We lived in Worthing for a month, and it was interesting! It is a period of time we won’t forget – it was memorable for so many reasons. We stayed there temporarily whilst awaiting our onward move, and it felt a little bit, at times, like an extension of the summer holiday. We were by the sea, the weather was warm (mostly), and it was different to our norm.
For starters, there are shops nearby – loads of them! And as nice as that may be, it is also rather easy to find stuff to buy in said shops. I didn’t mean to, but I think I ended up with EVEN MORE STUFF by accident after a few little saunters down the town. Oops.
Worthing Pier (Pier of the Year 2006, don’t you know!) was a source of intense fascination for us all. It drew us in with all its Victorian vibes and rusty struts. It’s just a pier, but wow! What a thing. The history, the elements, the mastering of the sea, all tied in to one rickety old pontoon. It was nostalgic – once, many years ago, whilst resting outside the nightclub that used to be located at that very spot, my companion and I had to make a mad dash as we suddenly realised the large, fizzy torrent falling from the balcony above us was not water nor beer, but warm, steaming piss… nice memories!
Big Seymour and I felt it only right that we should celebrate our million year anniversary by a meal out at the restaurant that is now there, and apart from an overriding smell of old nightclub, the food was pleasant enough. I ran to the pier, walked to the pier, rode to the pier and ventured there in the dark. I cycled Boy’s bike on the deck, with him on my shoulders, following the smell of weed up the promenade and trying not to wobble. We witnessed night fishing, where the most alien of species – squid- were being hauled in their tens out of the shallow, seemingly lifeless ocean beneath.The poor things, with their strangely human eyes, lay dying on the planks, turning from brown to ethereal white and leaking ink as they made their final attempts at fighting their fate. They were beautiful and I found it quite sad.
I charged to the pier to stare at the sea several times, in an effort to recalibrate after altercations and soul searching sessions. And being able to go out to sea in that way is just so exciting! Without getting wet! And in the dark, with the twinkling lights and the cold night air, one could almost imagine being on the Titanic… or is that just me?
We chatted to fishermen who shared their knowledge and expertise with a twelve year-old who has now decided that fishing is his thing. He’s stolen my phone already and messaged people on Marketplace about their second-hand tackle bundles with neither the means nor the cash to deliver on his promise to buy. I, meanwhile, look like that person who asks “Is this available?” and never follows it up… Still, at least it makes a change from him trying to haggle for bikes without wheels. And motorcycles.
The Worthing House was near Lidl, and I think I may have become somewhat addicted to their fruity gums and croissants. I also became hooked on reaching their spending goals on the LidlPlus app… they’re clever the way they reel you in. And I got better at remembering my own shopping bags!
The Queen died and we gained a king during our stay there. We started to read To Kill a Mockingbird. We tried to break down Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, we attempted to learn how to tell the time properly. And by we, I do not mean I. All I succeeded in was alienating my teen, my tween and my diva with nagging, and wondering how I got so lucky with Number One, who has always been very self-motivated in her learning. She left for university from the Worthing House. And after she left me, Little Seymour Number Two became my (much less chatty and philosophical) late night walking partner.
My late night cycling partner, though, was Boy Seymour – who insisted on doing stunts up and down the steps around the promenade on a bike with no brakes. On one excursion, we saw wild beach foxes, gawped at a lone scuba diver, spectated a bit of water polo followed by a spot of beach volleyball, and nearly got mugged. We found a machine that makes pizzas on the street with no person inside it (who knew?) and disovered where the hoboes hang out.
During one walk into town, just before she left me, Number One and I witnessed an ambulance crew attending a man on the pavement (they were using CPR and everything!). It made our mission to source a new phone seem crass. I do hope the man is ok. And then there was a Saturday night walk when we had great fun: we acquired two free glasses, a hoody, a sticker of Boris Johnson and an Alice band (which was the only thing that was later binned) and started our own flashmob to Footloose along the prom.
