We’re living the dream Down Under ...for free!
(Just steer clear of those 10ft pythons) Laurence Short on how he and his wife have escaped dull pension life by jetting off to Australia to become house-sitters
SITTING in my comfortable armchair on a stunning wooden deck, a glass of crisp white wine in hand, I’m ecstatic. Below me, surfers are trying to tame huge Coral Sea rollers crashing on to Sunshine Beach in Queensland.
In the kitchen, my wife Natasha is busy making a salad to go with the swordfish steaks that I am supposed to be watching on the barbie by the infinity pool.
For the millionth time I pinch myself as just a short while ago we were sheltering in our home in northern England from a daily diet-of rain, sleet and snow, and trying to survive on a tiny pension.
Tomorrow I might play golf, go fishing, or enjoy a stroll. Yes, I am living the dream. And, amazingly, it’s all for free. So how come a pair of impoverished pensioners are living a life of luxury in an architectural dream villa in the world’s most desirable country?
Answer: we’re itinerant house-sitters, grey nomads, taking care of other people’s houses, gardens and pets while they take weeks or months away for special holidays, work placements or family visits.
Known by the name Housesittersareus, we advertise our services on websites. After this stint in Australia, perhaps we’ll head off to New Zealand or Canada next.
Our first house-sitting job was in a Brisbane suburb. Two dogs, two cockatiels and a ring-necked parrot needed looking after. The dogs were a treat but the parrot-was a nightmare of screeches. I nearly took its name literally.
However, the houses – and their owners – have been extraordinary. One minute we’re staying in a classy seaside villa; the next we’re in a shack located in the middle of a sugar-cane plantation.
Once at the airport we had a puzzled look on our faces as we searched for our bags and our new owners at the same time. Surely, we could rule out the grizzled old biker with a long, grey plaited beard fastened with a silver ring, and tattoos on every limb? Apparently not. He came striding towards us, and offered a great-smile and strong handshake.
Two days later we were having eggs and asparagus for breakfast-on his morning deck. The house was surrounded on all sides by 10ft sugar cane and a 30ft ‘moat’ of short grass supposed to keep snakes away as they don’t like to be caught out in the open.
In the cool evening, Natasha had been cooing with pleasure, feeding bananas to a mother possum and her baby. But then I heard her scream with terror. A 10ft snake was on the lawn blocking Natasha’s way to the house.
I’ve always wanted to be a knight in shining armour, saving a damsel in distress, and at last here was my moment. I knew it was a carpet python by its colouring, so I picked up a broom, shook it and made a lot of noise. My actions had no effect at all, except to provoke a threatening hiss.
People had told me snakes are more afraid of us than we are of them, but this one had obviously not read the memo as it bit the brush head and slithered towards me. I backed off and it disappeared, with a final flick of its tail, into the rain gutters via the camellia bush.
‘I thought you said you hadn’t-seen any snakes for months?’ I said to the owner on the phone later. ‘Pythons are not real snakes, mate,’ he replied. ‘They’re just-vermin control, taking care of all the rats and mice.’
Thankfully, heaven is never far away in Queensland, where we are currently staying. For lunch we might take a picnic to the beach, deserted except for the pelicans feeding in the shallow water, or the occasional kangaroo hopping outof the nearby forest.
But don’t be fooled because danger is sometimes just around the corner. Although I heeded my sister Sue’s advice about wearing hats and slapping on plenty of sun cream, unfortunately she never warned me about not wearing shoes when fishing in the ocean.
One day I cut my foot on the coral. It was a small cut, so nothing to worry about, right? Wrong. By washing the cut in the warm sea, I was actually treating it in water full of tropical bacteria.
Five days later I was in hospital in Brisbane with a tropical infection, listening to Sue tell a story about a friend who had to have his leg amputated when his infection spread. Thanks Sue.
On a more positive note, you can keep your house-sitting diary full by having access to email and the internet. Gaps between sittings mean you’ll have to fork out-for hotels. We quickly found outthe best length for a sitting job is between four and six weeks – any less and all you’re doing is unpacking and packing again.
Melbourne was a great place to stay. We had a lovely cottage in the suburb of Brighton. The city also lived up to its reputation of having four seasons in one day. One day the temperature plummeted by 15C in just five minutes.
However, I can quickly grow bored of life in cities, so for me Australia is at its best when it-comes to cattle ranches in the Outback or places on the beach.
The highlights have been watching tiny Phillip Island penguins on the beach at night, seeing a thresher shark take our bait-just feet from us in Melbourne, catching huge salmon, spotting a platypus in the Eungella mountains, and buying delicious oranges, pineapples, mangoes and figs from the roadside.
And the downsides? Not hitting it off with some owners, and finding we have to care for 17 cats rather than the six they told us about. Some of the houses did not-have any heating at all. But with a bit of research you can avoid any major pitfalls.