Jenny Burrell

River cruises are definitely one of my favourite holidays. However, giant monsters of steel and glass, with their own eco systems, that glide arrogantly through oceans carrying thousands of passengers, definitely is not!

River boats, by comparison, are built for proximity to the shore line. You can admire the landscape and appreciate the architecture and culture. They are quieter, significantly smaller, slower and more refined. And the water beneath is a lost shallower! Cruise ships focus on the ship as the destination whereas river boats focus on the journey and the places explored along the way.

A riverboat has a different rhythm, a subtler vibe. It offers comfort, luxury and perspective. You sail past castles, vineyards and little villages and watch locals fishing, swimming, or having picnics. You become part of the fabric of the places you visit. It’s not always how far or how fast you travel before you can stop and unwind. I found this slower pace from day one far more relaxing.

My husband and I have just returned from a riverboat journey on the Rhône in Provence. We met my sister and brother in law, who live in Australia, so hadn’t seen them for a while. We looked forward to spending ten glorious days catching up on family news, enjoying delicious wines and meals and steeping ourselves in French history.

Waking up on that first morning was glorious although I had to set the alarm because breakfast was served between 7:00 am and 8:30 am. I’m not a morning person, it was Saturday and I had hoped for a lie-in! I was also looking forward to the ship sailing but our first excursion was a bus ride to Beaune, back for lunch and only then would the journey begin!

Looking out from our cabin window as the boat drifted slowly along was a wonderful experience. As we glided over the water I could feel that gentle rhythm and noticed how the colours of the river mirrored the sky. On either side of the bank the Rhone revealed a living landscape. We floated past rows of vineyards clinging to sunlit hills, sleepy stone villages nestled beneath terracotta rooftops and centuries old chateaux watching over the river like timeless sentinels. We passed fields of lavender and sunflowers, their heads worshipping the sun, swaying gently in the breeze. The air was calm, clean, laced with birdsong and the distant bells from riverside chapels. A sensory perfection!

Every day we were offered excursions. By day two the heatwave had swept in and temperatures had begun to steadily climb. By early afternoon the temperature had reached 36C. We met a wonderful couple from Essex so our dining table expanded from four to six. We sat in the corner, near the kitchen and soon built up a good rapport with a couple of the waiters. They quickly learnt our preferences and favourite wines! Showing a little kindness and interest went a long way towards a richer, more personalised dining experience.

Avignon was a wonderful village where history, art and atmosphere blended seamlessly. I felt as if I was walking through a medieval tapestry. We were given a guided tour of the Pope’s Palace. Unfortunately the guide bombarded us with information and by then the temperature was close to 40C and very uncomfortable. There is only so much my brain can absorb before I suffer from ‘information overload’. I could admire the fact that it was Europe’s largest Gothic palace and the centre of Christianity in the early 1300’s. However, I could have googled the rest in the cool, air-conditioned cabin on my return. That was a long and hot two hours! The famous Pont-Saint-Benezet bridge, partially ruined in medieval times, was well worth a visit despite having to brave that intense heat. The views of the city walls, river and surrounding countryside were spectacular.

Our trip to the Camargue the next day will remain with me for a long time. It was 42C. We drove through this unique, untamed landscape, part wild delta, part cultural heartland. We saw vast wetlands, salt flats, rice paddies, lagoons and pastures. The pink flamingoes in the nature park were stunning along with other water birds in their natural habitat. We were given time to explore on our own and my husband, ever the adventurer, decided, after being told not to wander off piste, to do exactly that! I went with him to keep an eye on the limited time we were allotted and to chivvy him up. All in vain as the map wasn’t to scale so we held up the coach, much to my embarrassment and the annoyance of some passengers! I cannot leave out the Camargue white horses, or the black bulls grazing on the flat plains. It was a place of contrast, harsh and soft, sunburnt, windswept, solitary yet, for me, quite soulful

The city of Arles, on the banks of the river, is where ancient and modern blend seamlessly together. Once the Roman provincial capital, the amphitheatre, although in ruins, is still used for concerts and bullfights. Van Gogh spent time there, creating more than 300 artworks, the most famous being the Yellow House, which still remains, now sadly empty as the last owners were made bankrupt by a huge tax bill. In October 1888 Van Gogh painted his iconic ‘Bedroom in Arles’. It’s not just a painting of a room, it’s a portrait of peace, order and a deep yearning for rest and stability. (Thank you Google)!

Our last trip was a journey to Orange and a winery in the Chateauneuf-du-Pape region. A favourite wine of ours this was going to be the highlight of our cruise. The wine tasting didn’t disappoint. I wasn’t too impressed with the white wine but the two reds were delicious!

We visited some lovely places and thoroughly enjoyed our stay on the boat but the most memorable time of the holiday was definitely the people. Meeting up with my sister and brother in law was so special and we’ve made some wonderful memories. We’ll remain in contact with our new friends from Essex. It is just down the road …….

