Esteemed Company

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Well how's that for esteemed company? Two famous sportsmen announced their own retirements today, meaning that in years to come I shall be able to say that I retired the same summer as Jonny Wilkinson and Ryan Giggs.



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The 3 x 60 Challenge

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So much is written about the post-work bucket list that as you approach retirement, you inevitably feel that you should have one. A tick list of 100 things to see and do before you die. You don't even have to think up your own any more, the Internet is full of them. Glance through them if you will and you quickly get the impression that retirement must be full of adrenalin rushed grandparents throwing themselves out of aeroplanes or climbing Kilimanjaro. Indeed the eldest recently sent a book to Mister E and me entitled "101 Coolest Things to Do in Great Britain." Now it is a good read and has some, shall we say, "interesting ideas" but for those that hold the most appeal I can honestly say that I've already been there, done them, got the photographs. There are others that wild horses wouldn't drag me to. It may be cool, but somehow Mister E and I attending Bestival is beyond even the most vivid of imaginations. The problem with trying to...
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All Aboard for Pampering

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Mister E and I may be retired but we still enjoy being pampered now and again; who says you have to be working hard to deserve a treat? Yesterday offered one of those occasions when we were spoiled with a train trip on board the Northern Belle, previously operated and restored by the Venice Simplon Orient Express. It was a day for lounging back in a plush seat, eating and drinking everything put in front of us (and there was quite a quantity) whilst watching the scenery glide serenely past. The luxury of our surroundings and the attentive service from uniformed staff all added to the sense of occasion and enjoyment. We were entertained by wandering musicians and a magician on our figure of eight route around County Durham and North Yorkshire, ending up eventually back where we started at Darlington Station. Just like my retirement so far really; there is no obvious destination but the journey getting there is immensely pleasurable.
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A Full Service

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  It's not just the Spring Cleaning that I embrace in February and March because, much as I dislike routine, the end of winter and beginning of spring have become a time to put other aspects of our house in order. So, it's a period for sorting ourselves administratively with meetings with our financial adviser and personal banker; reviewing and renewing insurance policies, changing insurer as necessary; checking tariffs and switching energy suppliers. In fact this year we have surpassed ourselves by finally updating our wills too!  Energised by the thought of springtime and rebirth, it's also become a time for medical checks, new spectacles, and a dental check-up. When making my appointment with the optician, I was given the option of a hearing test; I declined but no doubt, in years to come, that too will find its way into my retirement body scan. It's not simply a phase for a human body overhaul either, as we've subjected our cars to annual serv...
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The Danger Zone

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I have generally considered myself  to be healthy and my retirement lifestyle equally so. I exercise daily; eat a good diet; don't add salt to my food; don't drink much; have never smoked; have no obvious stress triggers; have even lost half a stone in weight since finishing work although, like many people, several more pounds won't be missed. Grief, I sound so boring! Anyway, I was a little concerned by my hospital visit at the end of July when the nurse checked my blood pressure. I could see the reading on the screen and, as it seemed high to me, I did ask her if it was okay.  "Absolutely fine," she said but that didn't exactly allay my fears. After all I had been sitting in a waiting room that could easily have passed for Obesity International and what if mine had simply been the lowest she had seen all morning? The result has been nagging on my mind, so on Monday I called into our surgery and had the Practice Nurse take another readin...
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Late, Even in Retirement

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  (Image by Merry Christmas  from Pixabay) Whilst retirement continues to throw up its new experiences, I'm conscious that some of them only arise because I'm a little late for the party. We have the misfortune to suffer from the problems that rural connectivity throws up. In particular, we  frequently struggle with mobile reception at one side of the house, whilst at the other it has proved impossible to obtain a wifi signal meaning that the benefits of a smart televison are non-existent.  However, during last year's initial lockdown, for the first time I appreciated the potential of casting especially from the iPad to the living room. It's been an indispensable way to participate in online exercise classes.  On Sunday, I was idly exploring other options to cast when I discovered that every series of Downton Abbey is available on Amazon Prime. I'm one of those few people who until now has never watched a single episode. I was, of course, working when it aired ...
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Exhaustion