Boy Seymour scouted out all the skate parks within a two mile radius, and we found ourselves taking shelter amongst the half pipes one night as dusk fell and the rain lashed down unrepentingly. I love the rain, but it makes skate parks quite dangerous. I do believe I nearly fell over.
One evening, I must have lost my mind and allowed Boy Seymour to take Mini down to the “gym” – one of those outdoor exercise facilities that young, fit chaps with ghetto blasters use. Or personal trainers on a budget. Or kids, who have tired of the usual swings and slides. It’s quite a good one – but I am sure the likelihood of losing teeth there is high. Those exercisey things haven’t half got some kick! Rowing machines and push-up contraptions that fall back down in your face or on your shin if you let them. They’re not for me. But as I say, curiously I allowed Boy to escort his sister, and off they went, just before dark fell… Twenty minutes later I am panicking, and Number Two appears downstairs with a worried expression, suggesting we go and look for them…
They were not at the gym. They were not anywhere to be seen! Number Two and I started running (why?) and I began to call his name louder and louder – he wasn’t answering his phone! – until… two little urchins appeared from behind the cloak of darkness that was hiding the beach. They’d been on the sand, as the tide was out, playing. At which point Number Two admitted she’d had a bad feeling about her siblings going out together. (My God! What have I done to her? The poor anxious mess.)
The two urchins were fine but I did point out that going down onto a beach in the dark when there could be SINKING MUD and an INCOMING TIDE, not to mention STRANGERS and SEWAGE was not wise. Plus, they said they were only going to the gym…
I overreact, I know. Considering the amount of time I nag them to get off their screens, this was probably a win. There is no sinking mud as far as I am aware and probably very little sewage. But there was definitely a tide of some sort and lots of strangers. They need to be aware.
Four weeks in Worthing went by so fast, and in the end, the driving to and fro became habit. I told the Little Seymours that many people drive this far to work (and school) each day. It is not unusual! And if it weren’t for the crazy petrol prices and the time constraints (not to mention the wear-and-tear to the vehicle) it would actually be quite enjoyable. Certainly, the shortcut over the hills in the mornings was a real treat – cutting up though Sompting, you are on top of the world, with the North Downs and the sea both visible on a clear day.
As for the sea, I will never tire of watching it, especially on those days when it is turquoise! The colour amazes me. And the Rampion Wind Farm, eight miles out, was a source of endless curiosity. To the Youtube chap that paddled out there through the shipping lane – what the f@ck where you thinking? You numpty. But thank you – I found your video most fascinating and informative. You went there so I didn’t have to!
We did not swim. Although mesmerising, the Worthing Waters did not entice us in now the weather is turning. Autumn is here, and we were treated to the most amazing displays of lightning and thunder for what seemed like a whole week of nights, which made me wonder if lightning is always going on out at sea, regularly, and I am just ignorant of the fact.
The Worthing House itself was very comfortable and surprisingly quiet. It was easy to stay in. And my mission, at the end of the four weeks, was to leave it as I found it, and by and large I did, in spite of a few last minute hiccups that can only be apportioned to disabled wrists and wobbly bottoms. I will say no more.
I am not sure the neigbours will miss us (and our evening hip hop displays in the street). We must have shared just three words with them in four weeks and that felt weird… but I guess that is normal in an Airbnb rental. I had to remember that we “weren’t in Kansas anymore” and leaving the front door open whilst kids are playing outside is not the done thing. But it made me smile when Boy Seymour, scooting away, was soon joined by another boy who had heard him, and wanted to play, too. Humans are social animals! Well, except maybe the chap over the road. I tried to smile at him on numerous occasions, but he resisted my charms. I have taken it upon myself to decide that he is nocturnal and anti-social as a result of working odd hours at the local hopsital, and that explains why his house is so bloody pristine. And why his lights go on at all hours of the day and night. I will forgive him. He is a key worker after all. Probably.
So, thank you Worthing House. You are now a part of our family history. And we will remember you fondly. Especially because we are now in a caravan…
(A little video update for you below…)
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