From cheerful toasts, we had a few of those, to laughter around the dinner table, every day was richer because of those we shared it with. In many ways we became a floating family. The calm of the river, the rhythmic hum of the boat, the excitement of passing through umpteen locks and the serene beauty of the scenery were all amplified because we were with close family and friends. It was a shared experience, relaxing, informative and great fun. 👠

Satisfaction. It’s that mystical, fleeting sensation we all chase, like trying to catch a beautiful, rare butterfly in a howling gale!

Would getting the perfect job, the perfect body or be in a perfect relationship, be the only way to feel satisfied? I personally don’t believe that the perfect job, body or relationship exists, but perhaps I’m just a cynic! However, I do believe that a sense of achievement is far greater when you’ve actively strived for something than when it’s attained without effort.

Mick Jagger’s song ‘I can get no satisfaction’ is a powerful expression of frustration, disillusionment and rebellion. It’s a desperate cry from someone feeling constantly unfulfilled. This is probably why the song is so enduring. It’s the suspicion that something is missing even though the singer seems to have it all. The song captures why so many of us strive for satisfaction which remains so illusive. We live in a world constantly chasing gratification, viral fame and easy money. We risk becoming like king Midas whose golden touch turned even love to a lifeless metal. He got everything that he wished for and it cost him everything that mattered.

I’ve often wondered if satisfaction, happiness and contentment are all related. Do we need happiness and contentment before we can feel satisfied? I looked up the definitions of each. Happiness is an intense and often fleeting emotion, usually short-lived. Contentment is a deeper, more stable state of being at peace, an acceptance, not dependent on constant achievement or excitement. Satisfaction is goal orientated and reflective so it is a standalone emotion. It’s only felt when expectations are met, tasks completed and desires achieved. That has answered my question. They can all be felt independently. Optimists see satisfaction as a destination, idealists treat it like a human right, pessimists just shrug it off with a ‘good while it lasted’ attitude.

A serious thought. Many philosophers claim that satisfaction is a virtue. Could this be true? Possibly. If it arises from inner peace, self-discipline or a deep alignment with one’s values that could be called virtuous. Perhaps it’s just learning to accept enough and not always striving for more? As with all things in life, balance is important. By resisting excess and appreciating sufficiency, satisfaction could be more easily attainable.

Satisfaction doesn’t have to mean settling. The truly satisfied people I know aren’t lazy, they’re clear and focussed. They’ve stopped comparing themselves to others. They’ve accepted and are happy with who they are. When you’re my age settling can’t happen by default because I’m not afraid to ask for more and my out loud voice is harder to control.

So whether it’s the first cup of coffee in the morning, the sweet victory of finding both socks from the same pair or finally getting your phone updated without breaking everything, satisfaction comes in all shapes and sizes.

Satisfaction may have eluded Mick Jagger but maybe that’s the point. It’s not in the next big thing. It’s not in striving for perfection, the perfect body or the perfect job. It’s in that pause between wanting and having enough. 👠

In this world of relentless stress, political unrest and the threat of a nuclear war, the allure of escape has never been stronger. Whether it’s through the pages of a book, the exhilaration of a video game, media feeds or a movie, there are many ways to seek refuge from the burden of reality.

This phenomenon, known as escapism, is both timeless and timely, offering temporary relief and psychological sanctuary. It’s a coping mechanism that allows us to stop and breathe. It enables our minds to recharge, and time to process emotions. That’s Google’s interpretation!

Let’s face it, life can get a bit much and we all have moments where we would rather be somewhere else! So, enter escapism, the getaway car we all climb into from time to time. It’s like a mental holiday without the airport stress and bad sunburn! A little escapism can help us reset and return to life with more energy and enthusiasm and in a better frame of mind! In moderation escapism isn’t running away, it’s just pressing the pause button.

Escapism is my little luxury. One minute I’m sitting on the sofa nursing a cup of coffee or a glass of red, the next I’m strolling through a Tuscan village, attending a royal ball or sunning myself on my billion dollar yacht. It’s not that I dislike my life, far from it, but imaginary life comes with fewer responsibilities and much better weather! And quite frankly, after years of multi-tasking, I think I’ve earned the right to periodically disappear!

Unfortunately there can be a darker side. When escaping becomes the ‘go to’ response for everything, it can start to blur the line between just taking a break and completely ignoring reality. The healthy break becomes a permanent hideaway. If escapism is a shield used to avoid difficult situations or emotions it could lead to procrastination, social withdrawal or begin to affect mental health. Because of today’s world of endless distractions, scrollable, streamable and snackable, it’s becoming far too easy to ‘check out’! We’d miss real life’s joys and connections by hiding in an unbalanced fantasy world. Reality won’t disappear if we do and the problems will still be there when we finally emerge!