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  Who would have thought it?  Yesterday, according to my Fitbit app, I walked more than 5 miles without leaving the house; most of it was between wardrobes and the bed where robe contents were displaced and sorted. Now in the course of  the motivational training sessions, I was warned that one wardrobe and a time limit of 4 hours were desirable. However, when Mister E expressed interest in getting his hanging rails decluttered too, it seemed opportune to keep going. After all when the man who cannot even bear to throw away a cardboard box, admits his closets need a good tidy up and needs help to do this, who could possibly refuse? To be fair, he took to the process with a great deal more realism and less sentimentality than I did. In the end the hangers on his rails move freely whereas mine are still a trifle squeezed. Looking at the number of empty coat hangers we produced, I'm ashamed to say we must have jettisoned at least a hundred items between us, most of which wer...
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Seven Years and Itching

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  It is seven years today since I closed the door on my legal career and I still have no itch or desire to return to the world of court rooms and orders. If I have a yearning at all, it is for a resurrection of the retirement life I had become accustomed to before this darned pandemic descended upon us. It is a craving that is now, however, tempered by the sense that the simple life I have long hankered for is within my fingers' grasp, if only... I noticed a meme the other day that just about summed up my situation. In essence it was indicating that lockdown has demonstrated that we need more than time trapped at home to organise and sort; the problem was never a lack of hours to devote to the task as we had always assumed, but rather something within that needs to be tamed and brought to heel.  Who would have imagined that seven years down the track with supposedly oodles of time, I'd still be contemplating how to declutter myself of  physical stuff?  Strangely the ...
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A Reprieve

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  Tonight I am writing this post rather than continuing my game of catch up with Downton Abbey. After a week of  constant viewing, I am even beginning to sound like Lady Mary; should I deign to clamber on top of a horse and ride it side-saddle, you will know that my conversion is complete. Yesterday, I remained on target to reach the finale today when I noticed that the warning to the effect that all episodes would be removed on 31st January appeared to have disappeared. I wondered if an extension had been granted or if instead I was already viewing on borrowed time. I checked again this morning, and, can you believe it, after all those mammoth sessions in front of the television there is indeed now a new expiry date in two weeks' time! I am unable to explain my relief.  Retirement and deadlines simply don't go together. After a career of working to time limits,  I honestly have no idea why I succumbed to the challenge. All I can think is that, still slightly intoxi...
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Happy New Me

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  There's something very special about New Year. There I am at 11.59 pm on 31st December waiting for the clock to strike; I whisper a few resolutions; the New Year rushes in and I am a transformed being. Except it doesn't work like that. Least of all last night, when I couldn't keep my eyes open late enough to witness the ushering in of 2022. It continues to be a hard life in retirement (she says smiling).  I was up this morning, however, with a good thirty minutes to spare before welcoming the first dawn of the new me, assuming of course that I had remembered to make some resolutions.  I hadn't.  It wasn't so much that I'd forgotten to make any as, to be honest, I genuinely couldn't think of any. Of course, nobody's perfect but in retirement where everyone strives to live in the present, resolving to socialise frequently, regularly ring Great Aunt Betsy (another figment of my imagination), shed pounds or come up with anything to alter your life for the ...
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Living the Dream

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  It is 8 years ago today that I left my office desk and took my first steps into retirement.  Fittingly, this afternoon I was reminded of some of the associated emotions whilst chatting to our next door neighbour who retired too a few weeks ago. Whilst he's clearly throwing himself into all those tasks that you let slip whilst you are busy working down to your final day, he also divulged that he is experiencing those horrendous nightmares where you wake up, palms sweating, realising that you were imagining yourself back in the workplace. At least I was able to reassure him that, 8 years on, not only would I be incapable of doing the job that kept me occupied and fulfilled for so long, but also I honestly would be unable to recall what used to be required of me, at least not sufficient to dream about it. Who would have thought it would be possible to get to that stage, but when life is filled in other ways, memories of the task of earning a living by pursuing a career do actu...
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Lightening the Load

