A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

    Just when you think those in charge couldn't get more ridiculous, today we learn that a benefit of Brexit is that we might want to return to Imperial measurements instead of those nasty European metric ones. Curiously a map of the world circulating online suggests that apart from the USA, Myanmar and Liberia every other country is fairly content with counting in tens and thousands. I guess those of us who are retired represent pretty much the last generations to have struggled at school adding and subtracting in £sd, as well as memorising all those weird and wonderful weights and measures. Unsurprisingly there doesn't seem to be an abundance of enthusiasm for our great leadership's latest contribution to the transformation of the country into a complete and utter laughing stock. Mr Johnson may very much want to see a Crown on his glass every time he toasts a departing member of staff, but he has overlooked once again that the rest of us don't get to party quite as o

  Mister E and I seem to have found ourselves in a strange love triangle. There's nothing weird going on, as the other party to this 3 way tryst is none other than the NHS. Hardly has my seat in the waiting area of our local hospital had a chance to cool down than it seems I'm back to warm it up again. I understand that as we age our need for health care can increase but for two relatively fit, healthy people Mister E and I are certainly surprising ourselves of late. The latest visit found us seeking emergency treatment alongside various parents with children who had clearly injured themselves falling out of trees, participating in sport or undertaking something equally as imprudent. The adult patients (evidently retired too) had injured themselves with garden equipment or fallen badly whilst hurrying for a bus. All self-inflicted wounds and doing little to help determine whether you become more or less foolish as you grow older. On this occasion I had gone along purely to give

    Oh my goodness! After avoiding sniffles and sneezes for over 2 years, Yours Truly is suffering big time. Sadly, in May 2022, we can't even tell if it's a common cold or Covid-19, the symptoms, especially after vaccination, apparently being very similar. I'm also conscious that I attended the party I blogged about last time and what could be better for spreading a cold, Covid or other infectious disease than conversing by shouting over music? No more function rooms, let's call them what they are: Soup Kitchens for the cultivation of viruses. On the plus side, I'm testing negative but then stories abound, from multiple people I know, of  failing to register a positive test until several days after first experiencing symptoms. In the meantime the Eldest and Dilly  are due to arrive tomorrow for the weekend, after their previous trip was postponed at the last minute when Dilly tested positive. I could, of course, be veering completely on the wrong tack and this may

    Definitely out of practice. A family party to celebrate a double retirement at the weekend and I'm still in recovery mode. Worse still that's despite playing the part of the no-drinking driver and being home and tucked up in bed by 11.30pm. It was a great night for dancing, even if I did find the music several decibels louder than I might have chosen but my knees continue to pay the price. My throat too still feels hoarse from all the shouting over the sound system.  Well for an hour or three it was good to recall that this is how the Saturday nights of youth were regularly spent. Now, in retirement, a party only comes around every 6 to 8 months; probably just long enough for the euphoria to abate and a proper recuperation to take effect. Retirement is a worthy cause for celebration  but in this instance I even wondered if I was actually the only fully retired person in the room. The shining example for all to aspire to as I strutted my stuff on the dance floor... or, in re

 😱😱😱 One third of the way through a long Bank Holiday weekend and I awoke this morning feeling like a cross between Edvard Munch's The Scream and that screeching emoji. To be more precise and to clarify, it was my muscles that were screaming though, not my vocal chords. Despite knowing better, not only did I spend all day yesterday digging, lifting and bending in the garden but I totally overlooked stretching off afterwards. Away from a studio class, stretches of the quad, calf and hamstring, not to mention back and side bends, don't seem to feature in my regular routine. After 6 hours of hard labour they really must; the tragedy of course was that I only remembered this when I descended the stairs this morning, rigid and in agony. One of the tribulations of my retirement is always that I want my body to do more than ever whilst caught in a never ending spiral of ageing and stiffness. Fortunately the pain has eased, not least after deliberately extending my limbs and spine i