Jenny Burrell

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. 👠

We left England one grey, mizzling, bleak cold day in November and landed in Fort Worth, Texas, blue skies and sunshine in abundance. The car hire company was badly managed and very busy so unfortunately my son, husband and I lost three hours of our lives waiting in a queue with other disgruntled customers. Finally, cases loaded, satnav set, we headed for our hotel. Greeted with a glass of fizz we got the lift up to our rooms. No unpacking necessary because we would be on our way to Big Bend National Park the following morning

After some Google searching we found a restuarant for our first taste of a Texan steak. It didn’t disappoint! The meal was superb and, lying in bed that night, fed and watered, I slept like a baby!

After a walk around an area of unnatural beauty where houses must have cost many millions of dollars, we loaded the car and headed for Odessa. Now my idea of Texas, after watching umpteen cowboy movies, was a mixture of cattle ranches filled with longhorns, occasional rocky outcrops and miles of flat desert. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine mile after mile after mile of nodding donkeys with not a longhorn in sight! The scientific explanation of a nodding donkey is ‘the overground drive for a submersible pump in a borehole’. I’m having problems explaining what a nodding donkey looks like. So is Google, but here goes. It looks like a donkey’s head at the end of a long shaft balancing on an a frame. The head moves slowly up and down. We saw masses, all different sizes, some mobile, some rusted steel wrecks.

We arrived in Odessa early evening. We walked across a strip of wasteland to get to our restuarant. The next morning the wasteland was completely submerged in water. I’d slept through torrential rain which luckily blew over by the time we continued on our journey.

I’d vaguely heard the story about aliens landing in the desert in New Mexico many years ago. Apparently they landed just outside Roswell, our next stop. A large flying saucer welcomed us into the town, a good photo opportunity. Driving down the Main Street we passed a cannabis drive through which was an eye-opener. Cars drove up to the window as if it was Mc Donald’s and bought their bags of pot. Cannabis is banned in Texas but not New Mexico. The cars we saw waiting in the queue all had Texan number plates. Just a few yards from the drive through was a big sign offering guns for cash. Perhaps this was a way of getting money for dope?

We visited the alien museum. I left still very sceptical. There were impressive models of aliens lying in incubators. They looked like foetuses, quite disturbing. Their faces were small yet they had large, bulbous heads and slits for eyes and mouths. I saw no visible signs of ears. Their bodies were short and emaciated with large hands and feet. Apparently five were killed and only one survived the crash. Those who saw them were sworn to secrecy so that the media couldn’t get hold of the story and cause world wide panic.

Leaving Roswell the next day we headed for Fort Davis. On our way we stopped at the Carlsbad Caves, 700 feet below the ground. They are found in the Chihuahuan Desert in New Mexico. They are cunsidered by some to be the eighth wonder of the world. It’s fascinating to think that the those magnificent stalactites, stalagmites and flowstone began their formation from just a single drop of water 250 million years ago. These caves are very unusual in that they were formed from sulphuric acid instead of carbonic acid! We were warned that the acoustics in the caves were amazing. The staff could hear what every visitor was saying so we were advised to whisper. My son and I kept on forgetting so must have caused some amusement when we described sights as we walked along. We both have vivid imaginations!

Arriving at Fort Davis we had booked a lecture at the observatory. Warned to dress warmly we made our way to the arena that evening, miles away from any light pollution. The moon wasn’t visible and not a cloud in sight. The lecturer introduced himself and started a laser show of stars and constellations. That meant looking up at the sky with my neck periodically locking. Very painful, but not as painful as the extreme cold seeping into my bones, producing involuntary spasms. Eventually I had to curl up in a ball, hearing and seeing nothing! When the lecture was over I had to uncurl myself and stand up. This was easier said that done. Still shaking, I had developed cramps in my arms and legs. Movement became a huge challenge. My husband, who had been standing up, fascinated throughout the evening, had to help me by holding both my hands and easing me gently off the stone bench. I have never been so could in my whole entire life! As if that wasn’t enough. I still had to shuffle along to look through five telescopes. I stood in queues, shivering, trying to show interest when peering up at some or other planet or star. All I wanted was to get into the car with the heater on maximum and thaw out. We ended the evening with a round trip of forty miles to the only restuarant open at 9:00 pm on a Sunday night. All they could offer me was a chicken salad! At least the glass of Shiraz was warm!

