Some of my happiest nights, not very long ago, were spent in Battersea, on a small broken leather sofa, propped up on one side by a toaster. C and B had me to stay for quite a long time when I first moved to London and had no money and only a few other friends. We liked each other so much we ended up living together for quite a few years. I eventually got my own room, but until then I just closed my eyes very tight when the Scandinavian au pairs came over and when people only wore aprons to bed. That's how well we managed and how well our relationship worked out.
I love staying at other people's houses, and I love it when they come to stay with me. Ask my sister. Sometimes I phone her and say "I have a feeling the dogs next door are going to be way too barky tonight and we won't be able to sleep, so can we come to yours?"
I think a lot about how it would be to stay at some of my friends' houses that I haven't stayed at before. I have sussed out everyone's spare rooms and I have my own private sleepover hospitality rating system. I love it when I go to people's houses for the first time and they say, "And this is the guest room." I think about what kind of emergency reasons I can concoct as to why we need sleep overs. Coming home, late at night, I always think about where I would stay if I had to survive outside on the street. I have a few really good places lined up, just in case my car breaks down coming back from the airport or something like that.
One of my best places to stay is with Brandon and Helen. It doesn't really matter where they are living, I go and find them and stay with them. These are some of the times I have stayed with them:
- In Edinburgh in the kitchen. The house was quite full.
- In Grahamstown under the dining room table. The house was very full on account of the Arts Festival.
- Post muddy festival in Helen's parents' posh Pietermaritzburg Place. Wash the hippie mud off in the sparkly swimming pool. Eat lots of prawns. Drink lots of wine. Watch Deuce Bigalo Male Gigalo on a Massive TV. Turn the air-conditioning in the bedroom to minus five so you can sleep under a duvet in 40 degree heat. Best night ever.
- Durban spare room when John was hospitalised for an unknown terrifying illness and I was scared.
- Cape Town pad. Whenever I can. Last week I went to down to work in Khayelitsha and of course I stayed with them. I deliberately didn't make my bed; made my hair clog up the shower and left snotty tissues everywhere – to test their hospitality and our friendship. They didn't mind. What good friends.
I think my mother started it. We always had people in our house when I was growing up, and we made their rooms nice, and put little bunches of flowers next to their beds. I do this when people come and stay at our house, in the downstairs room. Or maybe it was my granny. She had a pink room and a blue room for guests, with suitable super-fluffy eiderdowns and many empty drawers and crocheted clothes hangers. Of course I do like my own house, but it goes with so much responsibility, and it doesn't go with a Holiday Feeling.
Maybe one day I will grow up and stop living in other people's imaginary spare rooms, but for now, I reckon there are worse fantasies to have. So thanks everyone who has put me up and up with me so far. Thank you Brandon and Helen for having me last week. I am excited to have new Cape Town work. To the rest, if I've drunk too much at your dinner party, its doubtful I will go home. Uber never seems to work on my phone.