Ironically I’ve taken my own little escapism journey by writing this blog. It comes to you from someone with a mild addiction to procrastination, the joy of the written word and a firm belief that escaping reality can often be the only way to survive! I am also a professional over thinker and part time daydreamer. I was born with an over active imagination and a low tolerance for boring activities like housework and baking!

Life is messy, weird and occasionally too loud so I don’t see escaping for a couple of hours as a weakness but a coping mechanism and some ‘me’ time. It’s a way to return to life with my sanity (mostly) intact. So, I take that break, watch that movie, read that book, guiltlessly retreat into my favourite distraction.

So, go ahead, escape a little. Wander through fictional worlds, dance in your daydreams or just take a well-deserved break. But, just a subtle word of warning, it’s not about running away but about adding a bit of sparkle to your life. Taking a small detour can lift your mood and make every day chores less onerous!

Just don’t forget to come back.

Pausing to gain clarity, calm and a clearer perspective is one of the most positive things I’ve learned. Often reality feels easier to face after I’ve taken that moment to step away. You should try it! 👠

I used to publish a blog every week when newly retired. It was my way of making sure that I had a goal and a purpose. I had worked for most of my adult life, the thought of waking up every morning with an empty day ahead of me, filled me with dread. As I’ve moved fully into the next stage of my life, my time and energy has shifted. While I may not post as often as I’d once planned, I’ll still share honest and meaningful reflections when they matter most.

This blog has never been about quantity – but about connection, authenticity and the journey we’re all on, one way or another. Although the posts will come less frequently, they’ll continue to come from the heart. I have been so grateful to you, my wonderful readers, who have come on this often daunting retirement journey with me! it was a journey I dreaded and one I didn’t want to make alone.

This is where I was seven years ago.

I had always been afraid of boredom. I hated not having a routine or a purpose. I suppose it’s a control ‘thing’ but, whatever the reason, it didn’t fit comfortably with me. What would be the point of just drifting through the rest of my life, achieving nothing? I dared not have too much time on my hands either, to internalise over things I could do nothing about. A routine felt like a comfort blanket. It had a two fold benefit. It would fill my days and bring structure to my life.

For years I was Head of International Treasury. I could no longer introduce myself with a job. My work had become my life, not just something I did five days a week. Being stripped of my job title I felt exposed. How could I describe myself? What did I enjoy? What were my hobbies? What kind of life did I want? Who was I?

No one prepares you for the silence of retirement. I felt lost, unwanted, invisible. I wasn’t just retired. I felt irrelevant. Would my contribution to society still matter? Was I needed at all? I had served my purpose and now was cast aside. That stung – deeply.

I gave in to this intense feeling of painful irrelevance and wallowed in self pity. I revelled in that sadness, that loss. How could life be so cruel? I stared out of the window on that first morning at home and it felt as if the world was moving on without me. No more phone calls, no emails, no one asking for my opinion or needing my expertise. I felt like a ghost in my own life, useless, discarded, invisible. I mourned the loss of structure, responsibility, the sense of importance. This depression was a hard place to be in but I didn’t rush to climb out of it!

But, eventually, as those quiet days passed by, somewhere in the stillness a quiet truth began to surface. There is only so much time I could spend feeling sorry for myself. The time had come for me to reflect on who I wanted to be without a job. I also began to feel guilty about doing ‘not a lot’ and needed to remind myself of what was still good. I had my health, that definitely was a bonus! I had the freedom to choose how I wanted to spend my time and shape my days without constraints or pressure. Surely that shouldn’t be anything to feel guilty about?

For too long I had measured my worth by how busy I was, the problems I had solved and what I had produced. To move forward I had to change my mindset. I had to stop seeing retirement as a negative but as a transition. Easier said than done and certainly wouldn’t change overnight! It would require just as much courage and intention as any career move and I would have to do this on my own. I had to learn to value myself, not for what I had done, but for who I am!

It hasn’t been easy. To this day guilt still creeps in whenever I allow myself a slow morning or say no to something out of obligation. No one really talks about the emotional side of retirement. For me, retirement wasn’t a clean break. It felt like a slow unravelling of the identity I had crafted over years of hard work and sacrifice. It was my anchor, my introduction to the person at the other end of the handshake.

Slowly, gently, in that stillness of spending more time on my own, something did change. Perhaps I wasn’t being erased? Perhaps I was being offered space? The space to rediscover who I really was? I finally began to realise that there are other ways I could feel needed and valued. I now take every day as it comes. I don’t make long term plans. I’ve had to retire to learn to find myself and realise my true worth.

I’ve also had to find meaning in presence rather than performance and be at peace with slower days, a slower way of life in general. None of this has been easy! When dark moments return, as they still do, I’ve learnt to count my blessings. To remind myself that retirement is not a consolation prize but a reward for all the years of hard work! I have earned ‘my’ time. I must give myself permission to accept all the blessings without guilt or apology!

