I am ashamed to admit that six months have gone by since I came up with the splendid idea of starting a blog, wrote one entry and then - nothing.
In fact, I’ve been busy retiring. What an exhausting business it is – and I don’t even draw my pension for another year. Actually, I’m not really retiring properly – like most people of my age, I don’t relish the thought of scratching by on a lacklustre private pension – definitely a case of diminishing returns - and the crumbs from Mr Brown's benefits table. No, I’m just having a bit of a breather between giving up my old full-time 35-year+ career (which was showing its age) and starting a new and completely different part-time career.
Which means I’m having to have the mother of all clear-outs. I try not to get distracted, although sometimes a schlock TV channel like True Movies is just what a life laundress needs. Or I find myself on my hands and knees reading old newspaper cuttings: all the ones I’ve ripped out intending to read - one day. Many of these, I now realise, are designed to engender a feeling of permanent anxiety. Like the article that mentions String Field Theory-man, Dr Michio Kaku, who reckons that the time is not too far away when we will all be a walking mass of microchips. They will be embedded everywhere, even in our clothes. There will be no hiding place.
But not according to my cousin P. If this island is ever invaded, he suggests everyone in the family should hightail it down to my village. No-one would ever find us. He’s thinking of buying a job-lot of tents and sleeping bags. (I’ve told him they have to be Cath Kidston or nothing.)
Still, I think it’s time to get rid of my cuttings collection, or at least the doom and gloom and scary future articles. As I move into what is euphemistically called the Third Age, I can’t be doing with all this Armageddon stuff. If I really thought we were all going to hell in a handbasket, I wouldn’t wait around until my number was called.
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