Coming Home to a Place I Never Really Knew

I try not to have favourites when I housesit. Every home gives you something different and I genuinely believe that. But this one was always going to be a bit special, because this one was in Washington.

Not Washington DC. The original Washington, in Tyne and Wear. I lived there for twelve years and only left in 2010. I was there for the millennium. I know its roads, its roundabouts, its shortcuts. Or so I thought.

I lived on the outskirts, in one of those satellite villages where you needed the car for everything. This sit was slap bang in the centre of town, and it turned out I had absolutely no idea what was on the doorstep. At that time I didn't have a dog and no reason to explore the local cuts and alleyways, but ten minutes from the front door and you're in the most beautiful parks, with a burn running through the bottom, trees, fields, proper walking country. I lived here for over a decade and never knew any of it existed. That has been a very pleasant shock.

Thomas

The dog is a twelve-year-old Lab cross called Thomas, and he is such a character. Playful, loves a puddle, still wants to get involved in a doggy play fight. He is getting on though, and has bowel tumours and some incontinence, and he can't walk far at all. The homeowners told me honestly before I arrived that they hadn't expected him to still be here when they booked this trip to Australia. So yes, there were a few mornings where I checked on him a bit more carefully than usual, and a couple of days where he seemed off colour and I kept a close eye. But he rallied every time. Still wanting his walk, still sniffing every inch of the woods with the kind of focus only a Labrador can muster.

Because he can't walk from the house, I'd drive him the four minutes to the local park. I hated using the car for such a short journey, but it meant he could go straight from the boot into the trees rather than tiring himself out getting there. He loved it. Full of life the moment his paws hit the grass.

Meanwhile Coco, who has no such limitations, was in absolute heaven.

Coming Home

The personal side of this sit was something I hadn't quite anticipated. My sisters live in the next town, where I grew up. My daughter is twenty minutes away. My granddaughter came and stayed over one night, which the homeowners were completely fine with. My old next door neighbour, who has been a good friend for years, took me out for dinner, came for coffee, and even dragged me along to her knitting circle, which I have absolutely no business being at but enjoyed enormously.

I also got my car MOT'd at the garage I used to use when I lived here. There's something oddly satisfying about that kind of continuity.

I've heard people say that housesitting is a way of working out where you might want to live, especially for people travelling internationally. I always thought that didn't quite apply to me because I already know this country. But spending a month properly living in Washington, right in the middle of it this time, I understood what they meant. It is so well connected. Everything is accessible. The parks are genuinely beautiful. And I had people around me who matter. Previously when I've been searching for sits I've looked out for rural countryside, thinking the dog walks would be better, but honestly, it's going to be hard to beat this for ease.

It was a month-long sit, my longest so far, and I'd have happily stayed longer. Unfortunately I doubt my next sit here will be with Thomas, but they are a dog-loving family, so hopefully I'll get to sit for them again.

North East Comforts

Being back in the North East over Mother's Day was a nice reminder of the things you only really get up here. Greggs in Washington does cheese savoury stotties and ham and pease pudding, and if you've never had either, I'm sorry for you. Proper Geordie comfort food that you're just not getting anywhere else. And the cards in the local shops made me smile. "Happy Motha's Day Mam, from ya favourite bairn." You wouldn't find that in a Waitrose card aisle.