The next day we left Fort Davis, getting closer to Big Bend. We had stayed in a hotel which had rooms above a saloon. I bet our room could tell some stories! Would have found us very boring! Walking along the main street we passed a hotel called the Soda Fountain with three bullet holes in the window! We were now just over a hundred miles from the National Park and our next adventure.

The landscape had changed again but still not as I had imagined. No more nodding donkeys but still no cattle. And no cowboys! The terrain was quite mountainous, the sky, a brilliant blue and it felt quite warm. We were definitely driving through semi desert and very close to Mexico. Great excitement when I spotted the Rio Grande! The name of my all time favourite John Wayne movie. I should really get out more! We went for a walk, crossed over the river which was barely a stream and almost trod on a giant tarantula! Very impressive! We walked into a canyon and I have a beautiful photo of the golden sun shining down on a mountain at the exit.

We managed a number of hikes in Big Bend with, fortunately, no further wild life excitement and, gratefully, no snakes! The scenery at times was magnificent, helped by the ever present blue sky. I have a photo of a roadrunner which was smaller than I expected and which caused much excitement with some of the people walking behind us! We spent a couple of nights in Terlingua and then headed back to Fort Worth, Dallas, a round trip of two thousand miles.

My Dallas highlight was a rodeo show and the John Wayne museum. The rodeo was huge fun watching brave young men riding bucking broncos and wild bulls, I finally saw longhorns being herded down the street with cowboys on either side expertly twirling their lassos.

The museum was unusual. They had the stuffed horse, Trigger, who appeared in 188 Roy Roger’s TV programmes and movies. Bullet, the German shepherd, who portrayed Roy Roger’s dog, was also there. Buttermilk, the horse, used by Roy Roger’s wife, Dale Evan’s, completed the exhibition.

We had a wonderful time and I could have filled many more pages with our adventures. America is such a vast country and it’s fortunate that we visit my son each year and spend time in so many amazing places. We’re already planning our trip for next year! I feel another adventure coming on ………👠

We have had some adventurous holidays over years. Now I say this with tongue in cheek. My husband is the adventurer, I’m not! Some holidays have been more challenging than others. I’m going to share a day in Namibia that I genuinely thought would be my last.

It was our 25th wedding anniversary. We decided to spend two weeks in Namibia on a glamping holiday. I booked the holiday from a company in South Africa. I checked all the accommodation to ensure that glamping took priority. We wouldn’t be staying in standard tents. Some nights we’d be in chalets and others looked like canvas structures fully fitted with electricity, four poster beds, en suite bathrooms and outside balconies with views over waterholes. Hopefully there’d be minimal adventure, just a fun packed holiday.

We landed in Windhoek late one evening. We had booked a hired car so went to collect it at the airport. Namibia has a lot of dirt roads, only a few are tarred. We were not travelling in a convoy as suggested but going solo. We needed a decent, reliable four wheeled drive car. We were given a two wheeled drive truck which did not inspire confidence in either of us. There was no replacement. That truck or nothing. That first night we stayed in a five star hotel behind high walls and security fences. Sirens kept us awake all night as did the meal. Even though I stressed gluten-free it wasn’t so the holiday didn’t start off well. In discomfort we set off after breakfast the next morning heading for our first stop, still in civilisation. We arrived in Swakopmund, a once German protectorate. There I had one of my best meals ever! Crayfish Thermidor! Two and a half crayfish coated in a delicious cheese sauce, gluten free. Absolutely delicious!

A couple of days later we headed into the desert in our truck, no satnav, and me in charge of directions. Even offering me a compass would have been a waste of time! Suffering from car sickness didn’t help. Occasionally glancing down at a map, hoping it was the right way up gave the odds of us arriving at our destination at best one hundred to one! We were travelling alone, as mentioned earlier, but we did have a safety net. All our destinations had my phone number and we’d agreed that they would make contact if we hadn’t arrived by night fall. We later discovered that finding a signal was like trying to find a needle in a haystack!

Over the next two weeks we saw some fantastic sights and had a luxurious glamping experience. Every night I checked under beds, in bathrooms and toilets for snakes. It had been known for snakes to get into the drain and come up through the toilet bowl. I still never use a toilet in the dark. One of my South African legacies.

We arrived at our final destination, a nature reserve owned by a member of parliament and really out in the sticks. On our first night my husband and I lay down on the ground outside our chalet and stared up at the most amazing sky. The Milky Way, in all its splendour, sparkled down at us. Photos didn’t do it justice.