Age has many debilitating side effects but life experiences have given me a better judgement. I am calmer, less reactive. I find that I appreciate small joys. Life has slowed down but I’m still active, just not frenetic. My sense of purpose seems to have grown, not diminished.

It’s easy getting caught up in the cultural obsession about staying young. Getting older isn’t about decline but about evolution. With every passing year I have gained experience, wisdom and have redefined my priorities. I’m going to celebrate this, not in spite of the passing years but because of them! 👠

On Thursday my husband and I were invited on a hike with our good friends. We have lived in this house for twenty three years and never been on the ‘Old Pale’ walk. It was a glorious, fresh spring morning, the kind of morning that you can only get in Cheshire! Just being outside and seeing the new leaves glistening on the trees, raindrops still hanging on from the previous day’s rain, was exhilarating. I have been retired for almost seven years and still get a kick out of not having to go to work on a week day!

I put my knee straps on and found a walking stick, hidden in the back of my clothes cupboard. Where else would one find a walking stick? It was only a ten minute drive to the parking area. Hiking boots on we set off, husband carrying his rucksack with water bottles, umbrella (I’m always prepared!), a raincoat, Swiss Army knife, plasters and a crepe bandage. Ready for any minor mishap.

There were a lot of people and their dogs out enjoying the glorious weather. The men soon overtook us, leaving my friend and I to enjoy the scenery and set our own pace. When I walk with my husband any hope of mindfulness disappears within the first few minutes. He doesn’t hang about! I follow, head down, stick in hand, getting from A to B as safely and quickly as possible. I stop for water breaks and to take some deep breaths, often just to breathe, before we set off once more.

So my friend and I chatted, enjoying the ambiance and finally meeting up with the men at the top of the hill, facing a monument and a short brick wall. Now I’m not really sure why I did what I did but I obviously didn’t factor in two strapped knees and a walking stick. I found myself stepping up onto the top of the wall, walking stick at an angle to one side and balancing precariously on my left leg. I hung suspended, wobbling, not balanced, for what felt like an aeon, but could not have been longer than a spit second, before I unceremoniously crashed into a heap on the ground.

Did I mention that there were a lot of people out walking that day? The fall was embarrassing and I scraped a lot of skin off my shin which was very painful. Each time I put my right foot down the pain reminded me of my stupidity and intensified the discomfort. I had a clean tissue so folded it a few times length ways and stuck one piece into my sock and the other into the knee strap. I didn’t want to make more of a spectacle of myself by bleeding all over my hiking boot! Luckily I was wearing a pair of hiking trousers which hid the injury. Miraculously they didn’t tear!

I can report that the rest of the walk went without a hitch and, after a hot drink at the visitor’s centre, we arrived back at the car. We walked back a different route, following an old wagon trail. This is one of the many things I love about living here! There is so much history, so much permanence. I find this very comforting when hearing about the awful wars or disasters around the world. Perhaps I’m being naive but not one days goes by without me feeling eternally grateful. And I can really appreciate a wonderful, sunny, warm spring morning! It feeds my soul!

I really enjoyed the outing and spending time with our lovely friends. I have to remember that I’m not agile, like a goat, and knee straps are very restrictive. That’s why I use them.

I’m currently sitting with a dressing on my shin that I put on after my shower last night. It’s healing very slowly. I’m plucking up the courage to tear it off. I go through this fiasco every night! I think I’ll just count to three and pull. Really, Jennifer! What a numptie! 👠

I was looking for a photograph album the other day. Trawling through my cluttered drawer filled with packets of photographs and piles of albums I opened the one I thought I needed.

It wasn’t! It was an album once belonging to my mother. Turning the pages memories came flooding back. I stopped at a newspaper cutting of me modelling a pair of white trousers and a sailor suit style top. I was about seventeen and vividly recalled that day. It was in the height of a Kimberley summer. Temperatures would have been in the late 30 degrees centigrade.

The photograph was taken by a young reporter from the local newspaper. Because he worked with my mother and knew I had modelled in the past, when approached by a boutique wanting advertising, he’d contacted me. He explained what he wanted me to do. I had to stand outside the boutique pretending that I was looking at the window display.

I felt very shy and he put me at ease by cracking silly jokes. I always found it easier modelling clothes on a catwalk than posing for photographs. To this day I still hate having my photograph taken! Standing, for what felt like hours in the hot sun, the reporter finally showed the boutique owner the photographs he had taken. They chose one and I went into the shop to cool down. It had been a long afternoon.

I changed back into my own clothes, had a glass of iced water and headed for the bank, where my father worked, to get a lift home. As soon as I got home I was going to change into my bathing costume and dive into the swimming pool. I couldn’t wait!

