A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  My apologies, it appears I was mistaken when I made my last blog post . Mister E has laughingly pointed out that in September we spent a whole week at St Abb's Head in a lighthouse cottage. How could I have forgotten? A little like Covid vaccines, perhaps the effect of all that bracing sea air is only good for 6 months and then you need a booster. Humbly chastened, I accompanied Mister E inland today to Richmond Racecourse. That's Richmond, North Yorkshire and the racecourse which opened in the 1760's held its final races in 1891. The site on Low Moor just above the town is registered as public land and the world's oldest surviving public stone racecourse stand graces its highest point. I say surviving but, to be honest, it is very definitely a ruin after the local authority dismantled the upper floor for reasons of safety.    Alongside it stands another ruin, namely that of a private stand for the Marquess of Zetland built in the mid-1800's some 75 years after t

    Today we saw the sea, for the first time in over a year.  My last sighting had been on our trip to Cyprus last year, whilst Mr E had made a quick dash to Crinan to mothball the retirement project just before the first lockdown was implemented. Since then it's been all fields, trees, and grass in varying shades of green and brown. What a contrast to be surrounded by blue.  It was a glorious day. With gale force winds forecast, we thought we might find the coast quiet and were not disappointed. In the event the huge cliffs around the bay at Saltburn and then at Sandsend seemed to keep out the worst of the wind and the sea was surprisingly calm.   There was no haze or drizzle to spoil the view southwards to Whitby and the abbey. In fact we found several brave souls in shorts; some with feet in the water. I had gone dressed for the worst in thermal-lined winter trousers and a heavy duty coat that I wear for cold walks on the hills. I didn't quite get down to shorts but I did

  (Image by Tumisu from Pixabay ) There's nothing like a text message for changing your day. To be fair, it doesn't happen very often not least when a fair proportion received are one time passcodes. However, I have to say thank you to my hairdresser because whilst she can't open her salon before 12th April she has texted me an appointment for when she does. Sometimes the mundane things in life can be the most glorious and of course it's making me resist the temptation to borrow Mister E's hair clippers to get rid of the overgrowth and everything underneath it as well. So after giving a shout out to the hairdressser, here's one too for the audiologist that I accompanied my  mother to see last week. It seems that her latest bout of profound deafness despite hearing aids, can be countered by new technology and a voicemail message has confirmed the arrival of her new aids ready for fitting all within four days of her original appointment. More appreciation too for

(Image by falco from Pixabay ) Anyone who has followed me on my journey through retirement will know that early on I had an aspiration to become a Bohemian, develop scatty tendencies and experience life through the lens of glowing, disorganised chaos.  This morning I imagine that I almost achieved nirvana when I succeeded in putting, not one but two, items of clothing on back to front whilst dressing. Frankly, it was not an experience I could enjoy and I quickly amended my error.  The truth is I like organisation too much and know now that I shall never be able to drop it. That doesn't mean I am a tidy person, well our home certainly isn't, but I do like things to be sorted and ordered, even if that does involve utilising floor space or piling things on work surfaces to achieve it. I was actually looking forward to watching a much heralded programme to be shown on BBC One this evening: "Sort Your Life Out," until it was suddenly pulled from the TV schedule to be air

  On my wander down to the village outreach Post Office facility (the mobile pop up that visits on Friday afternoons) today, I was suddenly aware of animal noises in the field on the opposite side of the road. Looking up, I realised it was a flock of sheep huddled together in a sheltered corner, presumably to avoid the worst of the afternoon's drizzle, baaing loudly in an apparent attempt to protect their new born lambs. As my diet is currently very much pescatarian, I am uncertain why I was viewed as such a potential threat. I'm also unsure whether it was the exploits of the little lambs, the sound from their mothers or the realisation that spring is now very much here that brought a smile to my face. Of course, the pinpointers of spring are all around us, whether it be the daffodils (albeit slightly later than recent years); the brave souls I've started to spot in T shirts and even shorts, or the strange urge to dust furniture and clean windows.  Mister E has had the ladd

Mothering Sunday and I certainly felt like Old Mother Hubbard as a result, although neither a dog nor bone were involved.  Statistics published in the media suggested that as many as 40% of people were intending to flaunt the current Stay at Home Rules and risk a fine by visiting their mothers outside of the circumstances currently permitted by law. There was no problem on my part, as we are very much in a bubble and I visit 3 times a week in any event. My downfall was in dismissing those statistics as poppycock and assuming that I could pick up a bouquet of flowers on my way to visit.  I wasn't proposing daffodils in cellophane from a garage and deliberately steered clear of the garden centre where I imagined those looking for somewhere to take their mothers might be congregating, take-away coffee in one hand and a pot of dahlias in the other. Obviously I know florists have been operating behind closed doors but the idea of arranging a delivery and then turning up in person and em

  An email arrived recently advising that the gym will hopefully be re-opening on 12th April. Further investigation suggests that it is on the basis that you exercise or swim alone, wear a mask as appropriate, follow strict sanitising procedures etc.. Most importantly not only is there to be no household mixing but there are no gym classes to participate in either. I wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. Clearly one of the big attractions of being a member is the social interaction with others and frankly on those terms I might as well stick to YouTube channels and Pilates in the living room. Come June, and based on the Government's roadmap out of lockdown, however, it expects to be open in full. Plan made. I shall defer my return until then. Hopefully with a little more time to step up the exercise regime at home and watch the calorie intake, I might actually be able to go back the same  fitness level and weight as when I left. It really has shocked me how easy

(Image by Patrisia Novianti from Pixabay)   My computer and I have been inseparable of late. A week ago, I started to explore a couple of areas on my family tree; those branches where the quest had gone a little stale and then, as is always the case, found myself waylaid by some interesting facts. You know the kind of thing: an ancestor with a few more children than you had understood; the family of 14 crowded into a one bedroom hovel (my ancestry is far from aristocratic); the uncle several generations back who made provision in his will for his servant's illegitimate daughter, only for me to discover him named as her father on her marriage certificate. So often, as in that last instance, instinctive hunches are proved true but on other occasions they are well and truly dashed. This evening I was in the process of wrapping up my notes for the day when I ended up spending another hour or so at the screen that I had not intended. Keeping my records organised and consistent is by fa