A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  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

  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

  Somebody recently told me that they'd enjoyed modelling, participating as a favour at a charitable event for the first time this summer. Handbags, sunglasses and high heels with quick changes in between each outfit. In retirement I'm keen to try many things but I'm definitely not glamorous enough to ever consider stepping onto a catwalk, so felt in no way tempted to give it a go. Earlier in the month , however, I referred to my need for active diversions to the ongoing headache caused by the oil leak. Last week, I too found it in modelling. In my case, however, it was of the clay variety when I signed up for a Highland Cow Sculpting workshop. Didn't I just love it. A far cry from the plasticine of my childhood, clay is altogether more malleable if somewhat messier too. I even got to play with an extruder in order to create all that long hair. My piece has now gone to be fired and although there's every probability that it will have crumbled before we're reunit

  I know food inside packaging is shrinking as manufacturers try to convince us that the current round of price rises isn't as bad as we know it to be. But surely that shouldn't apply to books as well? "Brevity is the soul of wit," says Polonius in Shakespeare's Hamlet (an ironic point for a character who was somewhat verbose). Perhaps I'm just stumbling across particularly clever literature, but if a book length of 70 pages or so is gripping then, a little like the chocolates in the box on the supermarket shelf, I want more. Conversely if the writing is awful then you might think I've been relieved of the chore of turning too many pages. Since resolving not to stick with disappointing novels , whether it's a novella or trilogy I can, of course, just as easily ditch both at an early point. No, my complaint here is that for some curious reason the books I have been reading this year are much shorter than I had expected. I suppose that comes from taking

  Over the years I have adopted the habit of reading the Booker prize short-list. As a consequence I often find myself immersed in a tremendous book.  Long reservation times at the library mean that I am still waiting for some of the novels that were so accoladed this year to become available. To date, however, I can only express my disappointment, especially as the last specimen took me 3 weeks of hard graft and dedication to complete. I confess, tholokuti (is that enough to tell you which book it was?), I could easily have been persuaded to cease reading it altogether except, without skipping to the final page and despite it being an allegory and political satire where I surely knew the ending, I did want confirmation of what happened next. I was inevitably disappointed by my chore of endurance. In fact, I almost convinced myself that I had just forgotten how to enjoy a book when my usual pattern is to become so absorbed that I complete any novel within 2 to 3 sessions and then have

  It was the privilege of monarchs to tour the country with a train of horses and carriages as the whole court moved with them. By the 17th century the aristocracy had developed a social season, spending April to June in London and then transferring their households back to their country estates. Having just returned from the Lake District where we stay in the same accommodation for a week in winter and a week in summer, it struck me that we are indulging in a somewhat elitist tradition in the style of the landed gentry from centuries past. We may not have any servants to bring along but we invariably end up taking any number of items from our kitchen and the intention is always to be joined by and entertain guests. After years of this routine, rather than a holiday it really does feel like we are making a procession across the Pennines moving from home to home. Fortunately there are no ball gowns to fit into or corsets to be tied. The lodge we stay in nestles by the side of a beck ami

  Dilly's Mum has just had her first book, The Secret of Elephants, published. It was released yesterday and I completed reading it earlier this evening. Now I am not one to include book reviews in my blog but on this occasion, let me just say that the intrigue of the plot held my attention sufficiently that I was compelled to read it from start to finish as quickly as possible, allowing only for my other commitments. The story gives an insight into a multi-generational family divided between India and Zimbabwe but united by their joint heritage. Whilst we are given a true flavour of Indian culture it is tinged too with the impact of global westernisation and for the reader a subtle insight that humankind whether it be in Asia, Africa or Europe shares so much in common.  I know that the author is in the process of completing her second novel and also that to do so has required hardwork, time and diligence in order to meet deadlines set by her publisher. All that whilst still perfor

  Sunday was a beautiful day. Looking at the forecast, it could well have been the last summer's day as winter fast approaches. What better way to spend it though, than on the patio eating lunch outside with friends. In contrast the weather yesterday morning was demented, with the rain falling in torrents. At least I'd had the forethought to check the likely conditions a couple of days ago and a rendezvous with an old friend was hastily altered from a day walking in the countryside together to a trip to York. With the media's non-stop reporting of petrol shortages (1st world post Brexit problems that you seriously can't make up), it seemed better to travel by train. It appears that these days the Transpennine Express actually lives up to its name. Gone are the abysmal two carriages pulled by a diesel engine that I recall from those pre-Covid days and instead a five carriage high-speed train now dashes down the East Coast mainline. A day out by rail; normality really is

    ( Image by pasja1000 from Pixabay ) It was with some amusement that I learnt Abba is not only releasing an album but will also be undertaking a series of live shows in London next year. That's not bad for a group now in its seventies that hasn't performed together for almost 40 years. Except, they won't be appearing in those live shows themselves but in virtual form with digital versions of the group members as they once were.  I'm not sure I'd like to be reproduced on stage as I was in the seventies, unless there's some kind of bonus that arises from being able to dance in platform shoes. However, you have to admit that it's a somewhat novel way of maintaining your youthfulness and I suppose demonstrates the next and inevitable step from video to hologram and beyond. Perhaps we will all one day spend our later years entertaining in virtual form, letting our avatars do the hardwork whilst we sit back and enjoy retirement. Incredible as that may seem, at