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A few weeks ago I invested in my first full-size backpack in five decades. A couple of weeks later we set off with our luggage on our backs. We do, of course, enjoy our creature comforts so, comfortable hotels booked, the aim, in otherwise Race Across the World style, was simply to travel light from one destination to another using public transport and the occasional taxi. We were only away eight nights and, passing through London, obviously spent two of those with the grandchildren. Otherwise our destination was across the Channel at Saint Malo with time too at Mont St Michel. Although there was a period in our lives when Saint Malo and Brittany featured frequently in our sailing adventures, Mont St Michel had always eluded us and as purportedly the most visited attraction in France outside of Paris, its allure beckoned. Despite the crowds, it did not disappoint.  We also spent two nights in Portsmouth, primarily so that we could return to the Historic Navy Dockyards. On  the...
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It’s the Little Things

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  Sometimes, amongst all the noise and busyness, we just need a moment. Five minutes to breathe, put our anxieties to one side and appreciate the gift of an instant in time. There are occasions when something catches our eye and actually forces us to take that moment.  In my case a cactus that flowers in May every year invariably has such an effect. I believe it’s a Rebutia originating from the Andes, although this specimen has been living very happily in my utility room for twenty five years. With the aid of thick gardening gloves, it has been repotted only three times and appears to thrive on neglect. I received it as a gift and, winding back the clock to quarter of a century ago, would never then have envisaged that this small, prickly succulent would bear flowers, let alone still be on my window ledge in retirement. It can be the little things in life that make a difference.
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Yo-Yoing

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  I would truly find it very hard to properly explain my absence for so long from this blog. Indeed I can do no better than to attribute it to yo-yoing where: we have travelled to and from family in London. I have traipsed in and out of the garden striving to get everything sown and planted between an assortment of weather conditions and temperatures. I have been constantly to and fro to my mother who is of increasing concern to us all. I have tried not to neglect my exercise routines and coffee socials, so it's been backwards and forwards to the gym.  My positivity suffers and my muscles ache. It's the hardest period of retirement so far. Can you believe too that Little Sister has just had her first birthday? It enabled an excuse for squeezing in another trip to London. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if they lived locally but then it would just be another place to yo-yo to daily. I take my hat off to those in retirement who find themselves caring for parents ...
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Lessons in Life from Alfred Wainwright

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It is hard to visit the Lake District and not be reminded of Alfred Wainwright , the celebrated fellwalker and author whose Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells in seven volumes remains the leading authority on hill walking in the area. Whilst out in the open air last week many of his written thoughts also came to mind. The joy of shared experience and of the human sub-conscious perhaps, or an attempt to answer the most profound of questions that haunt our every moment. Wainwright's answer however, whilst illuminating, fell short of providing a definitive answer to that one word question, "Why?": "...more and more people are turning to the hills; they find something in these wild places that can be found nowhere else. It may be solace for some, satisfaction for others: the joy of exercising muscles that modern ways of living have cramped, perhaps; or a balm for jangled nerves in the solitude and silence of the peaks; or escape from the clamour a...
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Joy

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  It's quite common in some of the Yoga sessions I attend for the instructor to open the class with a poem. Something short and meaningful that we can hold onto. A calming theme to focus on during the practice perhaps. Maybe my mind is just too active because it doesn't always have that effect. Yesterday was one of those instances and on this occasion the poem was called "Joy Chose You," by Donna Ashworth. She has the whole piece on her Facebook page if you are interested in reading it but in it she indicates that we "usher joy away because (we) are not ready for it." Instead we can be too busy getting our home clean and tidy or trying to perfect our lives or earn money, all so that we can live happily.  Joy, Ashton points out, however, "cares nothing for your messy home, or your bank balance or your waistline." Instead she claims it works by sneaking into the "cracks of your imperfect life" so you cannot invite it in, but only be ready...
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Feel the Joy