Walking down the empty road, lost in thought, I was suddenly accosted by a man who had stepped out from the shadows. He was holding a knife in his hand. Everything happened so quickly. He leaned towards me and pointed the knife at my stomach before telling me to hand over my handbag. I was taken totally by surprise and, without thinking, stepped to one side, shouting at him to get out of my way! I think I also told him to ‘bugger off’! I remember glancing up and seeing a shocked expression on his face. Without looking back I ran the short distance to the main road, forcing my way through the crowd to the set of traffic lights. Fortunately they had changed in my favour so, mingling into the crowd, I walked hurriedly towards the entrance to the bank.

Suddenly I began to shake uncontrollably as the enormity of what had happened dawned on me. I had very little money with me anyway so losing my handbag wouldn’t have been too costly. It had been a spontaneous reaction which could have had a serious outcome. It was usually very safe in Kimberley in the early seventies. To my knowledge nothing like that had happened in the past.

Strange how photographs, songs, even smells can conjure up old memories. Some are good and can bring a flush of happiness. That photograph had the opposite effect. I still shudder when I think about that moment. It wasn’t bravery that made me react as I did. Nothing was premeditated, it was just a reflex action when caught by surprise!

My mother and I went on a safety awareness course a few months later. I mentioned the episode and was told to never repeat that outburst but to hand over the handbag. No one had mobile phones in those days and very few had credit cards, so to lose a few rands would be a cheap price to pay for your life.

I didn’t find the photograph album I was looking for but spent the next hour paging through some of the others. Many memories came rushing back, thankfully all significantly better than the newspaper cutting! Nowadays I have to trawl through my phone to see photographs. It’s not the same. I also still prefer reading books to using a kindle. This leopard is definitely too old to change her spots! 👠

Jane Austen once said that ‘ her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions’.

Lucky Jane! I have never been over enamoured with my own company. My biggest concern when planning my retirement was that I’d wake up every morning and stare at a blank page in my diary.

So here I am, almost seven years later. My diary is full! My life is full! And I still struggle being on my own. So I’m trying to do something about it. I’m going to learn how to be mindful.

Many methods of relaxation and meditation abound. Over the years I have tried a few. Something I have tired on numerous occasions is lying down in bed at night, closing my eyes and blanking out all thoughts. Basically, staring into a black abyss. Starting with my toes, I’d clench, then release. This exercise must be repeated on my feet, calves, knees and all the way up my body. I needed to focus on the abyss and not think about anything other than clenching and releasing. By the time I’d got to my knees thoughts were already creeping in. I tried to ignore them. Sometimes I got cramp in my toes or feet. Or I’d get ‘singing legs’ which totally defeated the object. I’d hear the grandfather clock chiming annoyingly throughout the night! I have come to the conclusion, that, for me, this method doesn’t work. Thoughts just flood into the empty void. As if I’ve opened up the floodgates, they just come pouring in. Undisciplined, uncontrolled and totally illogical!

Last week, after reading how mindfulness can change your life in so many positive ways, I decided to try again. I started by going for a walk. I would concentrate on nature and my surroundings, not stare into a black hole. Wood Lane would do the trick! I set my watch. I couldn’t ignore closing my exercise, movement and standing rings! And not to forget my steps! I started my mindfulness walk. A car drove up behind me and I climbed onto the verge, avoiding the quagmire in the road. He didn’t slow down! How rude!

I must relax I kept telling myself, look around. Breathe! Listen to the birds, smell the rotting leaves, look up at the grey, cloudy sky. Empty my mind. Concentrate on nature, then almost immediately, a thought whizzed past, reversed then stopped. I hadn’t booked an eye appointment. I struggled to get my phone out of my pocket. But wait! I was trying to be mindful. The phone call could wait!

I increased my speed and began to count steps, one, two, one, two, one, two, three four. I concentrated on the count and then looked up as a few jackdaws flew past their tuneless cackling disrupting the peace and quiet. I saw a crisp packet in the road. I got really annoyed! Why were there so many uncouth people just dumping their rubbish as they drove past. I kicked the wrapper to the curb but didn’t pick it up. I’d try and remember on my way home.

One, two, one, two, one, two, three, four. I continued counting steps. Once more I took a deep breath. ‘Let it go, Jennifer!’ I told myself. ‘Move on!’ The little stream bubbled along. No blockages there that day. I remember speaking to a neighbour who explained how he had unblocked it in the past. I chuckled when I pictured him standing in his waders and grovelling underneath the little bridge. The side of the road is collapsing as the council never bothers about maintenance anymore even though I took a photo and sent it to them! What’s the point of trying to be a good citizen when no one takes the blindest bit of notice!