  I have recently completed reading the six books short listed for last year's Booker Prize. Reading Group hasn't met since August when we had a very pleasant couple of hours in the sunshine on my patio, so it was obviously time to look to another source to find recommendations for good contemporary literature. If there's one thing you can always rely on the Booker Prize for, it is usually some beautiful prose. All six books were available on the County's digital library although there was a little wait for some. Years ago in a pre-children universe, I always used to find the time to absorb the shortlist within that year's reading material. In 2020/21, retirement and a pandemic combined to present the same opportunity. On the one hand every book is very different to the other, set as they are in different countries and time periods. However, I was also struck by how each author had set out to explore extreme forms of human angst concentrating on main characters who

Back in the 1970's I picked up a battered copy of The Dice Man by  Luke Rhinehart (a nom de plume for George Cockcroft) from a second hand bookstall. I recall it had a black cover and the words "This Novel Changes Lives," were emblazoned across the front.  Whether I could actually imagine living my own life by the roll of a die I'm unsure, but the tale captivated me sufficiently that I was never tempted to skip to the end of the book to glance at the ending, as I confess I am wont to do with many novels. That was probably a big mistake because when I reached the final page, it was only to discover that the previous owner had removed it! Still at least the advertising claim on the front proved its truth, because I have never since bought a second hand book without first inspecting it carefully to ensure the presence of all pages. I was reminded of this during lockdown when Mister E and I watched the whole of The Sopranos, all 86 episodes, which, despit

I'm thinking this blog could become a schedule of all those places I was planning to visit, but haven't. (Today Mister E and I were meant to be in Amsterdam.) However, the last thing I want it to be is a tale of woe and missing out. Retirement is all about new experiences as well as places and in the case of Amsterdam, as you can guess from the photographs, I have been on a number of occasions before. Whilst there can't be many people who have a pandemic on their bucket list, I have to admit that the past week has certainly offered up opportunities to wander, metaphorically, through pastures new. I've previously described the surreal experiences of collecting medication from the surgery and shopping for groceries as well as doing HIIT to YouTube videos.   I've even referred to streamed Pilates classes where elegant West Coast ladies with beautiful smiles coax you to stretch; there are occasions though when my muscles have found out that their sparkling pearly te

The Virgin Mother - Damien Hirst According to my diary, a friend and I were meant to meet at Yorkshire Sculpture Park today for a walk through the countryside, taking in the broad vistas and art works whilst catching up with each other. Destiny decided otherwise. In the Garden of Good and Evil - Alfredo Jaar Myth - Damien Hirst So we had a long chat via video link instead and then I reviewed the photographs from our previous visit in July last year.  I think it's called improvisation and we are all getting rather good at it now. Diana, Woodland Spirit - Lucy and Jorge Orta Vein of Stone Among the Branches - Guiseppe Penone Eddy - JocJonJosch

Looking West from Petra Tou Romiou I'm not sure if Mister E and I have invented our latest challenge or if perhaps we read about it somewhere. After all, it's a little out of character for us to be unique. Regardless, we are embracing EUrevoir which briefly involves an effort to visit every EU nation before the United Kingdom's transition period expires on 31st December. We have already banked a few since the referendum result in case we can't get to them all this year  and, of course, coronavirus might be something of an impediment, but we'll deal with that when we have to. In the interim, we kicked the whole thing off in style with a week in Cyprus, returning yesterday. Europe with hot sunshine in February, what is there not to like about that? Cyprus is renowned as a tourist destination with a solid infrastructure: modern buildings, roads, public transport network and broadband, for those who want that kind of thing when travelling.  The C

No, I haven't drowned; it just feels like it sometimes and, despite the best efforts of Storms Ciara and Dennis, we have probably been fairly fortunate to have suffered no more than what seems like continuous rainfall and blustery conditions. Our village lies very close to a flood plain which can cause problems for some properties from time to time, and so for the last two weekends they have had sandbags at the ready should they be needed to provide a barrier to the liquid mud that flows from the fields from time to time. In the event, they have not been required and we have escaped unscathed although all around us the countryside is littered with lakes that don't generally exist but which this winter just seem to have grown and grown. In fact the only impediment that I personally suffered was when the River Tees broke its banks closing the local A road for the best part of 24 hours and in so doing prevented my journey to the gym. However, I've made up for it ever

Some twenty years after it first hit the stage, I finally went to see Mamma Mia, the Musical, on Thursday. One of the many advantages about being retired, is that you can actually go to the theatre for matinee performances. That may not be so attractive in the summer, but believe me it's a perfect way to spend a chilly January afternoon. Of course, your fellow audience does tend to be grey of hair and a little frail but it's the show you have come to see, not the occupants of the stalls and grand circle. To be honest, squeezed between two Super Troupers, my mother and an elderly gent with the tremors, I was actually surprised to find that I was one of the younger audience members. I'd been expecting more like myself; representatives of the generation that actually wore hideously high platform shoes (a saviour back in the seventies for one of such short stature) and hot pants, rather than their parents who at the time had looked on disapprovingly. In fact, I was e