A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

Having served our penance under a hosepipe ban last year, this summer Yorkshire was spared. That's not to say we were indulged with rain, only that we had so much over the previous winter that reservoirs and aquifers were replenished. Unfortunately it was still one of the region's driest ever summer seasons. and, like the rest of the country's grass, ours too ended up parched and yellow. Theoretically when it came to the lawn around our home, we could have used a hose to keep it green and lush or I guess, if we owned one, even a sprinkler. We do try, however, to keep our garden watered from our vast array of water butts and, with insufficient reserves to maintain the lawn as well, we chose instead to neglect it, safe in the knowledge that the first rain shower would herald its recovery. A month ago, the grass was returning to its naturally verdant state when suddenly, and despite the novelty of frequent rain showers, patches of dead turf once again began to appear. Investig...

These days literature festivals abound with so many towns hosting, plus, of course, the bookshop tours and talks by authors when their new books are launched. It's many years since I went to such an event but last weekend I certainly made up for it. The Youngest was visiting, so we took the opportunity to spend Saturday afternoon in Durham City where its annual Book Festival was underway. A cold wind was blowing through the city centre, so after a bracing walk across the market square we were glad of our pre-booked tickets and shelter in the Gala Theatre. The next morning I dropped her at the station for a train back to London and work, whilst I proceeded to meet up with a friend to travel to Harrogate for another book event in the comfort of its Convention Centre, although, to be fair, without the chilly wind the town felt almost spring-like. All events had a similar format with a host posing questions from the comfort of an armchair and the author perched on the sofa's edge, ...

This week is a startling anniversary; fifty years since I arrived at university as a naïve young fresher. My closest friend from that era and I decided to mark the occasion.  We opened a bottle of wine. It was, of course, considerably better quality than the half pints of cider we were accustomed to buying in the Hall Bar five decades ago. Goodness me where has all that time gone? Back in 1976, we had been required to present ourselves on 4th October. As she had arrived suffering from the after effects of a virus, she had skipped dinner and gone straight to bed. On this occasion, with her staying over at mine, I offered to replicate that first university dinner: stew followed by gooseberry crumble, according to my trustworthy diary from the time, and I had specifically noted that neither dish was at all pleasant! In the end I couldn't bring myself to indulge our nostalgic musings to that extent and I hopefully served up something a little more satisfying to our tastebuds. Sadly, al...

 Mister E’s incapacity has been accompanied by my own incarceration in an effort to ensure he obeys doctor’s orders and avoids unnecessary stress to his new joint. We’ve had groceries delivered rather than twice weekly shopping trips and I’ve found myself spending more and more time in the kitchen; that centre of the domestic heartland.  This enforced period of time at home has coincided with a glut of beetroot in the vegetable patch. Firing on all cylinders, I have put my creativity to work and have been cooking all things beetroot. We’ve eaten them boiled, roasted, curried and pickled. We’ve had everything from beetroot and feta on toast to beetroot risotto. Combining them with apples from our tree, I also made a relish. My culinary practice hasn’t stopped with savoury dishes; there have been beetroot and vanilla cupcakes one day, beetroot brownies the next.  I’ve almost convinced myself I could be a Niche Nigella, even if, I concede, it would require sustained effort! ...

There have been various times in my life when I've suddenly realised from an awareness of others around me that I have, shall we say, grown up a little more.  The first occasion was probably the day I started school, being met, along with my contemporaries, by mothers pushing prams and pushchairs with siblings too small to be embarking on the big adventure. Later, as we progressed to secondary education, I recall marvelling at not only how cute the little children heading to primary school were, but also how much younger they seemed in comparison to my own peer group. Rushing through adulthood, the years move on apace and there definitely comes a day when you realise that yes, policemen do look very young. In my profession and approaching retirement, the same could be said for barristers.  Once retired, I have been less conscious of the differences, cocooned as I am in my own little tribe of seniors. That began to change a few years ago when some of those around me, started to...

  Fifty years on from the legendary summer of 1976, this year it seems surpassed all records. Of course, half a century older, I'm not as adept at handling day after day of wall to wall sunshine and high temperatures; neither for that matter is my garden. Somehow or other we contrived to survive and whilst I'm not complaining about the sudden but otherwise very welcome change in weather conditions since the beginning of this month, it is a little like returning to Earth with a bump. In my post back on 9th June , I mentioned that we were planning another ferry trip and we duly set off only 10 days later. Spotted walking up the road with our backpacks, neighbours offered us lifts to the station, but there was to be no cheating and so, senior passes at the ready, we left by public service bus. On arrival we encountered the first of many laden treks, on this occasion from the stop at one end of town to the station at the other. Sometimes and despite the  afternoon heat, you have t...

  I've been clearing out our garage again this week. It's one of those once a year tasks that involves countless discussions with Mister E as to what is useful and what really should just be binned. In my book anything that moved to the house with us more than 25 years ago and has sat unused ever since has to be ripe for jettisoning, but Mister E applies other benchmarks, especially when it comes to "boat stuff." Bit by bit, year on year a little more edges its way towards the dustcart. Give me another two decades and the garage shelves might finally be properly decluttered. There are, of course, always items that do prove their worth even if the gap in using them exceeds a quarter of a century. That was the case with Mister E's precious sextant. He used it on some seriously long Atlantic voyages in the early 1980's before modern navigational aides became widely accessible to the leisure yachtsman.  After that, it lay unused until 1999 when  he and the eldest ...