What happened to this mind-fullness walk? I tried again. I took a deep breath and soldiered on, still counting my steps, trying to keep up a steady rhythm. I walked past the field where a family had moved in and created a menagerie of animals, sheds and other ad hoc buildings. They have donkeys which bray constantly, trying to blend in with the barking dogs, honking, hissing geese and bleating sheep. The latest inhabitants, a couple of pigs, were sniffing around their pen. I wondered how the family lived without electricity. Do they have proper sanitation? It looked like a third world settlement!

I stopped as a supermarket truck drove past and slowed down as I got out of its way. I walked on, trying to take deep breaths and focussing on the ambience of this quiet little badly maintained lane. I avoided the potholes and puddles and began the climb up the hill. This was when I had to breathe and slow down, only slightly, because I didn’t want to feel old and decrepit. Counting steps helped me to keep up a steady pace and go back to being mindful.

The daffodils were in bloom, as were cowslips and primroses. Spring was definitely in the air! It wasn’t long before I began to feel irritated by the chaotic squawking coming from a rookery in a very old, large tree on the other side of the road. The noise was deafening and didn’t stop! Imagine living in the houses nearby. If it had been me I’d have sat underneath the tree with a shotgun!

The breeze was blowing in my direction and carrying a slurry stench with it. The farmer had recently spread it on his field in readiness for planting. The smell was pungent and getting stronger. I heard a tractor lumbering up behind me and watched as slurry dripped off the tanker and onto the road. These were the cons of living in the country.

Well, I tried, hoping that the little distractions on a leisurely walk would help me to stay focussed and not get too side tracked. I thought of Maria in the Sound of Music, singing and dancing as she climbed every mountain and forged every stream with not a care in the world. I chuckled as I wondered what the neighbours would think if I sang and danced in gay abandon in our back garden. Would probably have felt sorry for my husband! Poor man, they’d say to their wives, imagine living with a crazy woman like that!

It’s annoying that I can’t do a simple thing like being totally in the moment. Maybe I could try on a beach in Hawaii? Maybe I could go back to the little atoll in the Maldives? Many years ago I’d sat in a recliner which I’d dragged into the lagoon and watched beautiful, brightly coloured little fishes, even harmless baby sharks, swimming around me. The waiter had brought an ice cold beer which had gone down a treat. I’m sure I was being very mindful then!

Maybe I’ll manage one day if I keep trying? Mmmmm, am I really bothered ……….?👠

A few friends of mine, of a similar age, have started to de-clutter their homes. They don’t want to leave it to their children to do one day when they ‘shuffle off their mortal coils’. This has made me think about my own mortality. And it’s not a pleasant thought.

I suppose I am being a bit dramatic, or maybe even a bit selfish, but I don’t want to think about dying. I realise I won’t live forever but do I really have to start planning for my death now? I’m aware that there are two lofts full of ‘stuff’ but they’re my stuff and I don’t want to get rid of them any time soon. I can’t use the excuse that I’ll think about clearing out when I can’t get in and out of the lofts. I can just about hurl myself in, on all fours, but I can’t fling myself out. Unlike my husband. Anyway, it’s a blue job so not actually my problem.

One person’s clutter in another person’s treasure. I can relate to that! I, almost single-handedly, emptied my mother’s house when she had to go into a care home. My husband and I emptied his mother’s house when she died. Neither of them had de-cluttered. Not once did I berate them for having their homes filled with their belongings. They also had full lofts. It was their treasures. I would never have expected them to live without their ornaments, pictures, photographs, favourite books or anything else that brought them pleasure.

Now, about the lofts. I use ours for storage, of course, and yes, there probably are a few things that we’ll never use again. But I don’t know that! Fashions change. The spare bedding and towels have been used when we’ve had families from America and Australia visiting. The Christmas decorations only come out once a year. During winter my summer clothes and shoes are stored away. Not thrown away and replaced. On a number of occasions household goods have been of use to family and friends. I have a bag full of letters, cards and momentous from the children and grandchildren that they might find interesting. Is this all just ‘stuff’? There are jigsaw puzzles my husband has completed over the years. He might want to bring them down in his dotage to while away the cold, dark, wet, miserable winter hours.

Then there are the ornaments, painting, pictures from our travels, photographs, fancy glasses, dinner services, etc that fill our house. I do only need one dinner serves. I have a few. They are really pretty and I chop and change them regularly. That gives me pleasure. One of the dinner services was my mother’s. She only used it for guests. I use all of ours. We use all our fancy glasses, why keep them for the children who might not want them? I don’t enjoy dusting all my bits and bobs but they are treasures, some handed down as family heirlooms. Must I get rid of them now if my children don’t want them? Must my husband and I gradually empty our house so that we’ll rattle around in its emptiness?

I’m sure our children wouldn’t want that. Other than walking around the house with them choosing what they want and then getting rid of the rest, they can do that when we’ve gone. House clearances offer an excellent service. In the end that’s what we did for our respective parents after the family had taken what they wanted.