So, our penultimate day in Namibia dawned, greeting us with a brilliant blue sky and temperates forecast to soar. My husband looked forward to a final trek into the bushveld. The holiday so far had been relatively easy going and he needed some excitement. The manager warned us to stick to the track and to be back within a couple of hours. It was going to get very hot. We needed to keep hydrated and watch out for zebras wildebeest and any wild animals we’d come into contact with. I sincerely hoped that would be none! It was September and the mating season. The males were very protective of their herds and could become dangerous. And then, of course, there were the snakes and lions. I remember questioning the safely of this walk at the time.

We set off, my husband in high spirits and me in silent trepidation. We had a compass but no map, just verbal directions. And no satnav. My husband had his rucksack with pockets on either side which held our water bottles. We turned right out of our chalet, walked down the dirt road then turned left at the bottom of a hill. We followed a path up the hill, veered left again then, still following the same path, carried on along a marked track. Dead, long, yellow grass, rocky inclines and occasional dark, spiked thorn trees dominated the landscape. Silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky, a yellow ball hung motionless. It was as if time was standing still. I hardly dared breathe. It was so quiet. Too quiet. The lull before the storm?

We continued on our way and gradually the path became less clear. Soon we had to choose which path to take because there were a few. Out came the compass and we headed in what we thought was the right direction. On we walked. The heat became oppressive, almost unbearable. We stopped for a water break. I don’t sweat but had passed the ‘glow’ stage. We eventually reached a dirt road and I tried to relax. Roads are good because you can avoid snakes and vehicles travel on them. Perhaps we could hitch a ride back to camp.

In the distance we saw what looked like wildebees crossing the road. It seemed as if they were headed towards us. Suddenly, about a hundred yards away, they all stopped and faced us. It looked so weird seeing a long row of huge black antelope silently staring at us. I froze. My husband grabbed his camera and started taking photographs. Still the wildebees didn’t move. I began to panic.

‘They’re going to charge’, I whispered. ‘They’ll kill us.’

‘Nonsense,’ came his reply. ‘They’re just being curious. I’ve taken some fantastic photographs. I’m going to change the lens to get a wider view then I can get them all in. ‘

With that my husband knelt down in the road and started rummaging in his rucksack. I spotted a small thorn bush and gingerly moved across the road and crouched behind it.

‘They’re not going to kill and eat you,’ my husband said. ‘They’re herbivores.’

‘They’ll trample and kill us and then the hyenas, vultures and other scavengers will eat us! Or we’ll be eaten alive by lions as we lie here seriously injured!’

I’m not sure how long I crouched behind the bush while my husband took photos but it seemed hours. My legs and feet were numb and I couldn’t move even if I had to. Finally the huge animals must have become bored and, as one, turned, crossed the road and vanished into the bushes.

I fell back onto the prickly grass and stones and lay for a while in the baking sun before feeling returned to my lower extremities. I fetched my now boiling bottle of water, had a sip and we moved forward in silence.

A good while later, following the road, we came across a few houses with high fences and dogs guarding the perimeters. They barked or snarled as greeting so trying to get help from anyone living in one of the houses wasn’t going to happen. If it wasn’t for the dogs making such a noise I would have sworn that they were all empty.

A bit further down the road we heard what sounded like horses galloping towards us. A few yards ahead we saw the first zebra crossing the road, followed by many more. One stayed behind while the others vanished into the thick undergrowth. Being so close, the zebra looked huge, very powerful and, with black eyes focussed on us, very threatening. I could hear him panting and waited for him to begin pawing the ground.

‘That’ll be the male protecting his herd,’ I could barely whisper’. ‘He’ll attack us as we walk past.’

‘Nonsense, just ignore him and he’ll go away,’

‘No’, I whispered back. ‘Let’s just stand still and wait for him to go away’. I wasn’t going anywhere!

As I’m still here telling this tale, the zebra did move off and we finally arrived back at camp, about six hours later, exhausted but very grateful to have survived. The manager said he was about to send out a search party as the last couple who got lost had to be rushed to hospital with heat exhaustion and severe dehydration. He was so relieved to see us that he gave us free ice cold bottles of delicious sparkling water.

I really enjoyed our holiday in Namibia, more in retrospect than at the time. Watching animals in the wild is extraordinary, but only when I’m sitting in a car with windows closed, doors locked and the engine running to make a quick getaway. That’s the only way to go on a safari! 👠