Imogen Clarke: The Family Visit

Don’t come up on Halloween. I’m sure I remember distinctly saying that phrase. No one wants to drag themselves out of bed still slightly plastered (with costume, make-up, and alcohol) to spend the day touring their parents around St Andrews. Following up ‘So this is where I have my lectures’ with ‘So this is where I may have thrown up last night’ doesn’t really appeal.

But here they are, and as they say, make the best of a bad situation.

I say it’s a bad situation, but I’m lying. It’s actually a great one. I love my parents to pieces, I talk to my mum every day without fail and when they left this morning I cried a little. That’s about the most publically sentimental you’ll ever see me get – enjoy, it doesn’t happen often.

There appear to be three distinct features to the family visit: 1) money 2) food and 3) bringing every item you managed to forget. There are ways to handle it. Asking for a list of items is straightforward, and the meal out at a restaurant your student budget won’t stretch to is customary (man you forgot there was a drink other than Tesco value gin and tonic). Money is the difficulty. The finer things in life are, quite frankly, no more. So it’s not hard to want a little luxury, but your parents aren’t there to be just a walking cash machine. So, there are compromises:

• Always opt for the mid-value option – too expensive and they won’t be happy, but you can afford to bring yourself out of the Tesco value gutter.
• Stock up on the essentials that will last for weeks, but be prepared to waiver food that will expire in a matter of days – in the long run your wallet will love you.
• Don’t overdo the alcohol – you know it’s the most expensive item on your shopping list and so do your parents. They’re also very aware (from personal experience) that you’re probably drinking too much.

For reasons other than slightly begging for money, the family visit can get awkward if not handled correctly. My parents have a fantastic skill for embarrassing not only me but themselves. And man did they outdo themselves this time…

After being unceremoniously demanded to make a cake for their arrival, my parents, plus dog, arrive in my flat, on the top floor of my building. It’s a fact difficult to forget given that there are no more stairs. Yet, upon retrieving a suitcase full of my forgotten things from his car and then entering my building (he even rang the bell of my flat), my stepdad went AWOL. Turns out he had stopped a floor too early. When the door of the flat directly below mine was opened, assuming the girl he didn’t recognise was the flatmate I’d yet to introduce, he proceeded to barge straight past her, suitcase and all, into what he thought was my room. He remained completely oblivious to the fact that none of my stuff was in that room. He was even about to refute her claim that it was her room and she had no idea who Imy was. Thankfully he realised his mistake and proceeded to grovel his way out and back to my actual flat. Awkward.

He has, however, since redeemed himself by turning his own sock into a poo bag; a heroic attempt to preserve the natural beauty of St Andrews, after my dog decided to unexpectedly desecrate West Sands early Monday morning. Definite bonus points for innovation.

The family visit is simply a case of tact, discretion and the ability to laugh it off. Always laugh it off, if only to stop yourself from crying inside. Especially when your mother’s parting words to your flat are her list of criteria for a future son-in-law. Apparently they’d like to me to get it right first time and I need help to do that.

P.S. To the girl in DRA Hamilton flat 0805, thank you for being so lovely to my dazed and confused stepdad. He feels eternally embarrassed and apologetic. Should you see me out, I at least owe you a drink.