I digress slightly but, something I found strange. My parents never had heirlooms to hand down but my husband’s parents did. My mother-in-law told her three sons what she would bequeath to them. Each son would get a grandfather clock. One son was getting a dining room table and chairs. My husband’s legacy was a really fancy drinks cabinet, very big and very old. Then there were chests of drawers, paintings, beautiful tapestries, all very old and handed down through the generations. We couldn’t leave empty spaces in our homes to wait for them. None of us did. We shipped the drinks cabinet to my son in America, kept what we liked and could fit into our house and sold the rest.

The sun is shining outside today. I need to get out. I think I’ve depressed myself enough! No, I’m not going to get rid of anything at this stage. No, I’m not going to spend hours sorting through the lofts. They aren’t untidy and nothing is going to rot or ruin anything. It’s an extra layer of insulation so can’t be all bad! Maybe one day my husband and I will wake up and feel old and think that the time has come to prepare for our demise. Otherwise, sorry kids, the house, with all its contents, will be yours when we’ve both popped our clogs! Choose your treasures and get rid of the rest! 👠

Last Saturday I had afternoon tea with two very dear friends. We have known each other for over twenty years and have been through a lot of ups and downs together. We discussed a number of topics which finally moved on to religion.

Now, religion, like politics, should always be avoided at all costs, certainly over dinner tables, yet on Saturday we were so comfortable in each other’s company that this wasn’t a taboo subject. A really good debate ensued. I relish good debates! What I find most enjoyable is an open mind. It’s so enlightening if we can just accept that we are all different and each of our opinions matter. We might feel passionate about a topic but not to the point where we fall out and friendships suffer.

I am so lucky. I have some really good, close friends who I love dearly and know that I can rely on their integrity, honesty and support. Not to diminish the support and love that I receive from my husband and children, but having a variety of friends brings more diversity and mental stimulation. This has got to be good for overall mental health, of which I am very aware.

My father returned to England with my mother in 2001. They were both in their seventies. They left sunny, warm South Africa and all their friends behind to start a new life. My father was an artist and very comfortable with his own company, a bit of a recluse. My mother was the exact opposite. She was a published author of children’s books and soon contacted schools to arrange visits to read excerpts of her books and encourage aspiring young writers. She had done this in South Africa and thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the children. She joined the local church and made friends with her neighbours, inviting them for afternoon teas.

My father had one good year before he became ill. This restricted my mother and she soon had to curb her outings to care for him. Eventually it was only me visiting after work in the evenings and at weekends. I’d take my mother to the supermarket on Saturdays where she’d chat to those waiting in the queue or anyone else who showed her some interest, much to my embarrassment!

The deterioration was slow at first, but eventually I noticed that both of them were becoming forgetful and their conversations very limited. My father kept on painting but, for example, he’d paint a lion in three parts, the head, middle and tail end and not have the ability to join them all together. Sadly, they began to look quite comical which I found very upsetting

My mother sent stories to an online publisher who printed them each week. She would also send a photo of one of my father’s paintings. Over the years these stories became duplicated and photos of their house and places in South Africa replaced my father’s paintings yet still showed him as the artist.

Looking back I realise that lack of friendships and communicating with the outside world hastened their spiral into mental health problems and significantly affected their quality of life. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. My siblings and I should have tried harder to encourage them to stay in South Africa. It would have meant trips out there at times when necessary but that would have been a small price to pay. My mother had her family close by and a large contingency of friends and acquaintances who would have given them both the extra support and companionship that became sadly lacking in England.

Nothing beats the enjoyment of meeting friends for dinner, a drink in a pub or a long walk. Joining social gatherings, doing exercise classes, generally meeting people and sharing experiences or just having a good laugh is so important as we get older. It’s a frightening world out there and the older I get the more I like to feel that I’m not alone. As I navigate through my seventies, the same age as my parents were when they emigrated to what was, for my mother, a very foreign country, it can be a daunting experience.

I give thanks for all my friends and wonderful family and hope that I can always offer them the same kind of support, love and friendship that they offer me. Hopefully our qualities of lives are enriched and none of us will ever feel alone. 👠

Having heard about cabin fever over the years and never paying much attention, I unfortunately succumbed to this unpleasant malaise last week. It was when we had snow and ice and freezing cold for days!

Being a romantic, I have often thought what fun it would be if I was snowbound! Our freezer is that full that we could live off it for months. We have tinned food of every kind in our cupboards. My husband has his mother’s ‘food stock pile’ gene. Perhaps it was because of the war that my mother in law’s freezer and cupboards were always packed to capacity. So are ours! We are prepared for a holocaust!

