A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  We spent last week in the Lake District, treated to the torrential rain and wind provided by not one but two storms. On the plus side, as the height of the beck outside rose and rose, it was a great excuse to simply stay in on a couple days  to play with our granddaughter who joined us there with her parents, the Eldest and Dilly.  The net result was that I made up for the lack of fell walking by the number of circuits completed around the sofa chasing one small toddler who is now so confident on her feet that she is trying to run whilst squealing with delight. If that wasn't exhausting in itself, the lively debates that happen with an eleven month old certainly are. Armed only with a vocabulary of four words she can certainly argue. The first two words are obviously Mummummum and Dadada but when the second two are very clearly "yes" and "no," the adults are in trouble! If I had any doubts whatsoever on the reproductive score, I now fully comprehend why givin

In the news today are reports that Royal Mail, to help defray the losses it is making, wants to abolish postal deliveries on Saturdays. According to the BBC, the company is arguing that a delivery service created for 20 billion letters is not sustainable when it is only being required to deliver 7 billion.  I confess I still enjoy those rare occasions when I receive a handwritten letter and look back with nostalgia on the days of 2 deliveries a day, including one before I set off for work. Now, of course, we have e-mails and messaging services rendering the posting of correspondence almost obsolete. That said, I confess the sight of the post van in the street always arouses a surge of inner excitement.  Unfortunately it is invariably tempered by disappointment when we receive either nothing at all or a pile of junk mail that’s moved straight from floor to recycling bin. In the past week we had two such deliveries and I did actually sift through the first wondering if, a little like onl

  The temperature has plummeted outside but thank goodness. At least it might kill off some of the nasty bugs that are doing the rounds not to mention those that would otherwise be plaguing the garden later in the year. I'm still hunkering down, although fortunately the sniffling is subsiding and if it hadn't been for all the black ice, might have been tempted to attempt a return to the gym this morning.  I've only had one foray out in the last fortnight and that was to fulfil a longstanding hair appointment. I paid the price the following day with something of a relapse whilst the journey home, as dusk was quickly turning to darkness, was sufficient to put me off ever venturing out again. First a Jack Russell barking at the end of a farm's drive decided it wanted to hurl itself at my car, presumably to ensure I  kept moving which, after swerving to avoid it, I duly did. A sigh of relief, at which point two deer with a joint death wish leapt out in front of me; emergenc

  The fourth day of this head cold and I feel that I am languishing in a state of total inertia. In retirement jumping out of bed on a morning has commonly been driven by my passion for morning exercise classes. Presently and until Wednesday, I have cancelled them all. My calendar is blank and time is devoted solely to staying warm and cosseting myself. To be fair, I have detected sufficent improvement in the malaise enveloping me that I am at least now looking at potential plans for activities going forward. From time to time, I do look at the original strategy for retirement that I committed to writing back in 2014. Ashamed yesterday by how much of Britain I have not seen, do I now add to my mortification by potentially calculating how far away I am from fulfilling my own agenda? After all if I'm already feeling melancholy from a heavy cold, would a diagnosis of failure make me suffer any further? Perhaps adopting a dead cat strategy and analysing progress at this juncture might

  It isn't so long since I told you in a blog post that I've been trying to avoid embracing the stereotypical  bucket list but have now begun to ponder on whether or not some kind of schedule is actually needed as I continue my exploration of Planet Retirement. At Christmas, however, somebody saved me the effort of pulling together my own spreadsheet by gifting me a Bucket List map . Now I previously felt quite strongly that not only did I not want to devise a inventory of places to visit but also that worse than this would be a list of experiences and destinations that somebody else had collated for general distribution. Just search Bucket List online and you'll know what I mean. In this instance, however, I was sufficiently intrigued to open the map and here I hang my head in shame. Billed as "1,000 priceless places to go and things to know" in Britain, I confess that I would be lucky to be familiar with half of them. In fact there are vast swathes of our relat

  2024 started in the same way that 2023 ended: with a family gathering. On New Year's Eve we met up for a meal with the more northerly branch of Mister E's side of the family. Then, on New Year's Day, we gathered again with the Eldest and Youngest at a holiday home for 3 nights in order to attend my nephew's wedding. Are there ever happier family occasions than weddings with the opportunity to catch up, in a joyous party atmosphere, with relatives you don't see as often as you would like? Unfortunately Covid intervened to prevent my mother coming, whilst my granddaughter succumbed to chicken pox meaning that neither she nor Dilly could travel. There must be something about weddings and viruses that seem intinsically linked for us in recent years, but at least Mister E and I were unscathed this time around. Mind it could also  have been much worse as the groom had unsuspectingly visited my mother the week before and was feeling so ill on New Year's Day that we w