When I were but a lad
too young to be left alone, and my parents couldn't get back from work in time to pick me up, I would get left with a family called the Gwynnes, who were truly, truly horrible and I have mostly tried to erase from my mind.

The lad was a year younger than me and a bit strange. He spent most of his time eating bogeys. His older sister, who was my age, hardly ever spoke, and when she did it was some sort of withering and hateful comment about her family (other than the time she lured me into the kitchen and showed me her infantile downstairs, which gave me genuine nightmares for weeks). The mother must have been in her thirties but looked about 60 and chain-smoked. She never moved from the sofa in all the visits I made - the kids couriered crisps and cups of tea to her. The Dad, meanwhile, was a hopeless alcoholic who was normally upstairs, but occasionally ventured downstairs and, amused by finding an outsider in the family's midst, talked complete bollocks to me.

I'll never forget the smell. The whole house smelt of sweat and piss. There was grime and dust everywhere and nothing changed, ever, over the few years that I'd occasionally get left there. They had just given up on cleaning.

Also, the mother would occasionally accuse me of having broken things - the toilet, her kids' toys, etc., all of which had been broken anyway. Not sure if this was some sort of weird thing about shifting guilt to me for the state of the place or if she ever tried to get my parents to buy new toys. Even as a kid, I was conscious that there were some weird psychological issues going on in this household. I also realised - and I'm sorry if you think this makes me a snob - that these weren't really my sort of people...

Anyway, when the Gwynnes weren't free (rarely, as the Mum was pretty much stationary, as I say), I used to get left with another family called the Westcotts, who were much, much nicer. So much nicer it was hard for my young mind to deal with. The kids were friends of mine from school and were really nice, and their Mum and Dad were really cool and let us play in the garden and gave us glasses of squash. And it didn't stink of piss. They even had an air rifle which I was allowed a go on if the Dad was home to supervise.

When I was old enough to realise that I could actually express my own view on the matter, I challenged my Mum about this. Why did I have to stay with these people?

They were on a more direct route home and charged 50p less.

I was outraged, and basically point-blank refused to go there ever again. Luckily I was taken seriously.

(In fairness, she did say later that she was shocked that she'd ever left me with this family, but it seemed OK at the time)
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 12:45, 5 replies)

The Gwynnes sound pretty vile.
I remember one particularly vile family that lived in my street when I was a kid. I was briefly friends with the son of the family and my lasting memory of their house was the carcass of a chicken that they'd had for sunday dinner being left on the table in the front room for about a month to fester. Lovely!
( Evil Bastardo, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 13:24, closed)

Ha
In turn, you've reminded me of another tale.

There was a massively obese lad at school who one of my friends lived in the same street as. He absolutely swore that he'd been round the Fat Kid's house when he was 10 and the Fat Kid's Mum (who was also huge) was sat in an armchair, eating a whole roast chicken with her hands.

On the coffee table, there were the remains of two further chickens and two empty bottles of Safeway Cola.

I was always unsure whether this was schoolboy hyperbole or not, but his Mum really was very, very fat, so you never know.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 13:43, closed)

That sounds far too detailed to be made up! :)
We had a similar tale of a schoolfriends large parents who ate/drank cereal directly out of the plastic bag that it comes in (out of the box) after pouring milk into it.
( Evil Bastardo, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 13:53, closed)

Well, it saves on the washing up I suppose

(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:20, closed)

I'm a little like that now
but if I'm ever having visitors - let alone kids - I clean the place till it chuffing sparkles
(jellybeanflicker Jesus was Korean, but there he was Cho Sun Wun, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 16:53, closed)