I got an amber weather warning on my Met Office app. We were in for some nasty weather. I checked my diary. I deferred appointments and got really excited. Not working I didn’t have to worry about getting up our hill. After years of waking up early to clear the drive and then scrape and grit the hill, my husband and I could relax. It used to really annoy me when no one helped. They just waited for the two early bird numpties to get on with the task so they could reap the benefits a few hours later!

The snow was a day late. I had almost begun to think that it had passed us by. But no, the following morning I awoke to a winter wonderland. It looked beautiful. The temperature wasn’t freezing so the snow had begun to melt. With each drop falling from the roof I felt let down. What about this amber weather warning? Where was the predicted snow and ice?As usual, an over reaction by the Met Office and nothing would happen.

The next morning, however, was very different. The melted snow had frozen and we had had another few centimetres. This was more like it! We had our roaring fire and the car remained in the drive as we weren’t going anywhere! Whatever the condition of the hill, it wasn’t our problem! I share my office at home with the television room. I abused this privelage. During the day I sat and watched a movie, staring at the snow falling outside instead of sitting at my desk writing a blog. What a rebel! No guilt, just pure pleasure!

That was Tuesday. That evening I rebelled again. I had a cheeky glass of red in front of the fire. My weekend treat had come early! I could get used to this! I looked outside. It had started snowing again. Perfect. Tomorrow was going to be just as good!

Wednesday morning dawned. The trees were white, their branches covered in snow. I had set the alarm, as usual, to do my exercises. Later, I walked outside to go to my dance class and almost slipped climbing up the stairs. I went back inside and got my husband hand made, very robust, walking stick. I carefully made my way to a friend’s garage for the class. We usually dance in her driveway but that was out of the question. I cautiously made my way back home, feeling smug that I had done two exercise classes and could now, guilt free, watch a movie while I had breakfast. I wasn’t going out. I didn’t feel like working on my blog. This was a rare occasion and I was going to enjoy it! It had begun to snow again. Great! I’d sit in the TV room with the radiator on full and a blanket over my legs. Snug as a bug in a rug!

My husband suggested a walk later that afternoon. Trying to show some enthusiasm and not wanting to feel too wimpish, I did my Mr. Bibendum impersonation and waddled out to face the elements. Wood Lane was awful! I hung on to my husband’s hand for dear life. I had his stick in the other and still slipped while walking across particularly bad stretches of road. When we got home I made a decision. I wasn’t leaving the house until the snow and ice had melted.

I didn’t. That was when Cabin Fever reared its ugly head. By Thursday afternoon I’d had enough of sitting inside, hardly moving! Alexa became my next go to entertainment. I sang and danced to Gold Radio. Unfortunately that had a lifespan as well. After a couple of hours I had to move on! I started writing a poem. Later I made our evening meal and did some puzzles.

That got me through Thursday. Friday dawned, cold, snowy and icy. My husband cleared the driveway and the car. I managed to get up the stairs in my heavy duty boots and we went to Waitrose. The hill wasn’t too bad. We’d done the round trip and got back home unscathed. It was after lunch that I began to feel very restless. I did some housework. A walk was suggested but I didn’t want to dice with death. My husband went out on his own. I sat down at my desk but couldn’t write anything. I also didn’t feel like watching a movie. I wanted to go outside without fear of falling and get some fresh air. But I couldn’t!

I felt restless, irritable and, bizarrely, lonely! This must be how so many people living on their own feel every day! It was awful. I tried to concentrate on the positives. Our home was warm. The weather would soon change. I wouldn’t starve. My husband would be back from his walk and I’d have someone to talk to. Neither of us are used to me being at home for days on end so he’s probably risking life and limb to have some peace and quiet. I’d begun to show a bad tempered side of my personality which I usually keep well under control.

I turned to my old mate, Google, for advice. Follow a healthy diet. I do. Stay physically active. I do when I can. Spend some time in nature. If only! Find a good work, life balance. I don’t work. Control news consumption. I do, I never watch the news! Try to focus on positives. I am. Have enough sleep. I do. Go easy on yourself. How? By trying to relax and focus on what I have done! But what have I done? Not a lot! Thanks Google! Not particularly helpful.

Saturday morning dawned. Friends had invited us out for early evening drinks. Something to look forward to but with a caveat. I’d have to go outside! That morning I nit-picked over a few things my husband was doing and realised that it would be in my best interest to retire to my office and keep opinions to myself. I watched a romcom movie, made lunch and worked on a poem. We did have a most enjoyable evening with our friends after surviving the walk up and down the hill. I begun to feel a bit perkier.

Sunday was sunny. I could forget that the ice was still treacherous. I stood outside our back door and breathed in the cold air. It felt exhilarating. Having cabin fever made me realise how lucky I am. I put on my wellies and walked around the garden. The amber weather warning had been removed. The snow was slowly beginning to melt. I fed the birds and checked that they had unfrozen water. I would make the most of this last day in isolation. I went inside, sat down at my desk and started writing this blog. 👠