricity and most importantly for my function over the weekend - what a cat is. Perhaps forgetting that I’ve got two at home. Practical war criminals in their behaviour compared to my Mums Sabrina.
Sabrina is not just polite, but astoundingly so. A gentle tap to let you know she’d like a small moment of fuss and a meow so quiet, you could mistake it for a the creak of a dollhouse door.
In her old age my Mum has meandered into not even attempting to listen to whatever you’re saying. She’s having her entirely own conversation. In the rare instance she pretends to listen, her go to response is ‘Oh right’ or a light chuckle. “They’ve said unless you send five grand within the hour, they’re going to cut off my fingers!” I could shout to her down the phone, and she’d just respond with a pleasant laugh and a ‘Oh yeah love’. Totally unaware I’d been potentially kidnapped and my precious digits held to ransom.
Back when we attended the Nosferatu Premiere, my mum very kindly gifted me some money to get a nice hotel and pay for dinner beforehand and breakfast the next day. So I thought it would be fun to show her the film, though as her very limited attention span just about covers her soap operas and probably wouldn’t extend to two hours plus of historical horror about dark wizards and psychosexual obsessions. I’d accepted before putting it on that she’d maybe just be glancing at the screen a few times while talking about people who I have no idea who they are, as she insists I know them because they worked at my school when I was 6 years old.
Though to my surprise, she seemed genuinely enraptured at moments. The most engaged she became, was at the point Thomas was at Orloks castle, having made the treacherous journey across the lands to get there, with extended scenes of tearful pleading for him not to leave from Ellen his his Love. Various cuts between her wishing him home, his struggle now he was seemingly prisoner of the dark wizard / vampire / future landlord Count Orlok - when she suddenly my Mum pointed a finger at the TV, gasped loudly and shouted “THAT’S HER HUSBAND INNIT?!” Yes mum, you’re right - it is. Whether she took any of the film in, it didn’t matter really as it had helped pass the evening and at least gave me a vague rest from having how taps work explained to me.
the next morning Mum was off and I was left with the least maintenance cat possible. Who though Mum was convinced that left unattended she would somehow get involved in gang crime or start smoking crack, the reality was that she just wanted to be left alone and would have probably benefitted from the peace and quiet.
The rest of my time there was nice. Uneventful? I jogged down to the seafront in the morning because the change of scenery gave me some level of encouragement. Where on day 2 I saw a man wearing a tuxedo and a top hat with an England flag being worn as a cape, shouting “YOU ALRIGHT MATE?!” At every passing person, while giving a thumbs up and an enthusiastic yet toothless grin.
I went to nice cafes, I visited shops I haven’t been to in years, I found a vinyl soundtrack of Shadow of The Vampire which I’ve still not listened to and couldn’t even begin to tell you what the soundtrack sounds like. I just really like the film. Which for those unfamiliar, it’s about the making of Nosferatu if the main actor was actually a vampire. And yes, it is as fun as it sounds.
I also had dinner with my Dad, step mum and half sister which was very charming. My dad who will occasionally drop offensive things into conversation was at one point (I believed) about to begin a racist tirade, but instead just began to compliment the incredible business sense of Chinese people. Which despite being intended as praise, is certainly some kind of racist generalisation. As I’m sure like the rest of the human race - they are also susceptible to being completely fucking useless. We were also in a Thai restaurant.
One of my big fears with house sitting would be that something would genuinely go wrong and I wouldn’t know what to do about it. That all my Mums explaining and showing would have actually been helpful. That she did indeed need to show me that this door opened that way and that the shower makes a sound. That my jokey deflection would come right back and smack me in the face. That I would have to beg for forgiveness and tell my Mum that everything she ever loved was gone because I didn’t take it seriously that she wanted me to lock the living room door at night with a tiny bolt from the inside hallway encase…. I don’t even know?! But that I’d have to plead and admit she knew best.
But no, it didn’t. The cat just ignored me and refused to come to bed. I had nice lunches and nice walks and I got some short shorts from Adidas that I now wear to the gym to show off my thighs. To be honest if anything I was bored, though that is a better alternative than everyone and everything is dead. So I will accept that.
My Mum however had a much more exciting time in Eastbourne. She had so much to complain about. She had stories to tell. About how she went down to the pier and won absolutely nothing. About how they had to change rooms because it wasn’t what they’d booked. About how when they got moved into another room and it was absolutely full of ants and she stood screaming in the bathroom killing them with her walking stick.
So to spice things up, I left my mum a note and some pictures of what her darling angel cat had been up to. I hope you enjoy them as much as she did.
I present to you, Sabrinas weekend with Joe.
‘Dear Mother,
While you were away Sabrina got up to all sorts of mischief.
I have taken and printed photos of her outrageous exploits as evidence of her unruly behaviour.
As you can see she has smoked crack, picked up a nasty cocaine habit, reading porn, become a stripper, gone up in a hot air balloon and most alarmingly - gone to space.
I hope you don’t find this too upsetting.
Regards,
Joe (Your Son)’
