A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  There are times when we all deserve a little whine. Today I am taking advantage and want to moan about the rain. I know that the British predeliction for speaking about our weather is well known, but of late it is also very much well-founded. The buds bursting into green in the hedgerows and trees; our resident hare running around the adjacent field; the Spring bulbs already fading; the lighter evenings. It should all be adding up to a rapid movement towards summertime. Unfortunately cool temperatures and constant rain are spoiling everything. Indeed the farm next door seems to be growing nothing more than a crop of mud and the number of hours (not even days) that I have been able to get out into the garden can be very much counted on one hand. Today, with a dry forecast, expectations were high despite the deluge overnight. Of course, in true British fashion we ended up with a mild day ruined by strong winds. Suddenly I'm feeling envious of those who make the decision to retire t

  Oh my. I really am disaster prone at present. I am now a regular traveller to London in order to spend time with Grandotty who celebrated her first birthday at the end of February.  I have never been a fan of city living but sacrifices have to be made when the immediate family are all in the capital. Transferring at King's Cross onto the underground and then again onto an overland train are now normality for me and all changes are generally conducted without mishap, or so I thought. Last week changed everything when the small leather hold-all I was carrying was stolen from my shoulder as I boarded the overland train. Perhaps I looked like a vulnerable country cousin come to town and was specifically targeted. Hats off to the thief (or more likely gang who crowded around me as I prepared to enter the train), I certainly didn't notice until the moment it disappeared and by which time I was being carried forward by the throng of people also accessing through the doors with me. I

  These days post can be somewhat disappointing with a mixture of unsolicited flyers and marketing mail coupled with the occasional missive from a bank or government department. Imagine, therefore, my excitement when I received not one but two thrilling envelopes in one delivery earlier this week. The first contained my free bus pass. Having celebrated at long last reaching the much postponed state pension age, I decided that I might as well apply for one.  It's not that I'm planning to give up driving but using buses in cities and popular tourist areas like the Lake District can  be useful, especially when parking places are either a rarity or cost the earth. I'm not yet convinced that I'll ever use it on one of the village's 4 buses a day but do have a hankering to venture on a long bus trip challenge. Home to Lands End in 14 days, or however long it takes to make all the connections, is the kind of trip you read of people taking.  Has retirement actually come to

Last month we received written confirmation that the statutory notice relating to our water pipe has been lifted and that the Water Authority once again judges the supply to be safe to drink. One oil leak fixed (digging out yet to complete) but that's still progress. However, these things do have a tendency to multiply otherwise known as hitting you in triplicate. So it was when we discovered a leaking shower waste pipe on the outside wall of the bathroom. Fortunately Mister E was able to gather some hardware supplies, his tool box and a ladder to make a good repair. It felt as though he had only just done so, when a damp patch appeared in the ceiling above my computer and we heard the sound of water dripping. A connection on a cold water pipe in the void beneath the bathroom had decided to take that moment to fail. A bucket, plumber and a hole in the ceiling later, all was resolved although a plasterer is still needed; somehow a tub of polyfilla won't quite work to fill the 2

 In my last blog post, to my shame almost 3 weeks ago now, I indicated that I was ready to get out and attack life again. Not one to do things by halves, I haven't really stopped, certainly not for long enough to write here. In fact it's all felt a bit Alice in Wonderlandish. Caree nods off to sleep, falls down a rabbit hole and wakes up in a mad, mad world.  So February has seen me dashing to London by train; spending days playing with Grandotty and her toys; catching up again with my fitness until my muscles have screamed in agony, grown tongues of their own and begged me to stop; on a whim repainting a kitchen door and then finding myself drawn into decorating the whole caboodle and it's still ongoing. We've even been to a Mad Hatter's tea party or was it my brother's 60th birthday lunch, followed by tea and cake? There have been catch ups with friends over coffee and more lunch, medical appointments and all the usual wider family get togethers, chores and v

  Like every new year, January started off with so much promise. After it did its best to impede my ability to breathe let alone exercise by knocking me down with a never-ending head cold and then spent most days tossing rainwater from the sky, I can't say I'm sorry to see its departure. Of course there were the good bits, like my nephew's wedding and our week away in the Lake District, but generally speaking  I confess I'm just glad it's gone. Restored and revitalised, I want to get out and attack life again. However, I've read so much of late written by people decrying the month of January that I can't help wondering if I'm simply living in an echo chamber. After all its hardly fair to blame a period of 31 days banded together under no more than the name of a month for either my woes or the weather. I may have felt that my role as an explorer of retirement was temporarily suspended but I still made headway with some serious decluttering, totally emptyi

  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

  We spent a week over Christmas in London at the home of the Eldest and Dilly. It was brilliant to spend so much time with our family (the youngest stayed too), especially with our granddaughter who reached the dizzy age of 10 months on Christmas Eve. As she's already becoming a confident walker after taking her first steps somewhat precociously over 2 months ago now, she was into everything. The ladies, however, chose to escape on the Saturday before Christmas, making our way to Pudding Hill Lane and the ABBA Arena for a performance of ABBA:Voyage. I'm not sure that I was fully prepared (platform shoes aside) for what to expect and confess to finding the whole experience somewhat surreal. It honestly felt as though we were at a live concert with ABBA on stage. Just how authentic are those virtual reality avatars? Forget botox and cosmetic surgery, this has to be the obvious route to eternal youth. Trouble is, with my singing voice, I doubt anybody would be interested in prese

  I know that across the world there are so many communities that through war, natural disasters or lack of funding for infrastructure are going without what we in the West regard as basic necessities. Contaminated water alone brings so much illness and disease. The statistics are appalling. According to Water Aid’s website,  almost 1 in 10 people globally do not have access locally to clean water. Back at Chez Nous, retired life has had some luxury restored to it with a temporary connection from the new water pipe to the house. After laboratory testing early in January, we are confident that the Do Not Drink Notice will be revoked. The best Christmas present ever! It would be wonderful if we could share it with those who will continue without but, in the absence of some truly miraculous Christmas magic, I guess a charity donation must suffice. In the meantime my best wishes too for your very own Happy Christmas.