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 There are occasions in exploring retirement that I feel I am sampling things so that others don't have to. An example arose this week when I decided to read "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying," by Marie Kondo. The KonMari Method and decluttering are now synonymous. Whilst we've probably all heard about her strategy of holding an object to see if it sparks joy, I decided it was time to see if there was anything more that I could learn. Into my 9th year of retirement and, regardless of the progress made, I still wonder if I shall ever reduce possessions to the point where I can give myself a well-deserved "Job Done" and accompanying pat on the back. Turning the pages, I quickly learnt that the preferred strategy is to get stuck in and aim to complete the task as quickly as possible and in any event in no more than 6 months. Whatever have I been doing for the past 8 and a half years, I wondered? Obviously not putting our house in order once and forever, as sh...
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Wearing Out

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  The spin dryer on our trusty washing machine has broken. Instead of turning at 1200 rpm, it moans, groans, and twirls at maybe 60 rpm. How long do we expect to hang onto our white goods for? This one has served us well for just over 15 years and to be honest after a year stagnating in the garage whilst its home in the utility room was dug out, we never expected it to work again. It surprised us, however, and seemed keen to spring back into life, even if I did have to run a few seriously hot washes and a descaling cleaner to get rid of the musty smell that had built up inside. Now, some six weeks later it has slowly ground to a halt. The washing has literally been hung out to dry as a consequence. A big decision  had to be made; did we seek to have it repaired or was it time to buy a new one? You might recall we had this exact same dilemma in 2019. Back then and in an effort to boost our green credentials, we relied on the repair man and it proved to be a wise decision....
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The Resurrection of Romance

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(Image by Bingo Naranjo from Pixabay)  It's that time of the year again, the sun (when we see it) is at a level in the sky when, after the darkest days of the year, it suddenly illuminates not only the dust but also the clutter. Armed with my resolution to get more from less, I have felt compelled to start to tackle it once again. This year I have not been alone in doing so, after signing up for a brief introductory online course run by two professional declutterers. It seems that such people really do exist, and their mission in life is to deliver people from being overwhelmed by too much stuff.  Twenty-two years ago, when we built our own home, we were overly ambitious with the amount of storage space we created. Now, just over two decades later, we have filled every nook and cranny with all those items that might come in useful; walk-in cupboards and empty bedrooms are overflowing and our "minimalist mansion" has become a cluttered cottage with floorfuls of excess. It...
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Happy Feet Again

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The first couple of weeks of January have been as busy as ever. There have been: a new laptop for the Parish Council to set up (why do these things take so long?); exercise classes to endure or enjoy depending on my daily fitness aptitude and the level of the group; more DIY at the rental property; a new Future Learn course; lunches out and time spent chatting (rather a lot) with family and friends. Yesterday I was back in volunteering mode, covering not one but two shifts at Save the Children's local high street shop. Well it was short of staff, I had a diary that could be easily altered, so why not? After all seven hours is nothing compared to the daily grind, week after week, month after month, decade after decade that goes with full-time work; at least that is what I thought.  So, I dressed appropriately in several layers and my comfortable ankle boots to ward off the chills from the open shop door and set off with enthusiasm, ready to meet and greet; sort and stac...
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Snake Oil and Falling

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  Time has passed in something of a blur of late, mainly because my mother had the inevitable fall and landed (not literally) in hospital. Fortunately no bones were broken but there was a lot of pain and bruising. Falling can become more commonplace as we age, hence a memo to myself to remember the flamingo impressions going forward and to practise standing on one leg when performing mundane tasks like brushing teeth and washing up. Some things do work and I've fully embraced the culture of striving for fitness in retirement; putting in physical effort to reap a reward certainly seems to make sense. If nothing else, the last ten years have seen me working hard to strengthen those bits and pieces of muscle and sinew holding my knee in place.  I really don't want to be the person who constantly tumbles as I get older. I do struggle, however, to engage with the concept of potions and pills to dispel some of the facets of ageing not to mention painkillers. Wear wrinkles with pride...
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