After a day that started with the merry sound of rushing water in our hotel room and ended in the company of friends and, in-between, with the discovery of two Wisdens Cricketers Almanacs, 1953 and 54 to add to my collection, what’s not to like about a retirement life that allows all this on a Friday? Well if you hang on for a short while I’ll tell you.
After our two night stay in our Yorkshire Dales hotel we arrive home to find my free copy of The Oldie magazine. The reason it’s free is because I have allowed myself to be persuaded to place another advert for this blog. See above. I normally do this once a year but this time I have weakened and paid out for two adverts. The nice lady on the phone explained they were putting out a ‘growing old disgracefully’ supplement and surely this would be just the place to advertise my retirement blog. OK although I’m not convinced that this form of advertising helps my blog profile, I capitulated.
Still I get a free issue. One of the articles in this free supplement is entitled Is your glass half full? by Celia Dobbs which ‘celebrates the different stages of being an oldie’. I was slightly relieved to find myself in the middle one of her categories, the middle oldie (66 – 85). Thus encouraged I scanned a little further. Celia wrote, ‘Retirement gets a bad press. It’s true that some people feel lost, bored and even depressed’. She missed out ‘pissed off’ which is how I felt about this retirement day. More of this in a moment.
The next paragraph was kind of OK though. It went as follows – ‘the key is to take control of our time and fill it with things you’ve longed to do for years’ (although as in a recent blog I have to ask why on earth would you wait until you’re retired to do things ‘ you’ve longed to do’?) And she continues, ‘This way you won’t end up at the mercy of relatives looking for an unpaid nanny or someone to take their car in for a service. And you’ll save yourself from eyes glazing over when you say “I used to be a ….”
Other articles which promise much but which I haven’t read as yet, are titled ‘How to buy the dream retirement’. It’s about spending one’s retirement life on a series of never-ending cruises; surfing with sharks at the age of 92: life in a wheelchair and Hunter Davies writing about refusing to downsize. All good stuff I’m sure.
But back to Friday. Let me explain the reality of the day. The tinkling water was from the room above pouring into our bathroom. Not a good start. Breakfast was slow and my sausage and egg sandwich apparently confused chef (he was new they said) and I got two sandwiches – a sausage one and one egg. Hmm. We check out – slowly because a girly party are trying to divide their bill unequally – I had that but I didn’t have that, kind of thing. Oh the card machine has expired. As I pointed out I was close to doing the same. So I’m not surprised.
We drive to nearby Bolton Abbey with a free car park voucher (worth £10) from the hotel. The abbey and the church are delightful and the weather is grand. Remember this. The bookshop is nice and one of a dying breed. I find two Wisdens, as above, that I’m convinced my collection (every Wisden since 1948, my birth year and counting), is missing. We drive home me feeling pleased with myself except from the intermittent searing pain from my gout which has just reappeared.
We get home I rush (sort of) upstairs to check my Wisdens. I have both of them already. Bugger. So the day takes a dip. In the evening we have been invited out to one set of friends I wrote about in a recent blog. I hadn’t been looking forward to it. And I was right to have not been. He’s in smug mode – again. Why don’t you write yourself a list of Wisdens you’ve got. I did but forget to bring it. Then put it on your phone. Don’t always have my phone (not true but I can’t bear to let him win).
We’re about to leave and he looks at his phone and says, Oh dear did you know Forest were playing tonight? I did. Oh dear well I’ll let you find out when you get home. No, tell me now. They’re losing 3 nil at home to Millwall. Sorry about that, he says. No you’re not, I say, you’re a smug git and we’re off. We leave, walk home and contemplate a night still pained by my gout. Today has contained events that can only be described as sadistic. I’m in pain and retirement life could have been much kinder by way of compensation.
One consequence of gout is that the pain is at its worst at night. Sleep becomes difficult and as a result one feels quite knackered during the day. As we awoke Saturday morning with yesterday’s legacy still weighing heavy I contemplated the day to follow. It wasn’t good. We had planned to drive up to the vineyard and do some more pruning. Then we would drive back here for a guitar and violin session with two other friends. Then tomorrow lunchtime we were meeting up with a friend to celebrate her birthday.
For a person not getting enough sleep this seemed all too much. So we rang the chap we were supposed to be meeting about the pruning and said we weren’t coming. About an hour later our musical friends rang and said because their dog was ill they wouldn’t be able to make the ‘jam’ session. In the space of an hour we’d gone from an over-full day to nothing, a complete blank.
But you know what they say, every cloud …. Mrs Summerhouse returns from shopping shocked at what she’s witnessed in our local Aldi. Panic buying in which she refused to indulge. Good I think. And maybe the fact our friends are no longer coming might turn to mean all the more food for us when rationing begins. So good but today still had more clouds than silver linings.