  Yesterday I had one of my regular monthly meet-ups with a very dear friend. In the summer months, we normally include a long walk in our itinerary; in the winter we tend to fequent museums and art galleries. There was no mistaking what time of year it was on this occasion, not least when we had a mince pie each with our coffee. I set off in the dark and returned in the dark, there was a definite chill to the air and the trains I used to reach our rendezvous were crowded with Christmas shoppers and charity fund raisers dressed as elves! It is often said that, in the words of TS Eliot, "The journey, not the destination matters." In so far as I enjoyed the thrill of the train ride, I agree. I used a newly downloaded app to be guided to the correct platform for train changes and daringly managed the whole trip with only digital barcodes on my phone; both novel experiences for this retired traveller who normally likes to err on the side of caution with everything printed out in

  No, it may be 9th December but I haven't yet been to a Christmas  Disco. I know there's something about regressing as you age but going back to those teenage years when the whole of December seemed like one endless party isn't something I've yet subscribed to in retirement. That said, the Fitness Studio at the gym was recently upgraded to include vertical fluorescent strip lights on the walls that can be set to flash and change colour. Far superior in fact to the projected colours at the local community hall that my 15 year old self  frequented. In Keep Fit to Music the other day, the memories came flooding back, even if I was lying on the floor at the time in a hip bridge. I assure you it had nothing to do with any historic attempt at break dancing (which, in my youth, certainly hadn't caught on where I grew up). Rather, I think it was inspired by the Christmas soundtrack that the instructor had introduced by way of seasonal gesture.  All those Christmas melodies

  We had our regular annual review with our Financial Advisor this week. The investments that sustain our pension funds remain stagnant as we were already aware, but the good news is that, regardless, he recommends spending them on exploring Planet Retirement. Money matters but so does fulfilment. Obviously, first Covid and then this year the requirement for our presence to resolve the leaking oil issue, have both intervened to curtail our travels and experiences. Consequently, he echoed our concern that we don't want to miss out for too long, ending up in frail health and unable to realise lifetime ambitions.  We are so conscious of this and whilst vague plans are frustrated at present, it's good to have ratification from a third party. How easy it must be in retirement to slip into sitting at home in splendid isolation adopting the attitude that venturing out is only hassle. There may be a time in the future when we have to embrace that restricted lifestyle but for the moment

How do the truly elderly navigate bureaucracy? Recently I had an uncomfortable experience from checking an older relative's energy bill. Her gas and electricity come from one of our largest providers and back in August when I had conducted the same check, I submitted meter readings for her, naively thinking that her direct debit payments would be reduced because of the credit that had built up. Now why ever would I think that an energy supplier might behave decently and do this, especially for somebody whom it has listed as a vulnerable person? Yesterday it was apparent that instead not only had the direct debit payment been increased but the credit was now running into 4 figures and so far as I could see approximated a whole year's supply of energy. Not wanting to telephone, because I really can't stand those awful "Your call is important to us," messages as you hold for eternity, I decided to try the chat bot. I succinctly explained that we were looking for a re

  Hunkering down from the wintry weather, I've picked up a piece of embroidery that I must have begun over twenty years ago, possibly just after the youngest was born. I have a vague recollection of working on it again upon the birth of a niece or nephew but essentially it has lain untouched in a drawer for two decades. Memory plays tricks, so when I saw it there I was convinced that it was almost complete, only to unfold it and discover quite the contrary. On the basis that I'm always up for a challenge in retirement and there's nothing to entice me to venture out this weekend, I decided to concentrate on endeavouring, at long last, to finish it. Clearly you don't call it cross-stitch for nothing. In fact I'd go so far as to say you don't call it cross stitch because of its shape and intersecting lines. Rather the name must surely derive from the vexing nature of pushing needle through cotton and back at the exact points required by the pattern and all the whil

  I guess the title Christmas Yoga conjures up images of various poses in Santa Claus hats. Whilst a few eager contemporaries squeezed in a yoga session yesterday morning, the rest of us waited until early afternoon to make an appearance in the function room of a local public house for a festive get together. In retirement large Christmas social events can be pretty much non-existent. Indeed I'm sure I've left the days of polite conversation, wine and canapes under a ceiling of gawdy decorations, behind me in the business world. Yesterday was something quite different. A group of approximately 2 dozen retired ladies, who are committed to practising Yoga (at least now and again), dispensed with their leggings and instead congregated in their best frocks to enjoy a Christmas dinner together. The bar did a roaring trade, a relatively sedate quiz became a raucous affair and the laughter, chatting and occasional outbreak of song, went on for more than 4 hours. There were crackers an