A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

Image by Barry Plott from Pixabay Last week the weather was somewhat grey and wet; when it wasn't raining, it was cloudy and miserable. We had also reached that point where autumn appears to be quickly turning into winter and the rapidity with which the days are shortening is now very noticeable. I think it is Alfred Wainwright who is credited with the phrase, "There's no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing." He may have had a point when it comes to walking in extreme conditions. Certainly, meeting a friend for a rainy ramble on Thursday, I zipped myself into my weatherproof coat and only noticed how wet I was when, three hours later, I came to undress in the coffee shop we had chosen for our debriefing session (translation: long lunch and leisurely chatter). So far as gardening is concerned, however, I may put on as many waterproof layers as I choose, but it doesn't stop my spade from squelching in mud and my boots sticking, as my

It feels like such a long time since I last settled down to write an entry for this blog. Of course I have no genuine excuses and as I doubt I have even been missed, my intention is simply to creep back discreetly. A couple of weeks ago we took off on one of those last minute holidays you never get the chance to do when you are working, benefiting from a hefty discount in the process. Oh the joys of retirement! Mind I do recall wondering whether I would ever really need that kind of sun and sand vacation in the laid back world that we now reputedly inhabit. The truth of course is that, as ever, I find myself taking on more and more and consequently the quest for periods of total relaxation and nothingness remains. Couple that concept with the last of this summer's Mediterranean sunshine and who could truly say they'd rather stay at home? Yes, we escaped to Greece once more, this time staying in a fabulous little hotel at the northern end of Corfu near to Acharavi

What’s retirement for, if not to taste new experiences? So last weekend, completely out of my comfort zone, I tried a green juice detox and have since followed it up with a string of vegan recipes where all those green vegetables and onions from my garden have been put to good use, along with handfuls of thyme, rosemary, basil and flat leaf parsley from the herb border. Flat leaf parsley, I never  knew what to do with my plantation of the stuff before and it actually tastes really good. The youngest, in the interests of sustainability, switched to a vegetarian lifestyle a few years ago. She seems to eat an enormous amount of carrots. Now all that beta carotene is surely having an effect because not only does it brighten her plate, but I swear her skin looks orange too. I guess if I can keep up my current fresh leaf overdosing, the next time we visit it will be billed as Green Alien meets the Oompaloompa. Watch this space!

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay In my previous career as a divorce solicitor I was obviously accustomed to dealing with people escaping unhealthy relationships. Indeed, there were any number who sought advice as retirement loomed and they could not face the prospect of years at home together. I had never expected, however, to find myself in a similar predicament. Nevertheless, on returning from the Isle of Man on Monday evening, I began to have my doubts and then last night sealed it. Never before have I been witness to such despicable behaviour. We have disagreed over Yemen, with him insisting that the Government would never supply Saudi Arabia with arms that would be used illegally. We have disagreed over measures to improve children's literacy, with him claiming that the problem could be solved if all parents (even those who are illiterate themselves) simply read to their children. But, neither of those compares to how we have disagreed over Brexi

On Monday night Mister E and I returned from a visit to the Isle of Man. We remain somewhat nonplussed as to how best to describe it.    Northern definitely; elegant touches of Victoriana with its narrow gauge electric and steam railways as well as horse drawn trams; a 1950's seaside holiday vibe; magnificent coastal scenery; historic castles; a proud Celtic history; fairy glens; so much more. No we never solved the mystery of the origin of the three legged Manx symbol, despite paying attention in the museums that we visited and also failed to spot a Manx cat or even one of the wallabies that apparently now roam wild on the island having escaped from a private collection. We did however visit the old House of Keys in Castletown and saw the original site of the  Tynwald, the world's oldest continuous Parliament.  I apologise for the apparent oxymoron but the Slow Movement has been gaining momentum as a philosophy for life in which the aim is to

We returned to tend to the retirement project at the weekend. Up at Crinan, autumn is very much in evidence as the trees that hang onto the hills around the loch begin to turn brown and shed their leaves. We did at least manage to get out onto the water for what we anticipate will be the final time this season. I even made a mighty effort to assist Mister E in removing and bagging the sails, so that he cannot be tempted to plot otherwise. With the sails in hibernation, he must now wait until next year. Of course, we'll be back to continue the electrical work and varnishing, once she's lifted ashore for the winter and then we're talking about returning to marina living in 2020. Rowing a dinghy backwards and forwards just to remove our bedding for instance is a major operation, especially when it involves planning around the wind direction and rain showers. We have come up against the harsh reality of comfort versus stamina when tied to a mooring buoy. In

  Image by Foto-Rabe from Pixabay Attending a conference organised by the good people from Leeds for Europe on Saturday, I was introduced to a new word: Brexiternity. It just about sums up the situation in circumstances where we haven't even reached the beginning of what will, of course, be a process lasting years rather than a single event in time. It's a 21st Century version of purgatory; a living hell of lies and unicorns. Not much comfort to be drawn for all those whose only contribution to the debate is now to demand that politicians "just get on with it." It was interesting and indeed stimulating to hear from those at the centre of the political shenanigans , whether in the European or Westminster Parliaments or even as campaigners. Indeed Hazel Jones, the graffiti grandma from Wakefield, was there and was greeted by rapturous applause for her chalked messages of "Brexit is based on lies. Reject it," which have of course gone viral.